Categories > TV > Buffy the Vampire Slayer > BUFFY Meets STAR TREK
- The Rutherford -
10
The /U.S.S. Rutherford/, NCC-69501, shot past a bubbling symbiotic star, a number of gaseous nebulas and twisters, and a deep-space hydrogen swirl in a blur as it moved across space at 214 times the speed of light.
The Akira-class vessel; with a modern style that detracted from its true 6 years of service, had a roughly circular saucer section about as wide as the saucer of a Sovereign-class ship. The exterior style of the saucer section itself was based loosely on that of the NX-01 Enterprise that had been commanded by Jonathan Archer during the 22nd century.
The secondary hull, housing the deflector dish, was much smaller than most, and was held tight up to the underside of the saucer. Two 'arms' stretched back from the main hull on either side of the bridge and met the catamaran style 'wings' holding the warp nacelles, which were angled downwards. She was a tough ship. As was her captain...
*
'Captain's log, Stardate 53891.4:
Having identified a general distress beacon just within Federation space, at the edge of the Bazari Territory, we're making a brief detour from our current mission to offer assistance. We're taking every precaution, however, as the troubled vessel is not responding to hails and does not appear to be emitting an identity code.'
Captain Dave Freeman, sitting on the edge of his desk, slid the desktop computer to one side and rubbed at his thick goatee beard, unaware he was doing so. Alone in his ante-room, he pondered briefly upon the events of the day. The morning had proven to be less than fruitful.
Since the end of the Dominion war, almost exactly a year ago, a number of rogue Jem'Hadar soldiers were known to have formed various dissident groups, determined to terrorise the Federation and wreak revenge. Their in-built genetic need to fight driving them to remain at war with their enemy. Following a tip-off, the Rutherford had investigated a small moon that may have been used as a Jem'Hadar base of operation for one such group.
Either that group had caught wind of Starfleets' investigation and fled before their arrival, or the whole thing had been a false alarm.
Never the less, their mission had expanded to a search of 'secret' facilities owned by the Son'a - known manufacturers of the illegal substance Ketracel-white. Were it not for this substance, there would be no Jem'Hadar to worry about. Genetically engineered by the Dominion, their very lives depended on a regular supply of the 'drug'.
...And, less than an hour ago, the strangest general alert communiqué had come in. Apparently, for reasons yet to be specified, Starfleet had recalled all vessels within 2.5 light years of headquarters to return immediately to Earth to form a tachyon grid around the Terran homeworld.
The Rutherford herself had been well out of the specified distance, yet the lack of information only fuelled her crew's desire to know more. Was the Federation under threat? Was Earth expecting a barrage of cloaked ships to attack? Were the Dominion back for more?
So many questions. And so many rumours to quell.
With such uncertainty in the air, the Captain approached this new development with added care.
That's why he'd told Chevva to halt the Rutherford once they were in visual and sensor range of the distressed vessel.
*
"Looks like an old Ferengi trader-ship," Commander Coren Vaun observed as his Captain stepped onto the bridge.
The bridge module was barely over a year old, and five years younger than the ship itself, as the Rutherford had undergone its 5-year refit prior to Freeman's command. New grey and blue carpets had been laid. The stark lighting had been toned down to match newer vessels. And, because of the combative nature of the Rutherford's missions, the rear of the bridge from tactical to the aft workstations had been extended to include a fairly large, circular table that showed a tactical mapping grid - similar to air traffic control radar systems of old.
Freeman eased into his raised chair between his 2 commanders and sat casually. Tapping a button on his armrest, he switched off the Trill music that had been playing quietly in the background, and looked to the viewer. The long-range visual showed a small, battered, un-maintained vessel with the style and colour that was distinctly Ferengi in origin.
"Seen betta days, I reckon," Helmsman Chevva Swift quipped with a heavy Caribbean accent.
"The distress call is no longer active, Dave," came Lieutenant Gataana's deep, resonating voice from tactical.
Tactical consisted of 2 semi-circular stations behind the command chairs. One was an emergency back-up that was only manned during combat situations. The other was always manned - for the most part by the head of security - Lt. Gataana.
