The Cholmondely-Smythe Year

“Save your love my darling, save your loooove…” Barfoot sang out in the confines of the shuttlecraft Lecter. Normally he wasn’t allowed to give voice to the music in his head, but in this case he was alone in the little vessel, so he had no compunction in belting out some of the classics.

Well, almost alone, anyway. The only other occupant of the craft was Mr. Bleep, who was large and clunky enough that he couldn’t fit into the cockpit. Instead the android was standing in the archway to the back of the shuttlecraft.

“Whaddaya think, eh Bleep?” Barfoot said, looking back over his shoulder with a grin. “Enjoying the show?”

“Your voice is certainly distinctive,” Mr. Bleep replied. “Since I have no feelings, however, I can not offer an opinion as to my enjoyment.”

“That’s the spirit!” Barfoot said cheerfully, before launching wholeheartedly into a throaty rendition of “I’m Too Sexy”.

The two of them were on their way to a cybernetics conference, where Barfoot was hoping to get someone to take a look at Bleep. The android had been operating at best possible capacity for a while, which given the number of times he had been destroyed and rebuilt was still far from his maximum ability. The engineer was hoping that someone there would be an expert in the antique, experimental cybernetic synapse technology Bleep was based on.

An alert klaxon went off, moments before Bleep announced, “Orion Cruiser approaching rapidly off the port bow.”

Barfoot lunged for the controls but he was too slow, and with a few precision blasts the cruiser had crippled the engines, dropping the little shuttle abruptly out of warp. Barfoot’s head slammed against the console as a result of the rapid deceleration, and Bleep toppled over forwards. Through the haze of an imminent concussion Barfoot heard the whine of transporter beams. Booted feet appeared in his vision, and then there was a stinging pressure against his neck and the world went dark.

 

“Captain’s log, stardate 463292.87238. Starfleet has assigned us to accompany a special envoy from the Klingon High Council to the Hyperbolus system, where one of their colonies is fighting for independence. It does feel good to be doing something useful, I must say!”

“Ambassador Shar, we’re delighted to have you on board!” Cholmondely-Smythe said to the older Klingon, greeting him as he stepped off the transporter pad. “One’s name is Hubert Cholmondely-Smythe. This is my first officer Commander Hill and ship’s counsellor, er, Counsellor Hill.”

The Klingon grunted at him. Like pretty much every member of his race Commander Hill had ever met, the Ambassador was tall and heavily-built, despite his grey hair and grizzled face. Cholmondely-Smythe waited a second but the Klingon stayed silent.

“Er. Yes. Please make yourself at home, if we can help you in any way don’t hesitate to ask. Mi starship es su starship, etcetera.”

This time Ambassador Shar’s heavy brows wrinkled as he looked Cholmondely-Smythe up and down. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, every word sounding like a fall of rocks, dragged reluctantly out of him. “As you know this is a delicate situation. The Hyperbolean Governor, Yech, has accused the Federation of supplying weapons to the rebels.”

“So I understand,” Cholmondely-Smythe replied. “Of course, it’s all codswallop.”

“Perhaps,” the Klingon said. “My job is to review the evidence.”

“I understand you requested this ship specifically to help you,” Cholmondely-Smythe said, preening slightly.

Shar pulled a face. “The list of ships I was given to choose from was distinctly limited. Upon consideration, given that you already have a Klingon liaison officer on board, I decided that this was the best of a somewhat shallow pool.”

The captain deflated slightly and behind him Commander Hill smirked slightly. As the long-standing first officer of the Psycho he was used to being handed the lowest priority assignments and being kicked when they were already down. It was something to which Cholmondely-Smythe was still getting accustomed.

As they left the transporter room, heavily booted feet pounded around the corner and Colonel Klumpf appeared, skidding to a halt in front of the group.

“Ambassador,” Klumpf said, straightening up to attention. He waited until Shar waved his hand dismissively. “Captain,” the liaison officer added, belatedly.

“Jolly good,” Cholmondely-Smythe said. “Colonel, perhaps you would be so good as to show the Ambassador to his quarters.”

“Excellent!” the Ambassador, surprising everyone with his sudden exuberance. “We shall drink blood wine and celebrate past victories!”

“There are warriors on board who you must meet!” Klumpf said.

The two of them walked away, Shar’s arm thrown over Klumpf’s shoulders. The three officers watched them go, mildly bemused.

