Embedded Files
“Captain’s log, Stardate 44376.75. After the initial euphoria of assuming command of a brand new starship, reality has reasserted its grip on events once more. T’ Psycho-A is one of the biggest pieces o’ southern-built crap I have ever had t’ misfortune to come across. Compared to this new ship, t’ old one, which was temperamental at the best of times, was a shining example of how starships ought to be. Eeee. Most of t’ crew has taken a couple of weeks off while Chief Engineer Graham and his team try and fix things a bit. I shudder to think what state she’ll be in when we get back. End log entry.”
--
Doctor Jackson stood by the small camp that he, Commander Hill and Captain Olding had set up. He still had not been able to give himself a satisfactory explanation as to why it was that he had agreed to come on this camping expedition to the Yellowstone National Park on Earth with the other two. Maybe it was because he thought it would give him some relaxation. Well, he wasn’t getting any of that right now. He was squinting through a set of high powered image magnifiers at the figure of his commanding officer. Olding was currently halfway up the western face of El Capitan, and, to Jackson’s eyes, was struggling a bit.
“Irresponsible prat… playing games with life…” he muttered under his breath.
“What’s up, Doc?” Hill asked as he approached the doctor.
He was dragging an enormous branch he had found to add it to the stockpile of firewood they had gathered. Olding had insisted that they go right back to basics, and not use anything remotely computerised to aid them. Hill had been put in charge of gathering wood, and had surprised the other two by his willingness to carry out his chosen task. It was probably just as well, he mused, that they did not know that the huge pile of wood he had collected served to hide the collection of computers, rocket boots and other sundry items he had been unable to resist bringing.
“The captain is halfway up there, with no ropes, no safety net, not even a communicator to contact us if he gets into trouble.” Jackson pointed up at the rockface as he spoke. “He’s going to get himself killed!!”
Hill looked up. “You could be right. And if that happens…”
He did not have to finish. Both of them, like the rest of the crew, knew perfectly well that their jobs were only safe for as long as Olding was their commander. If he went, Starfleet would immediately break them up and find them the most despicable jobs imaginable.
“I’d better go and help him out,” Hill decided.
“Right. How?” Jackson said. “You can’t climb either.”
“I don’t have to,” Hill replied, as he rummaged around under the woodpile. “I’ve got these!” He produced the rocket boots with a flourish. “Don’t worry Doc, I’ll get him down.”
Jackson watched as Hill struggled into the boots, wondering how the commander would explain them to Olding when he reached him.
--
Captain Christopher Olding was not enjoying himself. In fact, he was hating every minute of this horrendous climb. But he had to do something to take his mind off Sonia Hebblethwaite, and climbing had seemed like a good idea. As it turned out, all it did was give him lots of time to think about her while he paused for breath every few minutes. And now he was too far up to just tamely go back down again. Gathering himself, he decided to take a quick look round. He swung his head round cautiously, looking out at the beauty of the area. He was careful not to look down, however. Beauty was one thing, but he had no wish to be reminded of just how far away he was from the ground. As he gazed out, he became aware of a noise from below. It appeared to be getting louder and louder. Perhaps it was a bird, Olding told himself. He listened more closely, still unwilling to look down. The sound was clearer now. It sounded like someone shouting:
“Oooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhssssssssssshhhhhhiiiiiiit!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Suddenly, there was a sonic boom, and Olding hung on for dear life as gale-force winds whipped past him. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew now what the sound was. A few seconds later, his suspicions were confirmed as Hill descended into his line of vision. The commander had a sheepish grin on his face.
“Morning, sir,” Hill said.
“Good morning, Commander,” Olding replied. “You just couldn’t resist it, could you?”
Hill looked down at his rocket boots. “What? Oh, yeah, them. Well, you know, I just thought I’d bring them just in case…”
“In case of what?”
“Well, you know, in case…” Hill didn’t have an answer.
Olding decided to change the subject. “What are you doing up here then?”
Hill gestured vaguely at the ground. Olding fought against the urge to look at where he was pointing. “Doctor Jackson was getting a little worried about you.”
“Oh, was he? Well, you can tell him from me, I don’t need a chaperooooooooooooooooooooooooo…”
As he fell, Olding realised that it had not been a good idea to try and point at Hill with his right hand and Jackson with his left at the same time. So this was how it ended, he thought. Starship Captain becomes strawberry jam in one easy move. The forest floor was getting very close now. This is it…
Olding abruptly felt a jerk on his foot. It was Hill. His first officer had followed him down in those bluidy boots of his. Hill climbed slowly, enough to ensure that Olding didn’t make contact with the ground, but not high enough, unfortunately, to make sure that Olding cleared the trees. As Hill flew back in the direction of their camp, Olding had to push branches out of the way in a valiant attempt to escape being bruised. He managed to avoid most of the serious damage, but still collected a mouthful of foliage along the way. When they finally reached the camp, Olding’s attempt at a cheery greeting to the by now very annoyed Jackson failed miserably. “Mmmf mmmf mmmf.”
--
Several hours later, the three of them sat round the camp fire, stomachs growling, and teeth chattering. After Olding had recovered from his fall, he had discovered, that, in all the excitement, Jackson had left the camp unguarded, and their tents, food and supplies had been stolen by a group of Starfleet academy cadets on a survival exercise. They had found a note left by one of the cadets that had annoyed Olding intensely. It read:
‘Sorry about the tents, old fruit, but I’m afraid we had to borrow them. Survival and all that, doncha know?
Signed, 4th year Starfleet Academy Cadet Cholmondely-Smythe.’
And so they sat, hungry, cold and hacked off. Eventually, Hill spoke up.
“Why don’t we sing some songs? Might cheer us up a bit.”
Privately, Olding doubted it very much, but he was willing to give it a try.
“What are we going to sing?” Jackson asked.
“Not one of those damn tunes that Wall and Damerell keep playing.” Olding said.
“No worries there, sir,” Hill said fervently.
“Good. I can’t be doin’ wi’ any o’ that nonsense.”
They then sat in silence for a few more minutes until Jackson said, “How about ‘Moon over Rigel VII?”
“Nah, too mushy. I know, how about, ‘Moons over Rigel VIII’?” Hill said.
Olding thought about this for a moment, then suggested, “How about ‘Row, row, row your boat?”
“Perfect sir!” Hill said, and Jackson nodded.
Olding, realising that he had just voted himself to the post of choirmaster, cleared his throat, and began to sing. “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…”
Hill joined in a line later. As he sang, though, it became clear that he was not singing the same lyrics as Olding or Jackson. They stopped so they could hear what exactly it was that he was singing. “…Belts off, trousers down, isn’t life a scream! Er, why are you staring at me like that, sir?”
Under Olding’s stare, Hill wilted and looked away.
When he could finally trust himself to speak without biting Hill’s head off, Olding said, “Why don’t we all get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”
“Goodnight sir.”
“Goodnight Doctor.”
“Goodnight Doctor.”
“Goodnight Commander.”
“Goodnight Mr Hill.”
“Goodnight Captain.”
“Oh, and Commander.”
“Yes sir?”
“If I ever hear you singing like that again I’ll have you court-martialled. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir.”
--
Aboard the Psycho, Graham was contemplating passing out. It seemed like a good idea. He had been working like a dervish for the past three weeks in an attempt to get the Psycho fixed and ready for operational duty. Well, actually, he had watching his undermanned engineering staff working like dervishes, but that was pretty hard work in itself. Now, at least, he had the primary systems almost on-line, and once that was done, the rest would just look after itself. It had better, he thought grimly. He certainly wasn’t going to look after it. He slumped in one of the chairs by the communications station and looked across the bridge. One bright spot of the refit was getting Mr Bleep working again.
The android had been of great use to Graham during the refit. It didn’t answer back like his human staff would when he shouted at them, and, being an android, it didn’t need sleep, so Graham had allocated it all the nasty jobs that no-one else wanted, which it did during the ship’s night. Currently, Bleep was sweeping the bridge.
Graham’s moment of peace was ruined by the computer’s voice warbling across the speakers. And the message it was repeating was not a nice one. “Re-re-re-red alert.”
Graham flicked on the console. “Go away! I’m trying to get some sleep.”
“Psycho, this is Starfleet Command.”
Graham was in no mood for practical jokes. “Piss off, Wall, this isn’t the right time.”
“Mr Graham!!!!” The voice was very angry now. It occurred to Graham that maybe this wasn’t Wall taking the mickey after all. “This is Admiral Sowerby!!! I have Priority One orders for you!!! You are to recall all key personnel at once!!! Do you understand?!!!”
“Yes sir.” Graham hurriedly closed the channel and turned to Bleep. “Mr Bleep.”
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Yes sir?”
“I’ve got a new job for you. Start rounding up all junior officers from their shoreleave while I get to work finding the command staff.”