The large, female Antican ran her fur-covered, clawed hands over the controls and went on: "And there are no life-readings."
"Someone must've sent out that call," said the young commander to Freeman's left - his second officer - Saskia Romani.
She was right that someone must have been onboard to initiate and shut off the distress call.
"Try hailing them again, Taana," he said.
"Still no response. The vessel is badly damaged. Its shields are no longer active."
This bore further scrutiny. "Take us in closer," he said to Chevva at the Conn.
At Ops, Lt.Cmdr. Danil Oom - a youthful man with short, carefully styled light-blond hair with an equally carefully executed beard, and slightly pointed ears - scanned the Ferengi ship from bow to stern. "Oh, my," he said with mild shock in his voice. "That ship's packed a good three metric tonnes above maximum capacity. ...And I thought temporal-cascade warheads were illegal under section sixty-seven of the third Khitomer Accord."
"They are," Cmdr. Vaun confirmed.
"Well, somebody didn't get that memo... because I'm picking up power emissions from two of 'em onboard."
"Is that so?" Freeman mused. A Ferengi selling goods outlawed by the Federation in Federation space. No doubt heads would roll for this. "Commander - take an away team over there."
Both Vaun and Saskia - his first and second officers - got up.
"Whoa there," Freeman said to Cmdr. Romani. "Commander Vaun's leading this mission."
The pair looked at each other obstinately.
Romani began to protest: "But-"
Then her captain interceded tactfully: "You're the 'people-person'," he said to her. "He's the 'problem-person'. What we have here...is a problem." He opened his arms out to the viewscreen. "No people."
She nodded and sat, putting on an air of humour. "So what's your job again?"
Freeman, always keen to keep the mood light, took her lead. "Hey, I'm just here to referee between /you/ two - make sure you don't claw each others eyes out."
The problem Freeman had found with those two was that they were on opposite ends of the spectrum. That is; Saskia was the most carefree, fun-loving member of the crew, whereas Vaun was the most straight-laced and rigid. Like chalk and cheese they were. Nevertheless, still, not good enough reason for them not to get on better at times.
The captain then addressed his first: "Vaun - if you do find any crew onboard, take them into custody. I'd like to ask them myself what they think they're doing here."
Vaun gave a nod and made for the turbolift. "Taana - you're recruited."
The security chief joined him and the two officers proceeded to the lift, and left for the transporter room.
When Romani saw her captain giving her that questioning 'I'm-not-angry-but-I'd-like-an-explanation' puppy-dog expression he used regularly, she wasn't quite sure what to tell him. And she noticed again, as she often did, that he was a ruggedly handsome man, in some inexplicable way.
"I got carried away," she said. "I just thought it was... you know... my turn."
"Your turn?" he replied, a wide smile crossing his face. "We're out here on behalf of Starfleet Command, not kindergarten," he joked. "But I know what you mean. Trouble with being a captain is that most of the time you find yourself sitting on the sidelines while everyone else gets in the thick of it. Sometimes I wanna just say 'to hell with it' and lead the away missions. But rules is rules, Sass. That's why they make 'em."
"Some say they're made to be broken," she said in response.
He regarded her with uncertainty. What was the problem she had with the first officer, anyway? She was only half Trill, so was it because Vaun was a 'joined' Trill? Because she can't be joined? Does that mean she was angry with her Human father too?
It was probably about time he addressed this before it caused any real difficulties.
*
The instant Vaun materialised in the cockpit of the small craft, wet beads of condensation began to form on his skin. Something must have been wrong with the environmental systems because the inside of the cramped ship had become an oven. He wiped a hand over his moist head with ease, as his light, slightly receding hair was shaved close to the skin. The air was thick and hot, making it difficult to breathe.
Next to him, Gataana hissed and rubbed the top of her long cranium - the largest part of her that was not covered in thick white fur, therefore the only place that moisture formed.
Vaun undid the neck of his shirt. "Check for people in the hold. I'll see if I can get us some fresh, cool air to breathe."
The big, dog-like Antican ducked through a small Ferengi-sized opening and moved into the rear section of the vessel obediently.