“Right. Well then. Off we go, back to work. Chop chop!” Cholmondely-Smythe said, clapping his hands together.

 

On board the Orion cruiser, Barfoot awoke with all of his usual grace and dignity.

“Bleurgh. Wassgoinon?” He was lying on a narrow bed – more of a pallet – too small for his lanky frame, feet dangling off the end. The mattress might as well have been a lump of wood for all the comfort it provided. When he sat up his head was pounding and he felt very strange.

“Ah, so good of you to join us,” a voice said in the darkness of the room.

“Wuh?” Barfoot peered into the black shadows. A figure emerged, holding a gold pocket watch, which swing steadily on the end of a chain.

“Follow the watch with your eyes, Mr. Barfoot,” the figure said in a soft, hypnotic tone. “Listen to my voice. You are feeling very sleepy.”

“Y’know,” Barfoot said, yawning widely, “now you come to mention it, I am a bit knackered. Don’t mind if I sleep here, do you?”

“Not at all,” the figure said. “And while you’re asleep, perhaps we could have a nice chat.”

There was something wrong with that, but before Barfoot could put it together he had dozed off.

 

Behind a one-way mirror looking into the room, a fuller-figured green-skinned Orion woman watched carefully. Stood next to her was Cremini, the large Orion man with the ponytail sprouting from the back of his otherwise-bald head.

“Everything is proceeding as planned?” the woman asked.

“Yes, Mistress Stella,” Cremini said. “The human’s mind is weak and easily susceptible to suggestion.”

“And the robot?” she asked, looking over at where Mr. Bleep was strapped to a table. The table had been reinforced in a somewhat rushed, slapdash manner, with metal bars shoved in under it at random intervals.

“It is old. Our engineers are working on it at the moment. We believe we have found a way to boot it up but put it in a sort of maintenance mode.” One of the Orions bending over Bleep straightened up and caught Cremini’s eye. “In fact, we are ready to proceed, if you would like to watch.”

“Yes, please do,” Stella said.

 

Bleep’s vision flickered strangely as images appeared in his visual cortex. He ran a quick self-diagnosis and determined that the constant switching between colour and black and white was due to an error in the configuration of his eyes.

When his vision cleared he was standing in the engineering section of the Psycho, and Chief Engineer Stark was standing in front of him.

“Hey Bleep, what can I do for you?” Stark asked.

In the middle of reaching for Stark’s pale neck with his titanium claw-like hands, Bleep stopped moving, his life preservation protocols kicking in to prevent him harming Stark, who just watched him with a curious smile on his face. Bleep locked up, becoming completely immobile.

“Bleep… wrztfgl… I’m afraid I can’t do that Dave… Rogue programming detected. Running anti-malware diagnostics.”

Stark sighed. When he spoke, it was in a voice definitely not his own. “Well, that’s closer than we’ve got before. We are definitely making progress.”

Then Stark spoke again in a completely different voice – this one female. “Work faster! We need to be ready to transfer them back to the Psycho.”

And again, in the male voice: “We will be prepared. The plan also includes contingency plans for both of them to perform test acts on board the ship before we go for the real thing.”

“Champion… that is… excellent.”

 

“I most strenuously and vigorously protest and deny these outrageous charges!” Captain Cholmondely-Smythe insisted, sitting up rigid at the conference table.

Upon arrival at Hyperbolus he, along with Ambassador Shar, Counsellor Hill had beamed down into a reception area where they had been met by Governor Yech and a few of his aides. They had barely had time to exchange pleasantries and tentatively sip water from the inadvertently phallic-shaped glasses (Hill’s infantile giggling stopped after matching glares from both the Captain and the Counsellor) before Yech had started with with the accusations, insisting that the rebels fighting for independence were using Federation-supplied weapons.

“Let us see how hollow your denials sound in the face of evidence,” Governor Yech snarled, gesturing to his aides. One of them hurried out of the room and came back in carrying what appeared to be a Federation-issue phaser rifle. He dumped it on the table with a loud clatter.

Cholmondely-Smythe and the other officers stared down at it.

“This was recovered from a rebel stronghold we raided and destroyed a mere week ago,” Yech informed them. “We have plenty more where it came from.”

Commander Hill reached out to pick it up, examining it closely from several angles. He held it up and sighted down it, not noticing that he was pointing it directly at Governor Yech until a burly Klingon security guard rugby-tackled him from the side. The phaser rifle hit the floor with a clunk as Hill, under a heavy pile of Klingon and armour, landed with a rather worrying crunch.