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Yes sir.” Bleep took its seat next to Graham. The android had had to have a specially constructed titanium stool made for it after it broke the first two standard chairs allotted to it. The two of them began their work. Graham groaned aloud as he realised that his planned rest had just gone out of the airlock. Priority One orders always meant trouble.
--
Wall and Damerell were having a great time. And they were getting paid very handsomely for it. Admittedly, what they were doing was in flagrant violation of Starfleet regulations on moonlighting, and would get them court-martialled if ever they were caught, but the prospect of all that money had blinded them to that risk. And anyway, this was their last gig, and their leave wasn’t due to end for another five days. No-one would ever know.
On their return from the 20th century, they had invested in some leather jackets, guitars and a synthesiser, and, having cunningly disguised their names as Philip Wall and Gavin Damerell, had got themselves a concert in the British Republic’s Wembley Stadium. Once Wall had got over the guilt pangs about having caused a major change in world history (before the last mission, the country had been known as the United Kingdom) they had started attracting massive audiences, all desperate to hear them play their new hits. The ‘new hits’, of course, were the songs that they had heard in the 20th century which had not survived until the 23rd, thus allowing them to claim the songs as their own.
Thus, they were standing on the platform, playing ‘We will rock you’ to 60,000 screaming fans, when Wall’s communicator went off.
“WE WILL, WE WILL, ROCK YOU…” Bleep Bleep. “OH, HELL!” Wall shouted to Damerell, waving his communicator. “TAKE OVER, WILL YOU? I’D BETTER ANSWER THIS!” So, while Damerell continued to sing, Wall flipped open his communicator.
“HELLO, YES?” he bellowed over the noise.
Graham’s voice responded. “This is a recall. I’m sending a shuttlecraft to pick you up. And what’s that awful noise?”
Wall decided to bluff it out. “WHAT NOISE?”
On the Psycho, Graham had nearly been blown out of his chair by the wall of noise that had erupted from the bridge speakers. By turning the sound right down, he was now just about able to stand it. “That noise!!! That awful singing!!!!”
“OH, THAT NOISE!!! UM, WELL, THAT’S JUST A COUPLE OF FRIENDS OF OURS. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.”
“Yes, well, nonetheless, we’ve been ordered to recall all key personnel, so the shuttle’s on it’s way directly to your co-ordinates.” There was a long pause.
When Wall replied, Graham was sure he could detect a definite note of panic in the helmsman’s voice. “THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE.”
“What isn’t possible?”
“SENDING A SHUTTLE HERE. IT’S, ER, A BIT CROWDED DOWN HERE. WE’LL MOVE AND CALL YOU AGAIN.”
“Well, okay, but make it quick.” Graham shut off the signal. His ears hummed gently.
Wall rushed across the platform and whispered in Damerell’s ear. Unfortunately, he forgot that he was wearing a microphone, so the entire audience heard the conversation across the 60 foot high speakers on either side of the platform.
“THAT WAS THE SHIP!” Wall said. He shook his head slightly. He could have sworn he heard an echo just then. “THEY WANT US BACK.”
“WHAT, NOW?” Damerell asked.
“YES, NOW!!!! COME ON!!!” They hurried off the platform. The audience, startled by this unexpected development, started to mutter amongst themselves. The mutter quickly became a roar, as 60,000 very angry people overran the platform in a search for blood.
--
Olding had just been dreaming a pleasant dream in which his entire crew were lost in a freak shuttlecraft accident (Lieutenant Wall was piloting – nuff said), when he was awakened by a bright light and the shouts of Hill and Jackson. Turning over, he opened his eyes, only to close them again as a powerful beam of light was aimed straight at him.
“Get that bluidy light out of my face!!” As if by magic, the light switched off, and Mr Bleep stepped into the camp.
“Oo the ‘ell are you?” Olding asked blearily.
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Stand clear of the doors please… Mr Bleep, your new communications officer, sir.”
“Oh. I see. What do you want?”
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… There has been a recall signal sent out, sir. All officers to return to the ship, sir.”
“I see. Why didn’t you bleep my communicator?”
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… You forgot to take it with you, sir.”
“Hmm. Wonder why I did that?”
Olding took hold of the communicator that Bleep offered him. The android refused to let go. Olding tugged harder. Still the android gripped the communicator tightly. Finally, a small screen set into its chest lit up, and displayed a message.
‘Fingers.sys failed. Reboot y/n?’
Olding selected ‘y’, and stood back as Mr Bleep suddenly shut down. The android then began its reboot sequence. Unfortunately, this involved a diagnostic of all systems, which, although it was very quick, caused Bleep to clench its fists as part of the test. Olding watched helplessly as the communicator shattered into thousands of fragments as Bleep crushed it.
The screen then displayed another message: ‘Reboot successful’. Bleep turned and clanked off towards the shuttle.
Olding could not help but notice that the android’s walk was somewhat idiosyncratic, a factor he blamed on Graham’s repair. He was sure that the designers had not intended the android’s left leg to swing out perpendicularly from the rest of its body as it walked. What that had done to the walls of the Psycho, Olding had no idea. He was about to find out, though.
“Well, gentlemen, pack your bags. We’re goin’ back to work.”
Hill and Jackson muttered to themselves as they collected their kitbags and followed Olding to the waiting shuttlecraft.
--
The shuttle flight was smooth, Olding was pleased to note. It seemed that Bleep was a superior pilot to Wall, not that that was difficult. The shuttle was the Lecter, a new version of the ship Wall had decimated at the beginning of all this excitement. Bleep took them up past Spacedock to one of the orbital holding points where the Psycho had been moved. Olding allowed himself to forget the myriad of problems that undoubtedly afflicted the Psycho, and stood at Bleep’s shoulder, gazing at his ship. “I must down to the sea again, the lonely sea and sky, and all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.” Hill and Jackson exchanged glances. What on earth was the captain on about now? They chose to let it pass.
The shuttle reached the Psycho, and the ship’s tractor beams took over. Olding suspected that Graham was at the controls, as the landing, while not careless, certainly did not take into account the fact that there were passengers on board as they were brought into the shuttle bay at full speed, stopped dead, then dumped onto the deck like a cargo pallet. Shakily, Olding, Hill and Jackson disembarked, to be met by Graham in his working clothes.
“All I can say is, this ship is a piece of …”
“Thank you, Mr Graham!” Olding said before Graham could finish the sentence. “You said you could have this ship operational in two weeks and I gave you three. What happened?”
“I lied.”
Olding could think of nothing to say to Graham in response, having to be content with a lame, “Very well, Mister, carry on.”
They then left the bay just as Graham began to shout at one of his team. “How many times do I have to tell you!!! The right tool for the right job!!!!” he screamed, before proceeding to hit the junior engineer over the head repeatedly with what was presumably the right tool.
They entered the turbolift, and a slurred voice said, “Le-le-le-le-level?”
“Bridge. I hope,” Olding responded. The three of them were then pinned to the floor as the turbolift shot up through its tube at frightening speed. As it reached the bridge, it braked so sharply that they banged their heads on the ceiling. Then, as Olding tried to exit, only one of the doors opened, and he walked straight into the still-closed one.
“Doesn’t anything on this bluidy ship work?” he asked angrily.
Rubbing his nose, he walked out onto the bridge, and chaos. There were bits of consoles everywhere, and behind him he heard Hill mutter, “I wish I’d stayed now.”
Then hearing anything became impossible as heavy-duty rock music swept the bridge. Wall and Damerell had managed to attach their infernal ghetto-blaster to the ship’s power-grid, and had parked it on top of the helm/navigation console. Crewmen all over the bridge clutched at their ears in agony, except for Wall, Damerell and Mr Bleep. Bleep seemed to be able to filter the music out, and Wall and Damerell had launched into their head-banging routine.
“CAN WE HAVE A LITTLE QUIET, PLEASE?!!!!” Olding bellowed above the din. Somehow, Damerell heard him and turned the volume down.
“I was thinking more of it being COMPLETELY OFF!!!” Olding shouted. Damerell turned the machine off. “Thank you. And what on Earth are you wearing?!!!” The helmsman and navigator were wearing identical leather jackets with the words ‘Wyld Stallyns’ written on the back in small metal studs.
“Oh, well, um, you see…” Damerell stuttered.
“Never mind. I don’t think I really want to know anyway.”
Olding took his seat, suddenly conscious that Wall and Damerell were not the only ones out of uniform. He, Hill and Jackson were still in their climbing gear, and between them they made up the command staff! This would not look good.
He turned to Bleep to tell the android not to activate the viewscreen, but it was too late. The screen flicked on to reveal Admiral Sowerby behind his desk in Starfleet HQ. He squinted at the screen as if he was unsure if his picture was correct. Olding felt the need to explain.
“Sorry about t’ clothes. We’ve just been on leave.”
Sowerby frowned. “Have you heard of Limbo III?!!!”
The name rang a bell in Olding’s memory. “That was the planet that we were supposed to collect the ambassadors for the peace conference from, wasn’t it?”