Vaun sat in the pilot's seat and began working the Ferengi console. He re-routed power to fix the environmental problem and to get him access to the computer system. The circuits must have been badly fried, because the whole computer network was fudged. None of the systems were linking with each other as they should. It was going to take some work.
He was busy trying to locate the crew logs when Gataana returned from the aft compartment with a small PADD. "I have the cargo manifest."
"Find anyone?"
"No," she said, holding up something pink and fleshy. "Unless this counts."
*
As time went on, Cmdr. Romani was becoming more and more laid back. There were times when Vaun took the job a little too seriously for Freeman. Yet, similarly, Saskia wasn't taking things seriously enough. He liked to think of himself as the balance between the two.
"This crew's been together for over a year now," he was saying to her, "and they've grown pretty tight in that time. Whatever ill-feelings you have toward your senior commander... you have to deal with them and try to move beyond them, because right now this ship's at one hundred percent. I need her at a hundred and ten. You're good at what you do, Sass. And, as a young commander, I can cut you a little slack... but you'll find more and more that you'll need to mature if you want to forge a successful career for yourself. Though here's probably not the best environment to study maturity, but-"
"Vaun to Rutherford."
When the captain didn't confirm Vaun's communication, Saskia turned to see what was wrong with him.
"You're the commander," he told her. "I'm just a referee."
So, she responded on his behalf: "Go ahead, Commander."
"Well, there's no crew. But we found living-space enough for one person. He was definitely a Ferengi."
"How can you be sure?"
"We found an ear."
The glances exchanged on the bridge went to show that that had been the last thing any of them had expected to hear.
Vaun continued his report: "Looking over his inventory, we've noticed a number of things missing from the cargo manifest. ...A case of sarium crystals, a subspace transceiver unit, a compact sensor assembly and a couple of processing blocks."
Gataana's resounding speech then growled from the Comm: "Also a control and display interface is missing. And a container of ruggedized positive-feedback buttons - non-configured."
Lt. Cmdr. Danil Oom looked over his shoulder from Ops. "Parts for some kind of mobile remote?"
"But at the same time there are things here that aren't on his manifest," Vaun went on. "A shipment of Romulan ale for example...and other illicit goods. He's even pulled out the transporter to make more cargo space."
The ship was designed to be small and sturdy enough to enter the atmosphere of a planet and set down. In fact, if Freeman recalled correctly, he believed they were originally the Ferengi equivalent of a type 9A shuttle. Not at all surprising, then, that a profit-craving Ferengi would do away with the transporter pad - or any other mod cons - to improve business. But what was going on?
Freeman sighed heavily. "Have you noticed that you'll often find yourself ranting on about how you love a good mystery. ...But when one finally comes along, all you want are answers."
"Irony mocks us that way," Sass chimed.
"All we can do is report this to Starfleet," the captain said. "They'll likely inform Ferenginar - tell them to clean up their own mess. I expect the Federation president will want to know what an illegal Ferengi trader was doing in his space in the first place."
Oom swivelled around to face Freeman. "Perhaps he was trying to drum up a little extra business. Most of what he's selling's pretty mundane for the Bazari Territory. Maybe he figured he could attract customers that wouldn't dare to venture into that area."
Sometimes he sounded so damn logical that Freeman thought he really was a Vulcan. "That's no excuse for breaking our laws, Dan."
Saskia then added: "Funny thing is ...you'd have thought he'd have been safer in Federation space, what with the reputation the Territory has."
Chevva Swift - the young Jamaican lieutenant at the helm - turned in his seat to join the debate. "Could he haff bin tryin' ta flee from dat region? From an attacker what followed 'im 'ere?"
"Could be," Freeman agreed. "The only way we'll know for sure is when we examine his log entries. Assuming he bothered to make any."
Vaun - who was still working on the Ferengi computer - heard the entire debate over the Comm. "That's going to be a problem, Dave. All logs and sensor records have been deleted. We might not be able to reconstruct them either. Looks as though there's a barrier-code preventing access to the computer's core memory. It's completely blocked. ...But the engines definitely haven't been used for a number of hours. Rules out Chevva's chase theory."