“Oooh,” he moaned. “I think you broke my spine.”

Cholmondely-Smythe harrumphed. “Would you mind awfully if we took a few of the weapons for examination? I do have to admit,” he said musingly, “they do look awfully like Starfleet weapons.” He turned to Ambassador Shar. “I assure you both, we will get to the bottom of this!”

“I hope so, Captain,” the Ambassador said.

 

Barfoot sighed happily to himself as he strolled back into the engineering section. “Ah, it’s good to be home. Alright lads?” he said to a couple of engineers standing over a console at the side of the room.

“Morning, sir,” they responded. “How was your trip?” one of them asked.

Barfoot wrinkled his nose. “Bit of a disappointment, if I’m honest. No bugger in the galaxy seems to know anything about Bleep and his scrambled-egg inner workings. I did get a lead of a possible early adopters instruction manual being held on Memory Alpha, but that’s about it.”

“Guess you’re probably the leading expert on Bleep, then,” one of them joked.

Barfoot grinned. “Yep, looks like it. Oh well, back to the grindstone.”

He wandered off, whistling irritatingly through his teeth.

 

Commander Hill frowned down at his console. After his faux pas with the phaser rifle he had been reassigned onto the bridge, as far away from the negotiations as possible. He pressed a couple of buttons, and the console beeped back at him.

“That’s weird,” he said in the tone of voice reserved for those who want someone to pay attention to what they are doing. Across the bridge, at the helm station, Lieutenant-Commander Wall looked up from his console, where he had been busy building a new high score in Tetris.

“What’s up?” he asked, mostly out of boredom. In orbit around a planet, there wasn’t exactly much for him to do.

“I was just doing a scan of the epsilon-wave frequencies, you know, for fun,” Hill said, and Wall sniggered quietly, muttering, “Geek!”

Hill ignored him. “There’s something weird in the F-band. I keep seeing sporadic emissions. Nothing regular, just blips where there shouldn’t be any, this far from a protostar or Hawking string.”

Wall shrugged. “So what?”

Hill sighed. “I dunno, it’s just weird, okay.”

“So you keep saying,” Wall replied, losing interest in the conversation and turning back to his game.

Hill sighed. He put the matter out of his mind, though not before setting a routine to run constantly scanning for any more anomalous readings, before heading down to engineering to rope Barfoot into helping him examine the supposedly-Federation weapons and equipment.

 

A couple of hours later, Hill and Barfoot had one of the captured phaser rifles hooked up to various scanners and devices in main engineering.

“Found anything?” Hill asked, looking over to find Barfoot with his little finger stuck in his ear, wiggling it about.

“What? Oh, um, nah.” Barfoot extracted his finger from his ear and examined it closely. He wiped it on his trousers and peered at the readings. He noticed that the rifle was completely drained of power – probably a safety precaution. “We could always try charging it up, see if that makes a difference.”

Hill nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He moved the rifle over to a different table and connected it up to a charging unit. The unit made a worrying bzzt noise. Hill frowned down at it.

“Huh. This is saying the rifle was charged at a different frequency last time.”

They were interrupted then as Stark’s office door opened and the chief engineer appeared, an excessively large silver platter in his hands. An amazingly enticing mix of aroma drifted throughout engineering.

“Grub’s up!” Stark shouted, initiating a stampede of engineers – enlisted and non enlisted alike – including Barfoot. Hill wandered over, curious.

“So we’ve got cream cheese and olive biscuits with olive parsley spread, pork tenderloin crostini, and mini crab cakes with pineapple cucumber salsa,” Stark was saying. “Bon appetit!”

“Nice one boss!” Barfoot said, stuffing two of the pork crostinis in his mouth at once.

“Does this happen down here a lot?” Hill asked, tentatively taking a crab-thing off the tray. Around him, the engineers were falling on the food like locusts.

“Why do you think we’ve got one of the highest engineering satisfaction ratings in the whole fleet?” Barfoot replied.

“We’d better get back to it,” Hill said reluctantly, heading back to the phaser rifle.

Barfoot skipped over having snatched more than a few hors d’oeuvres, peering over Hill’s shoulder. “Federation weapons are always charged from a source calibrated in the picahertz range.” He tapped at the controls, leaning right over Hill to do so. He seemed completely oblivious to the irritated look the first officer was giving him from just a few centimetres away. “This one was charged in the terahertz range. Look, you can see the traces it left behind.”