“Yes!!! While you have been… otherwise occupied, they have been taken hostage!!! Your orders are to proceed to Limbo III, assess the situation, and effect a rescue, if possible!!!”
“Sir, all due respect, but t’ Psycho is a disaster. Can’t you send another ship?”
“Negative!!! This is your mess, you sort it out!!!” The screen blinked off.
Olding sat back in his chair, and wobbled it a bit. It didn’t move.
“Something wrong sir?” Jackson asked.
“I miss my old chair,” Olding replied. He wobbled it again, and the chair’s stand broke, pitching him backwards. Picking himself up, Olding clenched his fists and counted to ten.
Once he had finished, he said, “Navigation, lay in a course for Limbo III.”
Damerell fished out his new copy of ‘Collin’s Guide to Federation Space and its Environs’, and typed in the appropriate co-ordinates.
“Course plotted and laid in,” he said.
“Helm, warp five, engage!”
Wall cracked his knuckles and engaged the ship’s warp drive. The Psycho sped off on her latest adventure.
--
Some time later, after a visit from Graham’s engineers had fixed Olding’s chair, and they had all changed back into their proper uniforms, they received a transmission from Starfleet.
Olding and the others sat and watched as Starfleet intelligence files on the three diplomats were played. The Federation ambassador, H F Mudd Junior, seemed like nobody special, as was the Romulan delegate, Proconsul Tharajus, but the Klingon delegate’s name made Olding sit up and take notice.
“Bluidy ‘ell!” he said, “It’s General Krudd!!”
“Who’s General Krudd, sir?” Damerell asked.
“Don’t you remember? General Krudd’s exploits were required reading in t’ Academy tactics classes. You must have read about his little manoeuvre at t’ Battle of Tanab.”
“No, sir,” Damerell looked embarrassed. “I took woodwork.”
Before Olding could respond, a new file popped up on the viewscreen. “Ah, this must be the tape the hostages were forced to make.”
The screen flickered, and it was immediately obvious that the tape was of bad quality. However, despite the static, the three hostages could be clearly seen. One of them, the Romulan hostage, began speaking.
“At precisely 1600 hours today, we willingly surrendered to the forces of the Galactic Church of Peaceful Evangelical Witnesses. Their leader has assured us that we will not be harmed, and requests you send a starship to parlay for our release.”
The scene then changed to an office. Behind a large desk sat the leader of the terrorists. His dress was strange. As far as anyone could tell, it seemed to be some sort of large robe with bits hanging off in decorative shapes. The overall effect was of an origami class on drugs. When the man spoke, it was in an accent that reminded Olding of Fred the barman, currently not aboard because by no stretch of the imagination could a barman be called key personnel.
“Ah’m very sorry this had to happen, but these are desperate tahms, and desperate tahms call for desperate measures. Ah insist you send a starship right away, or ah cannot guarantee the safety of the hostages. May the Greater Glory of the Galactic Church of PEW reverberate throughout the universe!!! Hallelujah, brothers!!!!!!!”
“What a nutcase,” Olding observed.
No-one heard him, though. They were all looking at Hill. The first officer had stood up, and was currently gibbering while pointing at the screen as if it would explode. Just as Olding was about to speak to him, Hill ran off the bridge. As the turbolift doors closed, they heard Hill shout, “Oh my Go…” There was obviously something serious afoot.
--
Taking the other turbolift, Olding found himself accompanied by Jackson. The doors closed, and the computer warbled “Please state your deeeeeeeessssssstiiiiiiiinnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaatiooooooooooooooooooon.”
Olding had no time for broken machines, snapping, “Follow that lift!” and, in his hurry to find out which of his first officer’s screws had come loose, quite forgot about the turbolift’s vicious acceleration.
When they unpeeled themselves from the lift ceiling, Olding and Jackson found themselves outside the bar. It was dark inside, as none of the supplies or decorations had been brought on board, not even the lights. They entered, tripping over the small ledge that some genius had thought would look good. The swing doors were just as vicious as they had been on the original Psycho, catching Jackson a nasty blow in the ribs. Hill stood by one of the wall-length windows, staring out into warp space.
“Something wrong, Commander?”
Hill turned to face them. His face was ashen. “The terrorist leader is… someone I once knew, sir.”
“I see. Can you tell us about him?”
Hill swallowed. “He was always very interested in ‘saving people’, sir. He believed that he would one day locate Dunmanifestin, the mythical home of the gods, and take all of Creation there, sir.”
Olding frowned as he digested this. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Loopy, but not too bad.”
“That’s not all, sir. He hypnotizes people by preaching at them for a while. Once they’re hypnotized, he persuades them to hand over all their cash, or pledge their loyalty to him, whatever he decides he needs.”
“Is he really that persuasive?”
“Oh yes. With those three hostages, he could hold the Romulans, Klingons and the Federation to ransom by threatening to empty their bank accounts.”
“Oh. We’d better hurry then. Do you feel up to continuing with your duties?”
“I think so, sir.”
“Good. Come on, then.”
With that, the three of them left for the bridge.
--
They returned to the bridge just as the Psycho entered the Limbo system.
“Scan t’ third planet, Mr Hill,” Olding ordered, as he gingerly sat down in his chair. Thankfully, nothing gave.
As Hill got on with it, Olding watched Limbo III grow on the screen. “Drop back to impulse, Mr Wall, and bring us into a standard orbit.”
“Aye, sir, coming out of warp now.” Too late, Olding remembered that his new chair didn’t have the braces that his old chair had, and he was thrown forwards onto the helm console as the ship’s velocity suddenly decreased.
Climbing back into his chair, Olding said, “Try and do it a little more gently next time.”
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Message from the capital, Utopia City, Captain.”
“No reply, Mr Bleep. Let them think we’re having difficulties. Which wouldn’t be that far from t’ truth.”
At that point, Hill straightened up. “Scan complete, sir. Nothing unusual. But…”
“What?” Olding knew by the look on Hill’s face that the news he was about to give him would not be good.
“Klingon Bird of Prey in this system. Estimate 1.2 hours until her weapons come to bear.”
“Damn. There’s only one reason why there would be a Bird of Prey here. They’re trying to stop us!!”
“Isn’t it possible that they’re simply here to offer help?” Hill asked.
Olding shook his head. “No, Commander. If they were here to offer help, they’d have sent a Battle Cruiser or three. You know how the Klingons love to overreact. This lot are acting independently.” Olding hit the intercom. “Mr Graham, are the transporters operational?”
“Now, if you’d asked me that just three minutes ago, I’d have said yes. But I was just cleaning the particle emitters, and now the entire system’s in bits all over the floor. Sorry.”
“Blast!” Olding turned off the intercom. Wall had turned round in anticipation of Olding’s next order. He was already grinning. “Yes, Mr Wall, we’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way. Mr Hill, Doctor, you’re with me. You too, Mr Bleep, and of course you, Mr Wall.”
“Alright!!!” Wall shouted, punching the air.
Ignoring it, Olding turned to Damerell, and said, “Mr Damerell, you have the conn.”
Damerell clutched the sides of his chair until his breathing recovered enough for him to wheeze, “Aye, sir.”
“Come on, then, you lot.”
--
The Lecter cleared the shuttle bay in record time, as Olding and his small team checked their weapons. Wall was overdoing it, as he always did when he was excited. Olding had briefly considered ordering Mr Bleep to take over, but had decided that that was likely to provoke a mutiny, and left Wall to it. The mutiny, if it came, would only come from Wall, but that in itself would be more than Olding wanted to deal with right now. So he endured the constant bouncing, rapid speed changes and stupid comments from the pilot’s position (“Whee!” and “That was fun!” were amongst the more annoying examples), comforting himself with the thought that at least this time the tractor beams were working and there was every chance that they would bring this shuttle back in one piece.
As they approached Utopia City, Wall flew the shuttle ridiculously close to the ground. Why he did it, Olding wasn’t sure. There weren’t any scanners capable of picking them up anywhere on the planet, so flying low achieved nothing.
Finally, he gave the order for them to put down while they were still quite far away from Utopia, as he did not want to be visually sighted from the city. There was a long trudge ahead of them, unless they could find a quicker method. The shuttle dropped to the ground with a crunch, and Wall opened the rear troop door. The security team charged out, nearly trampling the senior officers in their rush.
Olding gave his last orders. “Mr Wall, you stay here to guard t’ shuttle. The rest of you, let’s go.”
Before he could leave, Bleep grabbed his arm, spinning him round on the spot. “What’s t’ matter, Bleep?”
“Bleep…. wzrtfgl… I’m afraid I can’t do that Dave… I will not be able to accompany you for that distance, Captain. Sand would get in my joints and I would seize up.”
Olding rubbed the sore patch on his arm where Bleep had grabbed him. It looked like he would have to take Wall after all. The helmsman knew it, too. He was already smearing camouflage paint over his face. The result was, Olding had to admit, quite effective. Pointless, but effective. Then Wall rendered it ineffective by tying a bright red bandanna around his forehead.