Dan Oom checked his readings again. "The hull damage isn't consistent with a chase attack, either. Whoever did this came from the front. Within seven or eight hundred meters. Logic would suggest that he was approached by a potential customer who then disabled him, beamed over to his ship and robbed him. Possibly killed him."
There he went with that logic crap again.
"All for a few measly gadgets?" Sass said in astonishment.
"Hadly seem wort' da effort," Chevva agreed.
"From the disruptor damage," Dan reported, "I'd say it was Breen. Possibly Klingon. The violent nature of the attack would be more consistent with the Breen."
Freeman shook his head. "If it were the Breen... they'd have taken the warheads."
"There's a secured message coming in for you, Dave. From Admiral Wheeler," the ensign who was now at tactical announced.
"Okay." Freeman got up. "Vaun - find out what you can about the attack. I'd like to know who's responsible for this." Then he turned to tactical. "I'll take the call in my office, Ensign ... Peters." He really had to look over the crew manifest again. Some of those new faces still needed names!
*
The Admiral's instructions had been oddly brief, and unrevealing.
But something told Freeman that it had to be related to whatever was going on back on Earth.
*
Returning to the bridge, he immediately re-opened the Comm-link to Vaun. "Anything?" he asked of his first officer.
"Nothing new. This'll take forever."
"It'll have to wait. Wrap things up over there and both of you beam back a.s.a.p."
"There a problem?"
"I don't know. We have orders to meet the Enterprise immediately - no delay."
"Suits me. I never like being this close to the Bazari Territory, anyway."
Freeman let out a sigh and took his chair. "Do any of us?"
*
Starbase McClintock was almost in sight when Picard went to them. He found the group - excluding Spike - together in Mr. Giles' quarters. On arrival, he saw them huddled in the couch area around the small coffee table, brainstorming and planning. This had given Picard some degree of hope in resolving the situation, until young Willow admitted they weren't making any progress. He'd also noticed that the Slayer...that is...Buffy...was not among them. Instead, he saw that she had isolated herself. Stood in the far corner of the room, she stared out the window with utter detachment in her eyes. All the time Picard was there, she did not move or register him in any way. He thought to himself that her mind must have been far away from the Enterprise. In another universe perhaps.
Firstly, he told them that he had come in person to see how his guests were coping with the situation. Then he went on to explain that they could not be allowed the same amount of freedom on the starbase as they had had on the Enterprise. That it was, in fact, quite against the rules.
In addition, as far as the meeting with Admiral Wheeler was concerned, he would only speak to Giles. Picard voiced his agreement with that decision, because it was very important that the Admiral take the situation as seriously as it was, and Giles had an air about him that demanded a serious ear. Moreover, he was a proper grown-up.
As he turned to leave them, he glanced at Buffy one last time to see if she would acknowledge him before he went. She did not.
So, he gave them all a heartening smile. "Try to rest some," he said before the doors slid shut.
*
Buffy's mind was a blur of maybes and what ifs. A world of parallel universe's wherein she was doing all the things she felt she needed to be doing rather than standing on a spaceship 300-and-some years in the wrong future. At the same time, she saw in her mind's eye such nightmarish things. Things that might be happening back home. Happening to her sister.
'She's not your sister'
'She is my sister'
'You don't sound too sure. She's just a key'
'She is my sister! I remember everything! ...Like the first time she said my name. It had sounded more like 'Boof'. Everyone thought it was funny when they heard her. Even Uncle Phil and he hardly ever laughed. She is my sister'
"She's not safe," Buffy said when she felt Willow's presence beside her. "There's some crazy Super-Bitch looking for Dawn and there's nothing I can do."
Willow rested a hand gently on her friend's shoulder. "We're all worried, Buffy. About everybody/ back home. When we get back ...we /will do something."
"I just feel so ...lost. They sent her to me/. So that I could protect her. I /should be protecting her. Instead...
...I can't focus anymore, Will. I feel like all this," she said, nodding her head to the stars, "is getting in the way of what I really should be doing."
Willow dropped her head. She tried to find the right words to say, but couldn't. "Riley's with her, and I know he wouldn't let anything happen to Dawn. I bet Tara's helping too! ...I'm sure they're doing just fine."