“Okay,” Hill said. “So that definitely means it wasn’t charged in a Federation facility.” He picked up a padd and tapped at it for a few moments. “There are over three hundred known species who use the terahertz range as a regular power supply. That would take hours to narrow down.”

Barfoot belched discreetly, hand over his mouth. “So let’s start with the bigger powers and work our way down.”

Hill sighed.

 

Surprisingly, it didn’t actually take the two of them than long to run down the list of possibilities, especially when they hit the jackpot very early on. As soon as they reported their findings to Cholmondely-Smythe he had them go down to the planet with him to present the information to Ambassador Shar and Governor Yech.

“It’s pretty airtight,” Commander Hill reported. “Of the three-hundred or so species that use power sources in the terahertz range, the closest match is with the Orions. Plus there’s some minute microfractures in the manufacturing that suggests it was built by advanced replication purposes, which we know the Orion Syndicate use pretty regularly.”

Ambassador Shar nodded thoughtfully, but Governor Yech snorted. “Hyperbolus couldn’t possibly hold any strategic interest for the Orions,” he said. “What possible reason could they have to do such a thing?”

“If it’s the Syndicate,” Cholmondely-Smythe said, “then tension between the Klingons and the Federation would make their sort of piracy that much more feasible.”

“What experience of the Orion Syndicate do you have, Captain?” Yech asked scornfully.

“In my younger days,” Cholmondely-Smythe said mildly, “I had occasion to become quite the expert, I’ll have you know.”

Hill and Barfoot looked at the Captain in surprise but neither of them said anything.

Yech grunted. “I want to have my people verify the findings,” he said.

“Of course,” Cholmondely-Smythe said graciously. “Please do so to your heart’s content.”

As they were leaving, Hill’s communicator beeped. “Psycho to Hill.”

Hill tapped his chest. “Hill here.”

“It’s Ensign Randall, sir. You wanted me to keep an eye on that program you had running?”

“Go ahead.”

“There’s been a spike in the emissions.”

“Is that it?”

“Uh, it’s a bigger spike than before?.”

Hill sighed. “Thank you, Ensign,” he said, tapping his commbadge.

“What’s that all about?” Barfoot asked.

“Not sure,” Hill replied. “Just something odd going on. I thought it might be a protostar or something but if this is a bigger spike in the readings that possibility is ruled out.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Barfoot lied, and the three of them headed to the transport site in silence.

 

“Bleepy boy!” Fred called out, spotting the android lingering in the doorway to the saloon-style bar. The android clumped his way over to the bar and watched as Fred rummaged around under the bar, eventually pulling out an oil can, which he slid along the bar towards Bleep.

The android’s reflexes kicked in and his arm slammed down on the wooden bar top, splintering it and knocking the oil can off the bar and onto the floor, where it made some comedy glugging noises.

“I am looking for Commander Stark,” Bleep said, and Fred pointed towards a corner table, where Stark was sitting Jackson. The android walked away, leaving Fred to start mopping up the spilled oil.

When Bleep reached the table Stark looked up and smiled at him,

“Hey Bleep, what can I do for you?”

Bleep stopped. “I require your assistance. The captain has asked that we complete analysis for all captured weapons.”

Stark sighed. “Right-o.” As he stood up, Bleep reached down, took hold of his glass and crushed it in his clumsy hands. Stark and Jackson looked at the splinters of glass and then at Bleep.

The android looked back. “Whoops,” he said in a deadpan monotone. “My apologies.”

 

On the bridge, Hill frowned down at his console again. “There it is again,” he said.

“What, old chap?” Cholmondely-Smythe asked.

“F-band emissions. Much stronger than before. It’s definitely not a protostar. Or a Hawking string. Buggered if I know what it is.”

Cholmondely-Smythe thought for a moment. “Any known instances of Orions using the F-band for communications?”

“None that I can find.”

“Options, Number One?”

Hill thought about it. “We could reconfigure the main sensor array, focus it on F-band emissions. If another one crops up we could triangulate a directional vector, work out where it’s coming from.”

“Sounds splendid. See to it, there’s a good chap.”

 

The turbolift doors opened to allow Bleep onto the bridge. On the viewscreen, Yech was shouting at Cholmondely-Smythe.

“We have intercepted the transport captain. We know you were attempting to supply weapons to the rebels once more. I accuse you and your crew of fabricating the supposed evidence to shift suspicion away from yourselves!”