“Ready now?” Olding asked wearily.
“Ready for anything, sir,” Wall said, hefting a hand phaser as if it were three times its actual size and weight.
“Can we go now, then?”
They had been walking for ten minutes when they spotted the encampment. Wall had been a perfect nuisance, and Olding was about ready to shoot him. For the first three minutes, Wall had run ahead of the group, his phaser held at shoulder height, then waited for them to catch up before running on again. As he did, he muttered things like “Yo!” and “Hut!”. Then, he began to tire, and dropped back to walking at the front of the group, then he slowed until he was trailing at the back and wailing things like “Are we nearly there yet?”. He had finally shut up, and Olding was able to think as he looked at the camp through his image intensifiers. At one side of the encampment, a group of horse-like creatures were tied up to a post.
He turned to Hill. “We need those things. Any ideas on how to get them?”
“Actually, sir, I do.”
--
Damerell had unwisely decided to listen to the terrorist leader when he called again. After all, he reasoned, at least this way he might gain some time for the captain.
“This is the starship Psycho,” he began, and, suddenly hit by a wave of daring, added, “Captain Philip Damerell speaking.”
“Captain Damerell, greetings. Mah name is Nathaniel Hill, and Ah am the leader of PEW.”
Damerell was so excited about pretending to be the captain that the name of the terrorist went straight over his head. “I must ask you to surrender your hostages.”
“Ah’m afraid Ah can’t do that, captain. Y’see, Ah still need them. But rest assured, they will not be harmed.”
--
The horsemen were tired. They had been out on patrol for Nathaniel for most of the day, and were discovering the hard way that spiritual happiness does not necessarily translate into physical happiness. So it came as a great shock to them when very loud music began to play from out of the desert, and they began to involuntarily headbang to it. Still throwing their heads wildly backwards and forwards, they moved towards the source of the music. They could dimly see a figure standing on the top of a sand-dune, and as they got closer, the music grew much louder, until they could barely think. They scrabbled part of the way up the dune, still headbanging like mad, until they suddenly found themselves surrounded by armed Federation soldiers, all wearing pink fluffy earmuffs. The music abruptly ended, and one of the Federation men stood up. When he spoke, it was in an accent unfamiliar to most of them.
“Now, lads, about these horses o’ yours.”
--
The Starfleet team had found out pretty early on that the horse-creatures were very uncomfortable to ride. They were all bouncing up and down stiffly in the saddle, and Olding was pretty certain he had sustained major damage to several vital anatomical parts. Their perseverance was rewarded by the sight of Utopia getting closer very quickly. As they got closer, Olding shouted out “Federation soldiers, about a mile behind us!!!!!” They ran in through the gates, which were then slammed shut behind them.
Dismounting, Olding and his team pushed their way through the crowds of terrorists heading for the gate, following Hill’s tricorder readings.
“There they are, sir. They’re in that building.” He indicated a large building with the name ‘Utopia Inn’.
As he looked at it, Olding was struck by the thought that Fred would be really at home in there.
“Come on, there’s no time to lose.”
--
Damerell was struggling not to yawn as the terrorist leader explained his masterplan to him. “…and then Ah will lead all of God’s children to Dunmanifestin, yes ALL of God’s children, and there we shall praise him for ever and ever. Hallelujah, brother!!!”
“Hallelujah,” Damerell grunted.
The terrorist leader was about to drone on but the sound of phaser fire outside stopped him.
“What are you doing?!!!!” he shouted.
Damerell tried to imitate Olding as he said, “You are under attack by superior Federation forces. I advise you to surrender at once.”
“It wasn’t bloodshed Ah was after!!!” Nathaniel bellowed. He then ran out of the room, leaving Damerell shouting, “No! Wait!! Come back!!!!”
--
As they approached the building, phasers out but hidden under their cloaks, Olding thought they would get away with it.
That hope was shattered when a voice shouted, “Where are they going?!!” and a searchlight was turned on them.
Realising that the game was up, Olding said, “Phasers on stun!! Mr Wall, take out that bluidy light!”
“Aye sir,” Wall said, running towards the building which held the searchlight.
Olding could hear his cries of “Hut hut hut,” get louder, until the zap of a phaser beam and the fall of darkness told him that Wall had been successful. Around him, he could hear screams and shouts, and the noise of phasers and the stone guns that the terrorists were using, but he concentrated on the inn as he sprinted towards it. Running in through the swing doors, he suddenly realised that his shoelaces were coming undone. Bending to tie them up, he heard a scream and a rush of air over him, followed by a thud. Straightening up, he saw a terrorist sliding off the wall, unconscious. He raised an eyebrow, and hurried into the anteroom beyond. There, he found the three hostages sitting calmly.
“Thank God. I’m Captain Chris Olding o’ t’ starship Psycho. Please come with … me….” He trailed off as he saw the weapons in the diplomats’ hands, and that they were aimed at him.
--
They were led outside, the security officers and the command crew grouped together in a small, reluctant huddle. They were powerless to prevent their phasers from being removed, and Olding held Wall back when his helmsman tried, rather foolishly, to attack a group of about 15 terrorists who had taken his phaser.
“Steady, Lieutenant,” he warned, “Your time will come, I promise you.” Wall struggled for a bit before calming down.
The leader of the terrorists stepped up onto a platform, and addressed his followers. “Well done, mah friends!” he announced. “You have taken the first step towards reachin’ Paradise!!!”
Hill stepped forwards, his face set. “Nathaniel, is that you?” The terrorist leader paused, and looked at Hill.
“Well, well, well,” he laughed, “So young Dicky is still playin’ for the wrong side, eh?”
Hill bridled at the term ‘Dicky’. “I’ve got something to say, to you, Nathaniel.”
“What? You’re not goin’ to finally admit you were wrong and Ah was right? That the one true God has chosen me to be his prophet after all?”
“No. You are under arrest for unlawful imprisonment. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say…” the rest of Hill’s speech was drowned out by the prolonged laughter of Nathaniel’s followers.
“Ah’m sorry, Dicky, but Ah’m not finished breakin’ the law yet. In fact, for mah next crime, Ah intend to steal somethin’. Somethin’ very big!”
Olding saw it all now. “You staged all this to get your hands on my starship!”
Nathaniel looked at him. “Just who are you?”
“Chris Olding, Captain o’ t’ Psycho.”
“But Ah thought Captain Damerell… ah, Ah see. Very clever, Captain.” Olding made a mental note to have a word with his navigator on the subject of the proper chain of command. “Come.”
--
On the Psycho bridge, Damerell sat slumped in the centre seat. Graham had arrived some minutes before, but had had nothing to report, so the two of them had just sat there and waited. Finally, a console bleeped.
Graham turned to it, then said, “Shuttle en route.”
Damerell felt a little cheered, but remembered his training. “Position Bird of Prey?”
“Closing.” Graham’s voice was grim. “Hang on… Damn! I’ve lost her. She must have cloaked.”
“Raise shields.”
Graham did so immediately.
Damerell went over to the communications station, and opened a channel to the shuttle. “Lecter, this is Psycho. Bird of Prey approaching. She is cloaked. Recommend Lecter finds a safe harbour until situation secure.”
There was no response from the shuttle for several long moments. Then, the answer came. “Psycho, this is Olding. We can’t go back. Hang on a mo while we get things sorted out in here.”
--
Olding turned to Nathaniel. “You heard him. There’s a Bird of Prey arriving here. The Psycho has raised her shields. In order for her to lower them, bring us aboard, then raise the shields again, it would take, uh…”
“Fifteen seconds if you’re lucky,” Hill interrupted.
Olding nodded vigorously. “An eternity, during which we’ll be vulnerable to Klingon attack. Krudd, you tell him.”
The Klingon general, a vast lump of a man, waddled forwards. “He speaks the truth. If my people are cloaked, then they intend to strike.”
“We can’t turn back now.” Nathaniel would brook no argument.
Olding was getting desperate. “Then let me do something!!” If he didn’t, they were going to get themselves killed.
“Go on then, do what you must.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Olding turned to the comm panel. It was only then that he realised that he didn’t have the faintest idea about what he was going to say until he actually said it.
“Psycho, this is Olding. We are unable to return to t’ planet. We are going to have to implement… Emergency Landing Plan B.”
Damerell’s voice sounded confused. “Er, right. What’s Emerg…”
Olding cut him off. “That’s B as in Barricade, or Bates.” He laid particular emphasis on the last word. Cutting the channel off before Damerell started to scream, he turned to Nathaniel and said, “In order to speed up things a bit, we’re going to forgo the tractor beam, and land manually.”
“Manually?!!!” Hill repeated, while Jackson’s face went white.
Wall, on the other hand, started to mutter “Yo!” and “Hut!!”
Nathaniel stepped up to Wall, and asked, “Have you ever done this before?”