'/But the Super-Bitch is so strong/...'
10
The /U.S.S. Rutherford/, NCC-69501, shot past a bubbling symbiotic star, a number of gaseous nebulas and twisters, and a deep-space hydrogen swirl in a blur as it moved across space at 214 times the speed of light.
The Akira-class vessel; with a modern style that detracted from its true 6 years of service, had a roughly circular saucer section about as wide as the saucer of a Sovereign-class ship. The exterior style of the saucer section itself was based loosely on that of the NX-01 Enterprise that had been commanded by Jonathan Archer during the 22nd century.
The secondary hull, housing the deflector dish, was much smaller than most, and was held tight up to the underside of the saucer. Two 'arms' stretched back from the main hull on either side of the bridge and met the catamaran style 'wings' holding the warp nacelles, which were angled downwards. She was a tough ship. As was her captain...
*
'Captain's log, Stardate 53891.4:
Having identified a general distress beacon just within Federation space, at the edge of the Bazari Territory, we're making a brief detour from our current mission to offer assistance. We're taking every precaution, however, as the troubled vessel is not responding to hails and does not appear to be emitting an identity code.'
Captain Dave Freeman, sitting on the edge of his desk, slid the desktop computer to one side and rubbed at his thick goatee beard, unaware he was doing so. Alone in his ante-room, he pondered briefly upon the events of the day. The morning had proven to be less than fruitful.
Since the end of the Dominion war, almost exactly a year ago, a number of rogue Jem'Hadar soldiers were known to have formed various dissident groups, determined to terrorise the Federation and wreak revenge. Their in-built genetic need to fight driving them to remain at war with their enemy. Following a tip-off, the Rutherford had investigated a small moon that may have been used as a Jem'Hadar base of operation for one such group.
Either that group had caught wind of Starfleets' investigation and fled before their arrival, or the whole thing had been a false alarm.
Never the less, their mission had expanded to a search of 'secret' facilities owned by the Son'a - known manufacturers of the illegal substance Ketracel-white. Were it not for this substance, there would be no Jem'Hadar to worry about. Genetically engineered by the Dominion, their very lives depended on a regular supply of the 'drug'.
...And, less than an hour ago, the strangest general alert communiqué had come in. Apparently, for reasons yet to be specified, Starfleet had recalled all vessels within 2.5 light years of headquarters to return immediately to Earth to form a tachyon grid around the Terran homeworld.
The Rutherford herself had been well out of the specified distance, yet the lack of information only fuelled her crew's desire to know more. Was the Federation under threat? Was Earth expecting a barrage of cloaked ships to attack? Were the Dominion back for more?
So many questions. And so many rumours to quell.
With such uncertainty in the air, the Captain approached this new development with added care.
That's why he'd told Chevva to halt the Rutherford once they were in visual and sensor range of the distressed vessel.
*
"Looks like an old Ferengi trader-ship," Commander Coren Vaun observed as his Captain stepped onto the bridge.
The bridge module was barely over a year old, and five years younger than the ship itself, as the Rutherford had undergone its 5-year refit prior to Freeman's command. New grey and blue carpets had been laid. The stark lighting had been toned down to match newer vessels. And, because of the combative nature of the Rutherford's missions, the rear of the bridge from tactical to the aft workstations had been extended to include a fairly large, circular table that showed a tactical mapping grid - similar to air traffic control radar systems of old.
Freeman eased into his raised chair between his 2 commanders and sat casually. Tapping a button on his armrest, he switched off the Trill music that had been playing quietly in the background, and looked to the viewer. The long-range visual showed a small, battered, un-maintained vessel with the style and colour that was distinctly Ferengi in origin.
"Seen betta days, I reckon," Helmsman Chevva Swift quipped with a heavy Caribbean accent.
"The distress call is no longer active, Dave," came Lieutenant Gataana's deep, resonating voice from tactical.
Tactical consisted of 2 semi-circular stations behind the command chairs. One was an emergency back-up that was only manned during combat situations. The other was always manned - for the most part by the head of security - Lt. Gataana.
The large, female Antican ran her fur-covered, clawed hands over the controls and went on: "And there are no life-readings."