“Now wait just one minute, my good man, I assure you…” Cholmondely-Smythe started, but Yech cut him off.

“You will remain in orbit, Captain. Until further notice.”

To back this threat up, a Klingon battlecruiser and two birds-of-prey decloaked suddenly, taking up positions to surround the Psycho.

“Right,” Cholmondely-Smythe said. “Jolly good. We will remain here for now. I assure you we will conduct our own investigation to determine what is going on!”

“As if I would trust anything you say!” Yech said derisively. “Cowardly p’takh!”

The transmission cut off and Cholmondely-Smythe spun around to glare at Commander Hill. “I want a full investigation, now!”

“Yes sir!” Hill said, exchanging a look with the Counsellor. The two of them hurried off the bridge into the briefing room to review the evidence.

Cholmondely-Smythe sat back down in his chair, leaning forward with his fingers steepled. “What the deuce is going on?”

 

The Counsellor sat back and rubbed her eyes. “I think I’m going to be seeing sensor readings and data logs in my sleep,” she said. “We’ve been at this for hours and we just aren’t getting anywhere.”

Commander Hill sighed. Across the table Barfoot, who had joined them on the Captain’s orders, let out a whoop.

“Woohoo! I mean, I’ve got something lads! And, er, lass.”

“What is it?” the Counsellor asked, ignoring his stammering.

“Here, look,” he pointed at the screen as the others crowded around his console. “There’s a residue left in the transporter buffers of Cargo Bay Four. If I calculate the rate of decay then I can pinpoint an approximate time of transport, and that matches pretty well with the time the Klingons intercepted the transport.”

The Counsellor raised her eyebrows. “Mr. Barfoot, I’m impressed. So why didn’t we notice it before?”

Having been given a starting point, Commander Hill was powering through the other data. “Look. The memory chips have been erased and,” he tapped a few more buttons, “the energy has been rerouted through the replicator arrays to try to disguise its origin. We could have spent days chasing that around.”

“So those weapons were beamed over from the Psycho, from Cargo Bay Four,” the Counsellor said. “That means there’s a mole on board.”

Silence fell before Commander Hill spoke. “Man, the Captain is gonna be pissed!”

 

In fact, Captain Cholmondely-Smythe fell silent once his officers had delivered the news, sitting there open mouthed and staring. Hill even went so far as to wave his hand in Cholmondely-Smythe’s face and got no reaction. Eventually, after a couple of minutes of uncomfortable shifting on the part of both Hills, Barfoot and Ambassador Shar, Cholmondely-Smythe snapped out of his trance.

“I see,” he said. “Gosh. That is unexpected, what?”

“So what do we do now?” Barfoot asked.

When Cholmondely-Smythe seemed at a loss, Shar spoke up. “I can go to the planet and convince Governor Yech to come up and and personally see how the investigation is progressing,” he said. “It is vital he see exactly what we are discovering.”

“That is a spendiferous idea, Ambassador, thank you ever so much,” Cholmondely-Smythe said, gratefully. “With any luck we will soon come upon some more evidence that will allow us to locate the scoundrel responsible.”

Shar gave the captain a pitying look before standing up and giving a Klingon salute as he turned to walk out of the door. Rather than heading for the transporter room, however, he glanced to either side and then headed for his quarters. On the way he took a device out of his pocket and pressed a button on it. By the time he had reached his quarters and poured himself a goblet of blood wine, the chime of the doorbell filled the room.

“Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Mr. Bleep, who clanked his way into the room. The android came to a stop and waited.

“Prepare for new command protocol,” Shar said, glancing down at a padd he removed from his robes. “Override authorisation Barfoot-Gamma-Delta-Upsilon-Mu-2242607.”

“Override accepted. Awaiting instructions.”

The ambassador smiled to himself. “You have been very useful, Mr. Bleep,” he said. “Thanks to Mr. Barfoot’s command codes and a bit of hacking, you have become the perfect operative for the Orion Syndicate. Now. When I bring Governor Yech on board the ship your orders are to kill him, and announce that you are acting on orders – both from Captain Cholmondely-Smythe specifically and the Federation Council in general. Do you understand?”

“Orders acknowledged,” Bleep replied, before clanking back out of the room.

The ambassador smiled to himself. With the Federation and Klingons embroiled in a war caused by the assassination of Governor Yech the Orion Syndicate pirates would be able to raid with impunity. Not to mention that the direct involvement of Cholmondely-Smythe and the Psycho would deal with them once and for all, getting them out of his Mistress’ hair.