“Oh, absolutely!! Loads of times!!! Well, once or twice!!!! Haven’t I, sir?”
Nathaniel turned to Olding, who nodded.
“He’s good. No, really.”
Wall began to fire up the thrusters in preparation. The “Yo!”s and “Hut!”s got louder. Olding opened the channel again.
“Olding to Graham: lower shields.”
“Lowering shields, sir.” Olding double checked the statement on the shuttle’s scanners before he gave his next order. He wouldn’t put it past Graham to not lower the shields, simply to be nasty if nothing else.
“Olding to Graham: open bay doors.” There was no acknowledgement this time, but Olding could see the doors begin to rumble open.
At that moment, Bleep piped up. “Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Klingon Bird of Prey bearing 105 Mark 2.”
“Go, Mr Wall!!!”
The shuttle leapt forwards, throwing everyone against the rear bulkhead. Olding fought to keep himself from losing consciousness as he watched his ship grow larger very quickly. He had seen the results of Wall’s last two attempts to land a shuttle without outside aid, and now he was about to find out what it was like from the inside. Olding passed out.
--
He was just in time. With Wall grinning maniacally at the helm, the Lecter shot into the Psycho‘s shuttle bay like a bat out of hell. Surprisingly, Wall had learnt something from his extensive experience of crashing spaceships. He had learnt that the best way to stop a crashing spaceship from colliding with vertical objects, eg bulkheads, was to collide them with horizontal ones, eg decks. So the Lecter was thrust viciously into the deckplates and carved a long line along the Psycho‘s previously pristine deck.
Graham, who had reached the control gallery moments before, activated the emergency cargo securing net. The net sprung out of its compartment hidden in the deck, launched vertically upwards by small airjets along its upper edge. Unfortunately, the net had not been secured at the lower edge, so it shot completely out of its housing and passed straight over the Lecter. Thus unimpeded, the shuttle collided spectacularly, not to mention messily, with the rear bulkhead. Wall’s last conscious thought was that this one hadn’t been so bad, all things considered.
Graham’s voice came over the bridge speakers. “They’re in!!!”
Damerell turned to the helm, shouting “Warp speed, now!!!” Unfortunately, there was no-one there, and the one ensign who was on the bridge with him looked up from the communications station surprised. Damerell jumped out of the command chair and slammed the ship into warp just as the Klingon ship fired. The torpedo chased the ship as it accelerated towards warp-speed, aimed directly for the still-open shuttle bay doors.
Olding, who had just staggered out of the shuttle, was horrified to see the glowing tip of the torpedo slowly enter the shuttle bay. A little voice at the back of his head tried to point out that it was okay, it was simply that the torpedo was still moving marginally faster than the Psycho. However, the little voice was completely drowned out by a much louder voice screaming “BLUIDY ‘ELL!!!!” The torpedo came closer to Olding until it was a few inches from his nose. His eyes crossed with the effort of trying to focus. After what seemed an eternity, and probably was, given the fact that the Psycho-A was just as bad as, if not worse, than her predecessor at accelerating, the ship completed her transition to warp. The torpedo fell away very fast, and Olding breathed a sigh of relief.
“Your crew are quite good, aren’t they, Captain?” Olding looked round to see Nathaniel standing in a Biblical pose, legs apart, hands on hips, and his beard fluttering slightly in the breeze that was being generated by a broken vent somewhere in the bay. Olding was reminded of his first officer for some unknown reason.
“What do you want with my ship?” he asked.
“All will shortly become clear, Captain. Now…” Nathaniel began to advance towards him. In desperation, Olding tried a manoeuvre he had seen Wall try with some success.
“What’s that?” he said, and pointed over Nathaniel’s shoulder. Nathaniel looked round, and Olding clenched his fist.
Unfortunately, Nathaniel’s hand shot out and grabbed Olding by the throat. As he effortlessly lifted Olding into the air,
Olding managed to choke out, “How the ‘ell did you do that?”
“I saw your reflection in the control room window.”
“Oh. Bugger.” As Olding fought for breath, he saw something which gave him hope. Hill had clambered out of the wreckage, and, most importantly, he was clutching one of the outdated guns that the terrorists were using. He marched towards Nathaniel, who flung Olding aside, and turned to face Hill, his hands at his hips.
Hill cocked the gun, and said, “Nathaniel, you must surrender.”
“NO!” Nathaniel’s voice reverberated around the shuttle bay. “You must make me!”
Olding was getting fed up with all this. “Shoot him!” he shouted.
Hill stiffened, but made no attempt to fire.
Nathaniel marched up to Hill, still with his hands on his hips. “Ah will not surrender. You must kill me.”
Hill’s hand trembled, but still he did not shoot. Nathaniel grabbed the gun from him, and tossed it away. Olding began to shudder as he repressed the urge to physically assault Hill. He contented himself with frowning at his first officer, who withered under the gaze.
--
By this time, the other terrorists had recovered and hauled the remainder of Olding’s crew out of the shuttle. Olding groaned as he noticed that Mr Bleep was once again in several sections, which the terrorists unceremoniously dumped on the deck. Wall and Jackson seemed to be okay, although Wall was giggling and trying to chase his shadow.
“Take these three and put them in the brig,” Nathaniel commanded, pointing at Olding, Hill and Jackson. “The rest of you, come with me.” So saying, he grabbed Wall’s arm and led him out of the bay. The last thing Olding saw of his helmsman was Wall trying to count the number of heads Nathaniel had. Apparently he seemed to think the human had more than one.
When the terrorists reached the bridge, they found that Damerell had got bored and plugged his headphones into the ghetto blaster, which was vibrating slightly. He took no notice of the intruders, and Nathaniel took this to be a good sign. Seating Wall down at the helm, he passed Damerell a piece of paper with the course he wished them to follow. Damerell tapped in the course without looking round. Nathaniel took his seat and watched the stars on the screen change as the ship sped towards her new destination. He was on his way to encounter the glory of the Almighty at his home Dunmanifestin’.
--
Olding paced backwards and forwards in the small brig.
Jackson, who had been watching him for quite some time, said, “Please, sir, you’re making me feel tired.”
Olding stopped and levelled a finger at Hill, who was sat quietly in a corner. “Why the bluidy ‘ell didn’t you shoot him?”
Hill looked up and said, “Captain, if I had pulled the trigger, Nathaniel would now be dead.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Commander. You’re not that good a shot.”
Olding fumed for a little while, until Hill took a deep breath, and said, “Sir, I couldn’t shoot my brother.”
“Your brother?!! Since when did you become a hippy?!!!!”
“No, sir, you don’t understand. Nathaniel is my brother.”
Olding was stunned; Jackson no less so. “Your brother brother?”
“Yes, sir.”
Olding frowned again. “He can’t be!!! I mean, I know every piece of data in your file and I know for a fact you don’t have a brother!!!”
Hill nodded. “That’s right, Captain. I don’t have a brother.”
Olding looked at Hill with his head cocked on one side. “Eh?”
“I have a half-brother. My father was married twice. His first wife dumped him when she was pregnant, and became a nun. Nathaniel followed in her footsteps.”
“He became a nun?”
‘Not exactly, sir. I meant he became a religious fanatic.”
“I see.” Olding sat down hard on the bunk, and winced as the solid metal bunk caused extensive bruising. “Is he dangerous?”
Hill nodded his head vigorously. “Very much so.”
“Then we have to get out of here.”
--
They had been fiddling with the electronics of the cell for quite some time, and Olding was starting to get frustrated. He was standing on Hill’s shoulders, examining some of the circuitry in a panel mounted in the ceiling. Below him, Hill was shaking his head. “Useless.”
“Shuttup, Commander!” Olding fiddled a little more.
“Unwise.”
“For goodness sake, shuttup!!” Olding shouted. “I’ve got it now.” He grabbed a EPS power tap and twisted. He then screamed as a painfully large current passed through his fingers. Falling to the floor, he grabbed his hand, which appeared to be glowing.
Hill looked down at him. “I told you so.”
“Shut it!” Olding growled.
“Sir, this cell is fiddle-proof. The designers tested it on the most resourceful fiddler they could find. He failed to escape.”
Olding raised an eyebrow. “This fiddler. He wouldn’t happen to be the sort of person who enjoys dismantling all things technical and not putting them back together, would he?”
Hill nodded sheepishly.
“I see.”
He was about to add a few more cutting remarks when the screen outside the brig lit up. It showed Nathaniel sitting in Olding’s chair. Olding muttered a few northern oaths at that, but was shushed by the other two. Nathaniel began to speak.
“Brave crew of the starship Psycho. Consider the questions of our existence. Who ahm Ah? Why ahm Ah here? Does God exist? These are the questions all beings have asked since they first gazed at the stars and dreamed. Well, Ah ahm here to answer those questions. Ah have been chosen by the Almighty, oh yes, the Almighty himself, to take you into the Not-so-Great Barrier to find the home of the Gods!! Together, we will accomplish His Holy Plan. Yes sir!!! Yes indeedy!!!!” The screen flicked off.