"Someone must've sent out that call," said the young commander to Freeman's left - his second officer - Saskia Romani.
She was right that someone must have been onboard to initiate and shut off the distress call.
"Try hailing them again, Taana," he said.
"Still no response. The vessel is badly damaged. Its shields are no longer active."
This bore further scrutiny. "Take us in closer," he said to Chevva at the Conn.
At Ops, Lt.Cmdr. Danil Oom - a youthful man with short, carefully styled light-blond hair with an equally carefully executed beard, and slightly pointed ears - scanned the Ferengi ship from bow to stern. "Oh, my," he said with mild shock in his voice. "That ship's packed a good three metric tonnes above maximum capacity. ...And I thought temporal-cascade warheads were illegal under section sixty-seven of the third Khitomer Accord."
"They are," Cmdr. Vaun confirmed.
"Well, somebody didn't get that memo... because I'm picking up power emissions from two of 'em onboard."
"Is that so?" Freeman mused. A Ferengi selling goods outlawed by the Federation in Federation space. No doubt heads would roll for this. "Commander - take an away team over there."
Both Vaun and Saskia - his first and second officers - got up.
"Whoa there," Freeman said to Cmdr. Romani. "Commander Vaun's leading this mission."
The pair looked at each other obstinately.
Romani began to protest: "But-"
Then her captain interceded tactfully: "You're the 'people-person'," he said to her. "He's the 'problem-person'. What we have here...is a problem." He opened his arms out to the viewscreen. "No people."
She nodded and sat, putting on an air of humour. "So what's your job again?"
Freeman, always keen to keep the mood light, took her lead. "Hey, I'm just here to referee between /you/ two - make sure you don't claw each others eyes out."
The problem Freeman had found with those two was that they were on opposite ends of the spectrum. That is; Saskia was the most carefree, fun-loving member of the crew, whereas Vaun was the most straight-laced and rigid. Like chalk and cheese they were. Nevertheless, still, not good enough reason for them not to get on better at times.
The captain then addressed his first: "Vaun - if you do find any crew onboard, take them into custody. I'd like to ask them myself what they think they're doing here."
Vaun gave a nod and made for the turbolift. "Taana - you're recruited."
The security chief joined him and the two officers proceeded to the lift, and left for the transporter room.
When Romani saw her captain giving her that questioning 'I'm-not-angry-but-I'd-like-an-explanation' puppy-dog expression he used regularly, she wasn't quite sure what to tell him. And she noticed again, as she often did, that he was a ruggedly handsome man, in some inexplicable way.
"I got carried away," she said. "I just thought it was... you know... my turn."
"Your turn?" he replied, a wide smile crossing his face. "We're out here on behalf of Starfleet Command, not kindergarten," he joked. "But I know what you mean. Trouble with being a captain is that most of the time you find yourself sitting on the sidelines while everyone else gets in the thick of it. Sometimes I wanna just say 'to hell with it' and lead the away missions. But rules is rules, Sass. That's why they make 'em."
"Some say they're made to be broken," she said in response.
He regarded her with uncertainty. What was the problem she had with the first officer, anyway? She was only half Trill, so was it because Vaun was a 'joined' Trill? Because she can't be joined? Does that mean she was angry with her Human father too?
It was probably about time he addressed this before it caused any real difficulties.
*
The instant Vaun materialised in the cockpit of the small craft, wet beads of condensation began to form on his skin. Something must have been wrong with the environmental systems because the inside of the cramped ship had become an oven. He wiped a hand over his moist head with ease, as his light, slightly receding hair was shaved close to the skin. The air was thick and hot, making it difficult to breathe.
Next to him, Gataana hissed and rubbed the top of her long cranium - the largest part of her that was not covered in thick white fur, therefore the only place that moisture formed.
Vaun undid the neck of his shirt. "Check for people in the hold. I'll see if I can get us some fresh, cool air to breathe."
The big, dog-like Antican ducked through a small Ferengi-sized opening and moved into the rear section of the vessel obediently.