 

“It’s bonkers,” Barfoot said, hopping up onto the examination table. He was talking to Dr. Jackson and Nurse Baldwin, who were listening with varying degrees of interest. “I keep getting these dreams, only they feel more like memories, but it’s stuff I’ve never seen before. You know what I mean?”

Jackson looked blank. “Do you want me to cut your head off?” he asked hopefully. “I’m sure that will help stop the dreams.”

“Um. No, thanks,” Barfoot said, as Nurse Baldwin rolled her eyes. Jackson shrugged and wandered back into his office.

“You’d be better off talking to the Counsellor,” Nurse Baldwin told him, running a beeping, whirring device over his forehead. She looked at the readings and frowned. “Have you bumped your head recently?” she asked.

Barfoot frowned, thinking about it. “Don’t think so. Not that I can remember. Why?”

“I’m showing signs of recently healed contusions,” Baldwin said, confused. “It’s pretty hard to work out how old they are though – you seem to bump your head a lot.”

Barfoot grinned endearingly. “Hazard of the job,” he said. “Jefferies tubes aren’t exactly built for tall and lanky guys like me.”

“Hmm.” Baldwin didn’t look convinced. “We can schedule you in for a deep brain scan, but it would put you out of action for a few hours.”

“Can’t be lying in the bed for that long right now,” Barfoot said, jumping off the biobed. “Not with all the dodgy weapons being bandied about. I’ll drop in when I’ve got a spare minute.”

“Make sure you do!”

 

Cholmondely-Smythe stood rigid, watching as Governor Yech, Ambassador Shar and two other burly young Klingons stepped down from the transporter platform. The two Klingon bodyguards regarded the captain with varying levels of barely-concealed disdain.

“I wish to make it absolutely clear that I am only here because of Ambassador Shar’s insistence that I come and review the Federation investigation in person,” Yech spat out. “I fully expect the so-called evidence to be discredited in the fullness of time.”

“Well,” Cholmondely-Smythe said, slightly at a loss for words. “I mean, we shall see.”

“Perhaps we should begin in the location of the, ah, theft of weapons – Cargo Bay Four, I believe,” Shar said diplomatically. Yech snorted and, following Cholmondely-Smythe’s gesture he stalked out of the transporter room.

 

 

On the bridge, Hill scowled down at his console once more. “There it is again!” he said irritably. “Those sodding F-band transmissions,” he added. He looked over at Damerell. “If I send some data over to your terminal, can you triangulate the source of a transmission?”

Damerell looked panicked. “Erm, well, in theory, that is something I have learned to do at some point in the past, yes.”

Wall looked over at him. “Give it a try,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen.”

From a console at the back of the bridge, Klumpf rose to his feet. “I am sure Warrior Philip will once again prove his worth!” he insisted.

Damerell rolled his eyes. “No pressure then,” he commented, tapping at the controls in front of him. When he had been working for a few minutes and was sweating profusely, Klumpf sat down, feeling a bit silly for standing up in the first place.

Mr. Bleep turned away from his console. “Excuse me, Commander,” he said to Hill. “I have duties to attend to.”

“What?” Hill said distractedly. “Oh, yeah, whatever.”

No-one else paid any attention to the android as he clanked his way off the bridge into a turbolift. All eyes were on Damerell, who was still sweating and swearing softly under his breath. After a few false starts he stumbled upon the correct algorithm almost by chance. He blinked at the numbers that came out at the end. “Er,” he said. “I don’t see how, but this says the last transmission came from close by. Like, really close by. Within a couple of hundred kilometres, sort of thing. At least,” he added, poking at the controls vaguely, “I think that’s what it means.”

Hill, meanwhile, had been examining the readings. There was something nagging him about the way the transmissions seemed to be structured. They reminded him of something. Suddenly it hit him. They looked something like the compiled command subroutines he had seen the last time he and Barfoot had been digging around in Bleep’s processor code! He turned his head to look at the empty spot where Bleep had been standing and thought for a moment.

Tapping his communicator he said, “Hill to Stark, meet me in shuttlebay in two minutes. Bring a scanner.”

“Can I sent Barfoot instead?”

“No! Actually bloody do it yourself this time!” Hill snapped, closing the channel. “Damerell, you have the Bridge.” He ignored the thump behind him as he entered the turbolift. The doors closed and he tapped his foot impatiently as the lift hummed to life, depositing him in the corridor near the shuttlebay. He jogged along, catching up with Stark, who was scowling.