Olding turned to the others, and said, ‘Yes indeedy?”
Hill looked shocked. “I never thought he was that serious about it!! I always thought he was just in it for the money!!!”
“You mean, he’s got religion seriously now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, shit!!!”
At that moment, they heard a tapping at the back of the brig.
“What’s that?” Jackson asked.
“It’s Morse code!” Hill said. “Morse code was required learning at the Academy. I’m a little out of practice.” Hill was concentrating. “S… T… A… N… D…”
“Stand. Stand?” Jackson said. Olding waved him to silence.
“There’s more. B… A… C… K.”
“Stand back,” Jackson said, pleased that he had solved the puzzle.
“Stand back?” Olding and Hill repeated with horror.
The three of them got as close as they could to the forcefield at the front of the brig, ready for the back wall to explode. Consequently, they were very surprised when an explosive charge took out the forcefield generator at the front of the brig, and flung them into the back wall. As Olding recovered consciousness, and looked around him in a daze, he thought he could hear Graham’s laughter in the distance. The laughter came closer, and eventually Graham’s face poked itself into the brig.
Between gales of laughter, the engineer said, apparently to himself, “Oh, dear!! The oldest one in the book!!! Gets ’em every time!!!!”
Standing up, and gingerly feeling the top of his head as if unsure it was still there, Olding said, “Was that your doing, Mr Graham?”
“Oh yes. Fun, wasn’t it?”
Olding raised an eyebrow. “Help me dig out t’ Doctor and Commander Hill.”
--
Ten minutes later, having pulled Hill and Jackson out from beneath the wreckage, they set off through the bowels of the ship. Graham quickly filled them in on the situation, what little of it they didn’t know. His explanation could have been even quicker if he had not insisted on adding to his explanation his opinions about Nathaniel, Wall, and, confusingly, Admiral Forster.
Once he had finished, Olding thought fast. “We have to get a message to Starfleet Command. Where’s t’ emergency transmitter?”
“It’s in Fred’s Bar,” answered Hill.
“Right. Trouble is, Fred’s Bar is up there,” Olding gestured at the ceiling, “And we’re down here. How do we get to it wi’ ou’ attracting attention?”
“Oh, that’s easy!” said Graham. “Turboshaft three is shut for repairs. You could climb up it and reach Fred’s Bar, no problems.”
“How do we get to it?” Olding asked.
“You go back that way, turn left at the hydrovent, then right at the blowscreen. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks, Mr Graham,” Olding said.
“No problem sir. I know this ship like the back of my hand.” Graham then walked off, so cocky with himself that he failed to notice Hill’s foot placed in front of him. As the chief engineer went base over apex, Hill grinned smugly then ran to catch up with Olding and Jackson.
--
Nathaniel had arrived at the brig to gloat, with a still-concussed Wall in tow. He was very disappointed to discover that his three captives had escaped. He turned to Wall, and said, “Lieutenant, do you know who Ah ahm?”
Wall squinted as he tried to decide which of the three people he was looking at was talking to him. They all looked quite a lot like the first officer, so Wall answered, “Er, yeah, you’re, uh, Commander Hill, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right. Now, three dangerous renegades have escaped, disguised as the Captain, mahself and the Doctor. Ah want you to recapture them, is that clear?”
“Uh, yeah, right, okay.”
“On your way, then,” Nathaniel ordered, and Wall staggered off. Nathaniel shook his head disbelievingly. This crew were so easy to manipulate, it wasn’t true.
--
Olding was halfway up the turboshaft, and heartily wishing he wasn’t. This made El Capitan seem easy. Matters weren’t helped by the fact that he could hear Jackson grumbling below him. Olding gritted his teeth and continued to climb. Suddenly, he heard a noise that reminded him of something he’d heard quite recently. The noise was:
“Ooooooohhhhhhhhsssssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
As the scream shot past him, Olding shouted out, “Stop!!!”
Hill braked to a halt three feet away from Olding. “This could be a quicker way, sir,” he said.
“Yes,” said Olding. “A quicker way of getting us killed!”
“Oh, it’s alright, I’ve figured out how to use it now.”
Olding shook his head. Just then, he heard a shout.
“Er, right, you lot, er, stop!”
Olding looked down. Wall was standing at the bottom of the shaft, swaying gently. He was waving a phaser around. Olding clambered on to Hill’s boots. “Pick up t’ doctor and get us out of here!!!!!” He trusted Wall in his current condition even less than he trusted Hill’s control over his boots.
The doctor shook his head. “No way!! I’m not getting on those!!!” A phaser blast melted part of the ladder that Jackson was holding on to, and he hurriedly clambered on. “Okay, I’m convinced! Let’s go!”
Hill squeezed the thruster control, and they rocketed upwards, Olding clamping his hand over Hill’s mouth to prevent yet another scream. Olding could have sworn he saw the same deck go past at least twice. When they stopped, they were approximately three inches from the top of the shaft.
“Oops,” Hill said, “I think maybe I overshot by a few decks.”
“No, that’s okay,” Olding quavered. “Near enough.” They slowly descended back down again.
They entered Fred’s Bar on the run. At least, Olding and Jackson did. Hill couldn’t get his boots off, and was finding that they impaired his speed a bit. By the time he got there, they had activated the console and were waiting for him.
When he arrived, Olding began to speak. “To anyone within t’ sound of my voice. This is Captain Christopher Olding o’ t’ Federation Starship Psycho. A hostile force has seized control of our vessel, and we are on a course of…” He looked at Hill expectantly. Hill shrugged. “…well, we don’t actually know. But we’ll leave this channel open so that you can track our signal.”
Olding wiped his brow, and was about to leave for the bridge when Nathaniel entered the bar, his robe flowing behind him in a wind that no-one else could actually feel.
“Greetings, Captain,” he intoned. “We have to talk.”
“I don’t think we’ve got anything to say,” Olding replied tightly.
“That’s okay,” Nathaniel replied. “Ah’ll do all the talking.” He swept past the three Starfleet officers, and stood in front of the wall-length windows. “We have been chosen, my brothers, to undertake the greatest voyage of discovery the universe has ever seen. Oh yes!!!! God has chosen me to take his chosen few to Dunmanifestin’!! Hallelujah!!!!!!”
Olding scratched his head. “You’re bluidy nuts!!!” he said with restraint.
“Ahm Ah? Ah’ll prove my God-given abilities to you.”
Nathaniel turned to Hill who had his arms folded and was looking faintly bored. “My brother,” he intoned. “Are you willing to see the power of God in all its glory?!!!!”
“Yeah, well, get on with it,” Hill said, stifling a yawn.
Nathaniel waved his arms grandiosely, so that for a second, Hill disappeared behind the robe. The back wall of the bar faded away, to be replaced by the corridor of a hospital. Olding squinted at the figure pacing up and down along the corridor. It was Admiral Hill, albeit a younger version of the fearsome accountant. He appeared extremely nervous. A sign on the door he was pacing in front of read ‘Maternity Ward: no entry when red light is on’. Sure enough, above the door was a single red bulb.
“What’s goin’ on, Commander?” Olding asked.
Hill was biting his lip. “I think that we are witnessing my birth.”
Just then, a doctor appeared from inside the room, and said “Congratulations, Admiral. It’s a bouncing baby boy!”
Admiral Hill smiled for a second, then his eyes crossed and he passed out.
The scene faded, and Nathaniel turned to Jackson. “And now for you, Doctor.” Before anybody could protest, the back wall of the bar faded again, this time to be replaced by a hospital.
Jackson’s face went slack as he recognised the figure occupying the bed. “Dad!” he breathed.
Olding turned to Nathaniel, his eyes blazing. “Stop this right now!!!” he said. “I won’t have you torturing my officers like this!!!!”
“It is necessary if they are to believe,” Nathaniel responded, sweeping Olding aside.
Jackson was examining his father. The older man spoke in a husky voice. “The pain, son, stop the pain.”
“I can’t do that, Dad,” Jackson said.
“Please, son.”
Jackson bent down and produced a saw from below the bed. Olding’s jaw dropped as he realised what was about to happen. Jackson lifted the saw, and Olding shut his eyes. He didn’t really want to see this next bit. He could hear the distinctive sounds of sawing going on for quite a while. When he opened his eyes again, the vision had faded and Jackson was left standing by himself, sobbing quietly.
“I didn’t realise he only had a headache!” he kept repeating to himself over and over again.
Nathaniel turned to Olding. “And now it’s your turn, Captain.”
“No!!” Olding stood firm. “I will not submit to this… brainwashing!!!”
“Don’t you believe?” Nathaniel asked, his voice becoming deeper and more echoey.
“This has nothing to do with belief!!” Olding answered. “This is about your invasion of people’s most private moments!!!! I will not stand for this!!! I don’t need to have my past life examined by a conman like you to believe in anything!!!”