Vaun sat in the pilot's seat and began working the Ferengi console. He re-routed power to fix the environmental problem and to get him access to the computer system. The circuits must have been badly fried, because the whole computer network was fudged. None of the systems were linking with each other as they should. It was going to take some work.
He was busy trying to locate the crew logs when Gataana returned from the aft compartment with a small PADD. "I have the cargo manifest."
"Find anyone?"
"No," she said, holding up something pink and fleshy. "Unless this counts."
*
As time went on, Cmdr. Romani was becoming more and more laid back. There were times when Vaun took the job a little too seriously for Freeman. Yet, similarly, Saskia wasn't taking things seriously enough. He liked to think of himself as the balance between the two.
"This crew's been together for over a year now," he was saying to her, "and they've grown pretty tight in that time. Whatever ill-feelings you have toward your senior commander... you have to deal with them and try to move beyond them, because right now this ship's at one hundred percent. I need her at a hundred and ten. You're good at what you do, Sass. And, as a young commander, I can cut you a little slack... but you'll find more and more that you'll need to mature if you want to forge a successful career for yourself. Though here's probably not the best environment to study maturity, but-"
"Vaun to Rutherford."
When the captain didn't confirm Vaun's communication, Saskia turned to see what was wrong with him.
"You're the commander," he told her. "I'm just a referee."
So, she responded on his behalf: "Go ahead, Commander."
"Well, there's no crew. But we found living-space enough for one person. He was definitely a Ferengi."
"How can you be sure?"
"We found an ear."
The glances exchanged on the bridge went to show that that had been the last thing any of them had expected to hear.
Vaun continued his report: "Looking over his inventory, we've noticed a number of things missing from the cargo manifest. ...A case of sarium crystals, a subspace transceiver unit, a compact sensor assembly and a couple of processing blocks."
Gataana's resounding speech then growled from the Comm: "Also a control and display interface is missing. And a container of ruggedized positive-feedback buttons - non-configured."
Lt. Cmdr. Danil Oom looked over his shoulder from Ops. "Parts for some kind of mobile remote?"
"But at the same time there are things here that aren't on his manifest," Vaun went on. "A shipment of Romulan ale for example...and other illicit goods. He's even pulled out the transporter to make more cargo space."
The ship was designed to be small and sturdy enough to enter the atmosphere of a planet and set down. In fact, if Freeman recalled correctly, he believed they were originally the Ferengi equivalent of a type 9A shuttle. Not at all surprising, then, that a profit-craving Ferengi would do away with the transporter pad - or any other mod cons - to improve business. But what was going on?
Freeman sighed heavily. "Have you noticed that you'll often find yourself ranting on about how you love a good mystery. ...But when one finally comes along, all you want are answers."
"Irony mocks us that way," Sass chimed.
"All we can do is report this to Starfleet," the captain said. "They'll likely inform Ferenginar - tell them to clean up their own mess. I expect the Federation president will want to know what an illegal Ferengi trader was doing in his space in the first place."
Oom swivelled around to face Freeman. "Perhaps he was trying to drum up a little extra business. Most of what he's selling's pretty mundane for the Bazari Territory. Maybe he figured he could attract customers that wouldn't dare to venture into that area."
Sometimes he sounded so damn logical that Freeman thought he really was a Vulcan. "That's no excuse for breaking our laws, Dan."
Saskia then added: "Funny thing is ...you'd have thought he'd have been safer in Federation space, what with the reputation the Territory has."
Chevva Swift - the young Jamaican lieutenant at the helm - turned in his seat to join the debate. "Could he haff bin tryin' ta flee from dat region? From an attacker what followed 'im 'ere?"
"Could be," Freeman agreed. "The only way we'll know for sure is when we examine his log entries. Assuming he bothered to make any."
Vaun - who was still working on the Ferengi computer - heard the entire debate over the Comm. "That's going to be a problem, Dave. All logs and sensor records have been deleted. We might not be able to reconstruct them either. Looks as though there's a barrier-code preventing access to the computer's core memory. It's completely blocked. ...But the engines definitely haven't been used for a number of hours. Rules out Chevva's chase theory."