“You’ve taken me away from a creme brulee at a very delicate time,” the chief engineer told him. “I hope this is important!”

The two of them entered the shuttlebay, and Hill waved his hand at the deck officer, who jumped to startled, sloppy attention. He led Stark over to the Lecter and stared at it. Sensing the mood, Stark stood next to him. “Scan it,” Hill told him. “See if you find anything.”

Stark frowned but obliged, bringing the scanner up to examine the shuttlecraft. He started outside, going over the hull. Very quickly, his scanner beeped at him. “Huh. There’s indications that the hull has microfractures, consistent with being caught in a tractor beam.”

Hill swore. He opened the shuttle door and hurried inside, Stark on his heels. He headed to the front and yanked open a console, extracted a selection of computer chips. He quickly plugged them into an equipment analyser, looking for the sam tell-tale traces they had found in the counterfeit weapons. There it was. The same replication stresses, the same residue left by the non-standard manufacturing process.

He looked up at Stark. “I think this shuttlecraft was hijacked with Barfoot and Bleep on it, and the’ve been brainwashed somehow.”

Stark’s eyebrows shot up. He slapped his comm badge. “Stark to Barfoot.”

“What’s up Chief?”

“Where are you?” Stark asked, glancing at Hill, who called up the ship’s computer systems on the shuttlecraft link, tracking both Barfoot’s comm badge and lifesigns.

“Right where you left me,” Barfoot replied. Hill nodded.

“Cheers,” Stark said, cutting of Barfoot’s question before it could begin.

“Computer,” Hill said then, “Locate Mr. Bleep.”

“Mr. Bleep is in section thirty-seven of corridor twelve,” the computer responded.

Their eyes met. That wasn’t far from Cargo Bay 4. Hill hit his badge yet again. “Klumpf! Get down to Cargo Bay Four. I think Mr. Bleep is about to do something really, really bad.”

“At last, a chance to prove my prowess! I am on my way Commander!”

“Now what?” Stark asked.

“Now we hope he gets there in time,” Hill said as they headed out of the shuttle.

 

In Cargo Bay Four, Chomondely-Smythe was in the middle of explaining what they had found that led them to that location in the first place, and was demonstrating to Governor Yech the next steps they were taking in the investigation. On one side of the room the door opened and Mr. Bleep stepped in, heading for the captain.

On the other side, almost at the same time, Klumpf burst in through the other door. He moved quickly for the group in the middle, shouting out. The burly Klingon guards decided he was dangerous and moved to subdue him, knocking him over onto the floor with excessively aggressive tackles. Klumpf bellowed.

“Look out!” he shouted as he pointed across the room.

Cholmondely-Smythe followed his pointing finger and found himself staring at Bleep, who was clutching a phaser in his awkward grip. It was pointing straight at Governor Yech. The captain let out a yell and grabbed at Bleep’s arm, which didn’t move. The android ignored him, preparing to fire. Cholmondely-Smythe grabbed at the metal arm and lifted his feet off the floor. His weight was just barely enough to change the android’s aim, and the phaser blast scorched a line in the wall just beyond Yech’s head.

Bleep shook Cholmondely-Smythe off, sending the captain tumbling the the floor with one out-flung arm, and took aim once more.

Hill and Stark burst into the room and Stark shouted, “Protocol override Stark-Tau-Alpha-Rho-Kappa-8765442. Emergency powerdown!”

“Override accepted,” Bleep announced, and promptly shut down. The phaser clattered to the floor as the android slumped over.

“This is outrageous!” Yech burst out. “Clearly all of this was a clever ruse to get me on board so you could murder me in the name of the Federation.”

“I say,” Cholmondely-Smythe protested, somewhat dazed as he stood up. “If that were so, why would I risk my life saving you?”

Yech hesitated. “Then it was a plot to gain my trust!”

Hill spoke up then. “Er, actually, I think it was a plot to murder you,” he said.

“Not helping, Number One,” Cholmondely-Smythe said in a rather loud whisper.

“Actually, Captain, I’m pretty sure that Bleep has been acting under the control of the Orions,” Hill said. “I’ve been seeing weird F-band transmissions, always just before something odd happens – the weapons being beamed out… this. The transmissions seem to be configured so that they trigger programming in Mr. Bleep.” Realising he had everyone’s attention, Hill flushed red but continued talking. “We’ve also checked the shuttlecraft and found the same microfractures and discrepancies as we did in the weapons. It all points to the Orions controlling Bleep.”