Nathaniel shrugged. “Very well. Dicky, Doctor, come with me. Captain, Ah’m afraid you must remain here.”
To Nathaniel’s surprise, neither of them moved. He addressed himself to Hill. “Don’t you believe me?”
“I don’t care about that,” Hill replied. “I care about the fact that when I was five, you took the parts of the tricorder kit Dad had given me for my birthday, stamped on them, and buried them in the back garden!!!!”
“Oh.” Nathaniel said, a little taken aback. “And what about you, Doctor?”
In response, Jackson vomited.
“Very well.” Nathaniel stormed out, leaving the three of them standing side by side, except for Jackson, who was bent double, making “Huey, Huey,” noises.
--
Nathaniel arrived on the bridge to find nothing had changed. The three diplomats were playing cards, Damerell was still headbanging, and Wall was spinning round in his chair trying to catch birds no-one else could actually see. Ahead of them, the Not-so-Great Barrier approached.
Olding, Jackson and Hill stared out of the windows, watching the Not-so-Great Barrier grow.
“No ship, no probe, has ever survived the Barrier,” Hill said.
“Don’t remind me,” Olding said. The ship shuddered as it entered the Barrier, and blue-green light washed the observation lounge.
“I don’t believe it,” Hill said in a reverential tone. “We’re actually making it through!”
Olding agreed. “Perhaps Nathaniel is right. Perhaps there is a God after all.” His hand rested on a plaque mounted on a wooden stand. The plaque read, ‘To boldly go where no Yorkshireman has gone before’. As Olding leant on the stand, it splintered and the plaque tumbled to the floor. Standing up and dusting himself down, Olding said, “Hmm, perhaps not.”
Then, the Barrier cleared, and they saw a small planetoid in the centre. “Right, no more muckin’ abou’. We’re goin’ to t’ bridge.”
They arrived a few minutes later, to find Nathaniel preaching on again. The diplomats were enthralled, but Damerell was tenderly rubbing the back of his neck and Wall was counting his fingers.
“Captain Olding! So good of you to come!” Nathaniel said.
“I want my bluidy ship back NOW!!!”
Nathaniel jumped a little. “Certainly.”
“What makes you think I won’t turn us around?” Olding asked.
“Because you too, Captain Olding, are an explorer. You too must know. You will not leave.”
“Wrong. Mr Wall, bring us abou’.”
Wall looked around, muttered, “Uh, Aye sir,” and stalled the ship. They were temporarily stuck here. Nathaniel smiled superciliously.
“Right. Okay. Well, if we’re going to do this, we’ll do it by t’ book.” Olding accepted that Sod’s Law, in the guise of his crew, had struck again. “Nathaniel, come wi’ me. Mr Hill, Doctor Jackson, you too.” He flicked on the comm channel. “Mr Graham, are t’ transporters operational?”
“Don’t be so stupid.”
“Of course. Silly me.”
Wall had started to climb out of his chair, but fell over and did not display any inclination to get up. Olding followed the others into the turbolift.
--
This time, Olding himself piloted the Bates. He was glad to see that his piloting skills had not been lost, and the flight was a reasonably smooth one. He was all the more worried when the controls suddenly went dead. “Er, Hill,” he said, holding his arms away from the console, “What happened?”
“It wasn’t me!!” Hill had adopted his guilty look.
“I believe you. It seems somebody else is controlling t’ shuttle. And where the hell’s Starfleet anyway?!!!” Olding drummed his fingers impatiently on the console as the shuttle smoothly landed on a large rocky plateau. The airlock door popped open, and Olding stepped out. He was inwardly fuming at the sudden lack of control he had over anything.
He checked that his phaser was loaded and ready.
“Captain,” said Nathaniel, “do you really expect to find Klingons here?”
Olding lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances!!!”
The four of them headed off towards a glowing spot beyond a set of conveniently small hills.
--
On the bridge, everybody sat and watched open-mouthed, as a crystal-clear image showed them the events on the planet. Everybody, that is, except Wall and Damerell. Damerell was busy rubbing a soothing cream over the back of his neck, and Wall was still giggling at nothing in particular. The picture showed the four intrepid explorers clambering over rocks and falling into streams. Hill did not look happy. Finally, they entered a huge rock amphitheatre. The sky grew dark. Wall started to whistle the Federation Anthem. Everybody shushed him.
Swirling gases and blue-green lights enveloped everybody, and Olding felt his jaw drop. A pit had opened up in the centre of the amphitheatre, and … something was rising up out of it. Its form changed and moulded itself until finally it became a rather jolly-looking fat man with a beard. It spoke.
“BRAVE SOULS, WELCOME,” it boomed.
Olding felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Snapping his jaw shut, he replied. “Er, hullo.”
Nathaniel was enchanted. He had fallen to his knees and was busy chanting some religious gobbledygook in a singsong voice. “We have come to see you, Oh Most High Lord!”
“YOU ARE THE FIRST TO FIND ME HERE.”
“It is our pleasure, Your Eminence.”
Olding was impressed. He could actually hear the capital letters as Nathaniel spoke them. Nathaniel was still going. “We have travelled many light-years in search of your Omnipotence!!! The Not-so-Great Barrier stood between us, but we breached it!!!”
“AND HOW DID YOU BREACH THE BARRIER?”
Hang on a minute, thought Olding. If God was omniscient, then why didn’t he know? He waved a hand vaguely in the air.
“Excuse me,” he began.
Nathaniel didn’t seem to notice this minor problem. “With a starship!!!”
“I SEE. AND THIS… STARSHIP. COULD IT CARRY MY GREATNESS INTO THE UNIVERSE?”
“It could!! Yes!!!”
Now, there was a problem.
Olding cleared his throat meaningfully. “Excuse me, but what does God need with a starship?”
Jackson looked shocked. “Captain, what are you doing?!”
“I’m asking a question,” Olding responded. God ignored him. Olding began to fume. He didn’t know if this thing was the Supreme Being or not, but he did know that he intensely disliked being ignored, and he wasn’t about to put up with it from some overgrown son et lumiere display with an echoey voice.
“What does God need with a starship?” he repeated, more loudly. God continued to ignore him, its face becoming vaguely strained, as if it was concentrating, or constipated.
Eventually, it responded, “BRING THE SHIP CLOSER.”
Olding had had quite enough. “No,” he said, calmly but firmly.
“WHO ARE YOU?” God asked. That settled it.
“Who am I?” Olding said. “Who am I? Don’t you know? Aren’t you God?”
Jackson’s face had reached panic, code red. “Captain, it’s not such a great idea to ask the Almighty for his ID!!!!”
God spoke again. The jolly look had disappeared, and Olding realised that he had achieved something unique. He was probably the first human being to ever piss off a merciful deity. “DO YOU DOUBT ME?” God asked.
Before Olding could respond, Nathaniel stepped in the way. “He merely wants to make sure. He would like proof.”
“OH REALLY?”
Olding picked up the sarcastic tone, and unholstered his phaser. He was too late, however, as an energy beam shot from God’s eyes and caught him squarely in the chest.
As he flew back about thirty feet, Olding wondered what this would do to Nathaniel. The answer was not long in coming.
“What have you done?”
“THIS.”
Another energy beam shot out, this time catching Hill in the shoulder. Hill spun off at right angles before dropping awkwardly to the floor. “Ouch,” he said.
Jackson realised that he was next in line, and started to sweat.
“DO YOU DOUBT ME ALSO?” God asked him.
The fear on Jackson’s face was replaced by a dull rage, and he answered, “I doubt any God who inflicts pain for his own pleasure.” As an afterthought, he added, “That’s my job.”
Olding grimaced. He could tell he was going to have great difficulties persuading Jackson that amputating his chest wouldn’t be necessary.
Before he could stand up, Nathaniel rejoined the fray. He went over to Hill, and said, “Goodbye, Dicky.” Hill scowled, but couldn’t hit him due to the intense pain.
He then walked over to God, and said, “What’s that?!!” pointing over God’s shoulder.
God looked around, and said, “WHAT’S WHAT?”
As he did so, Nathaniel hit him.
And with that, Olding was convinced. There was no way any self-respecting deity would ever fall for that one. While Nathaniel and God slugged it out, Olding picked himself up, waved off Jackson’s attempts to mark on a cutting line, and flicked open his communicator.
“Olding to Psycho, do you copy?”
Damerell’s voice came back over the channel. “We copy, sir. Are you alright down there?”
“No, I’m not bluidy well alright!!!! Prepare to fire a photon torpedo down here on my signal!”
Damerell sounded a bit dubious as he said, “But Captain, we’re firing directly on your position!!”
“Send it down now, Mr Damerell!!” Olding looked up from his communicator to see Hill and Jackson’s panicked expressions. “On second thoughts, could you wait just a …”
Olding heard the distinctive sound of multiple torpedoes coming through the atmosphere. Without waiting for the others, he began to sprint as fast as he possibly could away from the impact site. He was disturbed to note that Hill and Jackson were doing their utmost to overtake him, and for a few seconds there was a scuffle as each of them tried to remain in front. Then, the torpedoes hit, and they were thrown into the air. Olding was not looking forward to coming down again.