Dan Oom checked his readings again. "The hull damage isn't consistent with a chase attack, either. Whoever did this came from the front. Within seven or eight hundred meters. Logic would suggest that he was approached by a potential customer who then disabled him, beamed over to his ship and robbed him. Possibly killed him."
There he went with that logic crap again.
"All for a few measly gadgets?" Sass said in astonishment.
"Hadly seem wort' da effort," Chevva agreed.
"From the disruptor damage," Dan reported, "I'd say it was Breen. Possibly Klingon. The violent nature of the attack would be more consistent with the Breen."
Freeman shook his head. "If it were the Breen... they'd have taken the warheads."
"There's a secured message coming in for you, Dave. From Admiral Wheeler," the ensign who was now at tactical announced.
"Okay." Freeman got up. "Vaun - find out what you can about the attack. I'd like to know who's responsible for this." Then he turned to tactical. "I'll take the call in my office, Ensign ... Peters." He really had to look over the crew manifest again. Some of those new faces still needed names!
*
The Admiral's instructions had been oddly brief, and unrevealing.
But something told Freeman that it had to be related to whatever was going on back on Earth.
*
Returning to the bridge, he immediately re-opened the Comm-link to Vaun. "Anything?" he asked of his first officer.
"Nothing new. This'll take forever."
"It'll have to wait. Wrap things up over there and both of you beam back a.s.a.p."
"There a problem?"
"I don't know. We have orders to meet the Enterprise immediately - no delay."
"Suits me. I never like being this close to the Bazari Territory, anyway."
Freeman let out a sigh and took his chair. "Do any of us?"
*
Starbase McClintock was almost in sight when Picard went to them. He found the group - excluding Spike - together in Mr. Giles' quarters. On arrival, he saw them huddled in the couch area around the small coffee table, brainstorming and planning. This had given Picard some degree of hope in resolving the situation, until young Willow admitted they weren't making any progress. He'd also noticed that the Slayer...that is...Buffy...was not among them. Instead, he saw that she had isolated herself. Stood in the far corner of the room, she stared out the window with utter detachment in her eyes. All the time Picard was there, she did not move or register him in any way. He thought to himself that her mind must have been far away from the Enterprise. In another universe perhaps.
Firstly, he told them that he had come in person to see how his guests were coping with the situation. Then he went on to explain that they could not be allowed the same amount of freedom on the starbase as they had had on the Enterprise. That it was, in fact, quite against the rules.
In addition, as far as the meeting with Admiral Wheeler was concerned, he would only speak to Giles. Picard voiced his agreement with that decision, because it was very important that the Admiral take the situation as seriously as it was, and Giles had an air about him that demanded a serious ear. Moreover, he was a proper grown-up.
As he turned to leave them, he glanced at Buffy one last time to see if she would acknowledge him before he went. She did not.
So, he gave them all a heartening smile. "Try to rest some," he said before the doors slid shut.
*
Buffy's mind was a blur of maybes and what ifs. A world of parallel universe's wherein she was doing all the things she felt she needed to be doing rather than standing on a spaceship 300-and-some years in the wrong future. At the same time, she saw in her mind's eye such nightmarish things. Things that might be happening back home. Happening to her sister.
'She's not your sister'
'She is my sister'
'You don't sound too sure. She's just a key'
'She is my sister! I remember everything! ...Like the first time she said my name. It had sounded more like 'Boof'. Everyone thought it was funny when they heard her. Even Uncle Phil and he hardly ever laughed. She is my sister'
"She's not safe," Buffy said when she felt Willow's presence beside her. "There's some crazy Super-Bitch looking for Dawn and there's nothing I can do."
Willow rested a hand gently on her friend's shoulder. "We're all worried, Buffy. About everybody/ back home. When we get back ...we /will do something."
"I just feel so ...lost. They sent her to me/. So that I could protect her. I /should be protecting her. Instead...
...I can't focus anymore, Will. I feel like all this," she said, nodding her head to the stars, "is getting in the way of what I really should be doing."
Willow dropped her head. She tried to find the right words to say, but couldn't. "Riley's with her, and I know he wouldn't let anything happen to Dawn. I bet Tara's helping too! ...I'm sure they're doing just fine."
'/But the Super-Bitch is so strong/...'
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