“The Orions have been known to use captured or stolen cloaking technology. Could the transmissions have come from a cloaked vessel in the area?” Ambassador Shar asked.

Hill shook his head. “The nature of the transmissions means whoever sends it would have to be in close proximity to Bleep to guarantee reception.” His padd beeped and he glanced at it. His eyebrows rose. “Um. According to our calculations, there are only two people who have been in the correct proximity to Bleep every time we’ve received a transmission. That’s Captain Cholmondely-Smythe… and Ambassador Shar.”

All eyes turned to Shar, who laughed nervously. “Come now, this is preposterous,” he said, not particularly convincingly.

“Whoever is sending the transmissions has probably got an F-band transmitter hidden on them,” Stark pointed out.

Cholmondely-Smythe spread his arms wide and turned to one of the Klingon security guards. “Have at me, old chap,” he said. “I have nothing to hide.”

As the Klingon started patting him down, not particularly gently, Yech and the other looked to Shar, who started to bluster. “I am a representative of the Klingon High Council!” he snapped. “I will not submit to this madness.” He folded his arms over his chest.

Yech’s eyebrows rose. “In the name of the Colony of Hyperbolus and the Klingon Empire, I am placing you under arrest. We’ll take you down to the planet and search you there.”

As the guards closed in on him, Shar looked to Cholmondely-Smythe. “Captain, I formally request asylum on board the Psycho.”

Hill snorted. “Sod off,” he said, before backing down under Cholmondely-Smythe’s glare.

The captain met Shar’s eyes. “Though I would have put it somewhat differently, I think my first officer has said it all, Ambassador,” he said. “Of course, if you are proven innocent of your crimes, we can reconsider the issue. Ta-ta.”

Yech looked at the captain and nodded, begrudgingly. Then, without another word he touched a button on a device on his belt and he, the guards and Shar all disappeared in the sparkle of a transporter beam.

“Spiffing,” Cholmondely-Smythe said, turning to Hill. “Alright Commander, what the deuce is going on?”

 

The door to Counsellor Hill’s tiny, cramped office opened and Barfoot shuffled in. The Counsellor smiled at him and gestured for him to take a seat.

“You wanted to see me?” Barfoot said with his usual cheeky grin.

“How’s the work on Bleep going?” she asked, tapping at the padd in front of her.

“Oh, you know, so-so,” Barfoot replied. “They did a proper number on his programming. We’re getting there, though! He’ll soon be right as rain.”

Counsellor Hill nodded thoughtfully. “And how about you?” she prompted. “How are you holding up?”

Barfoot looked confused. “What do you mean?” he asked.

She sighed. “You were kidnapped and probably brainwashed. They used your command codes to override Bleep’s programming. How does that make you feel?”

The deputy engineer thought about it for a few moments. “Hungry,” he decided eventually.

“Hungry?”

“Yep.”

“Right. Okay. Thanks for coming in,” she said, giving up.

Barfoot stood up and walked out, waving. He started humming ‘Save Your Love’ before stopping quickly. A few seconds later he started up again, this time to the tune of ‘The Shoop Shoop Song’. He added a little shimmy to his step as he headed down the corridor. Time to get back to work.

 

“Why have you failed me again?!” the Orion woman, Stella, raged. In front of her two Orion men cowered, while Cremini haunted the shadows nearby.

“It’s that ship, Mistress!” one of the Orions insisted. “At every turn, they blunder into our plans and dismantle them. The trans-shield anode, the abandoned mining asteroid for the staging post, the research base, and now this.”

“Excuses!” Stella shouted, backhanding him across the face. She took a deep breath and visibly composed herself. “This should have kickstarted tensions between the Klingons and the Federation for us to exploit.” She scowled in frustration, then looked to Cremini.

“How quickly could we accelerate the… alternative arrangement?” she asked.

Cremini thought for a moment. “The sisters are ready. It wouldn’t take much to move forward sooner rather than later.”

Stella nodded. “Fine. Then near as makes n’matter we can get on wi’ t’original plan,” she said. She cleared her throat. “The Klingons will never know what hit them, and then we can exploit the chaos to our own advantage.”

She smiled as Cremini hurried away. “And if the Psycho gets in the way,” she said, mostly to herself, “then we’ll just have to deal with them once and for all.”