He dug himself out from under the rubble, and brushed himself. The others were doing the same. Checking his communicator, Olding opened it, and said, “I said ONE photon torpedo, not TWENTY photon torpedoes!!!!!”
“Oops, sorry.”
“Never mind.” They limped back towards the shuttle. They were just clambering in through the airlock, when they heard something loud.
“What was that?” Jackson asked, although his body language suggested that he didn’t really want to know the answer.
“I SAID, THAT HURT!!!!!!”
“Oh, shit.” Olding and Hill tried frantically to get the shuttle to start, but the engine wouldn’t run over for some reason.
As he looked around the panel, trying to find some indication of what was wrong, Olding hit upon the answer. The fuel gauge was reading ‘0’.
He opened his communicator again. “Mr Graham, are t’ transporters on-line?”
“I’ve got partial power. I might be able to take two of you, but then again…”
Olding didn’t have time for this. “Beam up Commander Hill and Doctor Jackson! Now!!!”
The two of them shimmered out of the shuttle, and Olding checked his phaser again. It was ready. The shuttle began to shake as the creature knocked it about. Olding waited. And waited.
--
Hill appeared on the transporter pad, and stepped down, saying, “Get the Captain up here now!” Graham was about to when the ship jolted. “Oh, crap!” Hill said. That, for once, wasn’t an internal problem. That was a phaser blast hitting the ship. Hill ran for the bridge, with Jackson hot on his tail. When he reached it, it was to meet the usual chaos.
“Report!” he bellowed.
Damerell swivelled round in his chair. “We’ve been hit by a Klingon Bird of Prey! Probably that one that attacked us earlier.”
Hill looked at the communications station, where an ensign was perched uncomfortably on Mr Bleep’s stool. “Open hailing frequencies.”
“Hailing frequencies open.” The screen changed from a picture of the Bird hanging in front of the Psycho to a picture of her captain.
“This is Captain Kleft of the Klingon Empire! You are carrying the Federation ambassador to this hated peace conference. Hand him over, and I will spare you.”
Hill decided lying was probably a good plan. “The ambassador is not on board.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s on the planet.”
“Very well. I will have to kill you.”
“J-j-j-j-just a second. Screen off.” Hill turned to Krudd, who was standing at one side of the bridge. Ambassador Mudd was hiding behind him. “General Krudd, you are his superior officer.”
The General shook his head. “This assignment I have been given proves I am nothing more than a foolish old man.”
Hill was getting very annoyed. The Bird of Prey’s wings had come up into planetary flight mode. They were obviously about to try and find the ambassador, and instead, they were going to find Captain Olding. They would not be pleased at the deception. He didn’t have much time. The rage flowed through him, and he grabbed the twenty-four stone Klingon by the collar and lifted him into the air.
“Don’t make me angry,” he suggested.
Krudd, who had just gone very pale, shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it!” he said.
“Good. Then why don’t you try and persuade Captain Kleft not to kill us.”
Krudd nodded. “Could you put me down, please?”
Hill looked at the General, and suddenly realised what he was doing. He lowered the General to the deck, and stood away from him. “Er, right, there you go.”
The General, still pale, nodded to the ensign at the communications station, who re-opened the channel to the Bird of Prey. Kleft’s eyes widened as he saw Krudd standing on the bridge of the Psycho.
Krudd looked Kleft straight in the eye, and said, “Joy-i-chuh!” He disappeared in a transporter beam, and everybody looked at Hill accusingly. Hill blushed.
--
Olding was climbing again, and hating every minute of it. This time, however, he was being chased as he climbed, which wasn’t doing his temper any good whatsoever. The creature that until recently Olding had thought of as God was flowing up the cliff-face after him, periodically firing a blast of energy at him. He was heartily wishing that Graham would hurry up and finish the transporter repairs, as he didn’t think he could climb very much further. Just as he ran out of breath, he also ran out of cliff. He staggered around on the ridge at the top, sucking in his breath noisily. When he had recovered basic motor control, he reached for his communicator, only to discover that it wasn’t there. “Bugger,” he panted. The creature was getting closer. Olding couldn’t decide whether to meet his end bravely or to panic.
The sound of a ship slicing through the atmosphere gave him renewed hope. He looked up, but could see nothing. Then, a Bird of Prey decloaked directly in front of him. Olding stuck two fingers up at it.
Just as he thought all was lost, Chief Graham materialised next to him. “Where have you been?!!” the engineer scolded. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!! I’ve been worried sick, and…”
Olding put his hands on his hips and waited for Graham to finish, acutely conscious of the fact that the creature was getting very close very quickly. When Graham stopped to take a breath, Olding jumped in with a “Do you have a communicator?” before Graham could carry on with his diatribe. Graham handed him the spare communicator and Olding eagerly flipped it open. “Energise!!” he shouted, and felt himself picked up by the Klingon transporter beam. He didn’t really understand what was going on, but then, anywhere had to be preferable to staying here.
--
Graham was just about to follow him when the creature appeared over the brow of the cliff. Graham regarded it disdainfully.
“Who are you, then?” he asked.
“WHO AM I? I AM THE SUPREME BEING!!!”
“You don’t look too supreme from where I’m standing.”
“HOW DARE YOU!!!!”
“How dare I? Well, that’s a very interesting philosophical point actually…”
--
When Olding rematerialised in the transporter chamber of the Bird of Prey, he was grabbed by a couple of very large Klingons with very large knives. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he allowed himself to be frogmarched to the Bird’s cramped bridge. He was very surprised to see General Krudd standing there.
“Ah, Olding!” the General boomed. “So good to see that you’re not dead.”
“Yes, I’m rather pleased about that myself,” Olding responded, a little off-balance.
“I believe my subordinate has something to say to you.”
Olding looked at Kleft, who blushed, looked down, and shuffled his feet a bit.
Finally, he muttered, “I’m sorry.”
Krudd frowned. “What did you say?”
“I’m very sorry. Won’t do it again. Promise.”
Olding fought the urge to laugh.
Krudd hadn’t finished yet. “And now, Olding, may I present our new gunner.”
Olding looked to the centre seat, which hummed as it swung round. The person sitting in the seat was… Hill. Olding stepped forwards to shake his first officer’s hand, but the chair had other ideas. It flatly refused to stop. Hill tried to climb out, but got his feet caught up in the base and fell flat on his face. Olding gave him a hand up, and began to hum the Federation anthem. Hill grimaced. “Please, Captain, not in front of the Klingons.”
--
Later, back aboard the Psycho, they were hosting the first of what would undoubtedly be an interminable number of diplomatic receptions. Everybody was a bit subdued. Nathaniel’s passing had affected people more than they realised.
Even Hill, who had spent several decades hating his half-brother, was wearing a black armband.
As per usual, the two exceptions to this were Wall and Damerell. After they had discovered that the Starfleet reply to Olding’s distress call had in fact been a Klingon, they had invested considerable time and effort in finding out what she looked like. And now she had turned up along with her Captain. She marched smartly into Fred’s Bar, with Wall and Damerell in hot pursuit. As they passed him, Olding was sure he heard Wall say, “Look at the size of those…” before Damerell nudged him and he shut up. Their hot pursuit went very cold, however, when they noticed that she was also the proud owner of another very large knife. They turned away sharply and paid an exaggerated interest in the plants at one side of the bar.
Turning away from them, Olding wandered over to join Hill and Jackson. They were looking out of the windows, and the expressions on their faces suggested they were discussing Nathaniel.
“How are you, Commander?” Olding asked.
“Okay, I think.”
“Good.”
Olding was about to leave when Jackson said, “We were just discussing, sir. Do you think there really is a God?”
“Nah.” They stood in silence.
After a while, Olding said to Jackson, “Did you ever have a brother?”
“No.”
“No, me neither. Eeee.”
--
Some time later, on the bridge, Olding was sat in his now-repaired chair, when there was a power-cut. When the lights came back on, he pushed the comm button for Engineering. “Olding to Engineering. What the bluidy ‘ell was that all abou’?!”
“Deputy engineer Barfoot here sir. Sorry about that. Minor accident when we rerouted an auxiliary power conduit.”
“Oh. Well. Hang on!! That sounded almost… convincing!!! Where’s Graham?” There was a long pause on the other end.
“I don’t actually know. We all thought you had him.” Olding turned the channel off. The ensign at communications turned round.
“Sir, Starfleet has contacted us. They want to know where we’ve been.”
“Tell them, uh, we’ve been… temporarily sidetracked. List casualties as one: Chief Engineer Graham. No, on second thoughts, list him as missing, presumed, no, hoped dead.” The ensign looked confused. Olding sighed. “Just list him as missing.”
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