Psycho I

“Captain’s log, Stardate 45678.9. The Psycho has been ordered to the Badlands in pursuit of a Marquis vessel that has disappeared there. Everyone is agreed that this is a good mission, as it means that we are less likely to have crewmembers hijacked by Starfleet to make up skeleton crews to replace those lost at Poodle 248. Preparations are already underway to make this mission drag out as long as possible. Talking of crew replacements, we have dumped, ah, transferred, Commander Eggby on Starbase 321. That has helped the general atmosphere somewhat. End log entry.”

The mood on the ship these past few days had been a good one. The crew, relieved by both having defeated the Borg and losing Hill as Captain, were partying like crazy, and for once, Olding wasn’t in the mood to stop them. Until now. They were now four hours out from the Badlands, and the partying would have to stop. Olding cracked his knuckles, painfully aware he was about to give the most unpopular order of his career. “Yellow Alert!” He could practically hear the groans from all over the ship. Turning to Mr Bleep, Olding said, “Begin a scan for t’ Marquis ship.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Aye, sir.” As Bleep began to pound his console, various members of the senior staff appeared on the Bridge. Wall and Damerell’s uniforms were covered in dirt and oil, and they looked exhausted, but happy. Hill had bits of tricorder in his hands, and was obviously attempting to rebuild it. The counsellor wasn’t there, but Olding knew that was because she was carrying out the Doctor’s psychological review.

“Right, lads,” he said, “Let’s get to work.”

 

Several decks down, in the counsellor’s office, Doctor Jackson’s psychological review was getting underway.

“So, Doctor, speaking as one professional to another, what are your views on life?”

Jackson sat in a chair, and considered that one.

After ten minutes, the counsellor coughed, and said, “Actually, it would be more helpful if you told me, rather than just thinking them through.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” There was another long pause.

“Well?”

“I think the world will be a nicer place if people cut each other up a little more.”

The counsellor scribbled hurriedly on her padd. “I see. Go on.” Her eyebrow lifted sharply.

“You know, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt during my time as a doctor, it’s that once you cut bits off people, they become a lot nicer.”

“Really?” Despite herself, the counsellor wanted to hear his justification for his… uh, bizarre viewpoint.

“Yeah. I’ve had some really unpleasant people come through sickbay for one sort of operation or another, and once they’ve had whatever it is they need chopped off, they suddenly become the nicest people you could hope to meet.”

“Such as?”

“Well… there was that Orion captain we had in the brig a few weeks ago, who needed his appendix out. He came into Sickbay really horrible, and came out really nice.”

The counsellor swallowed. “Doctor, that Orion captain came out DEAD!!!!!!”

“And?”

 

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Captain, sensor reports negative on all counts. There is no sign of the Marquis ship anywhere.”

“Hmm.” Olding looked unimpressed.

Damerell spoke up. “We have picked up a…” he began to read aloud from the screen, clearly not understanding what it was the computer was telling him, “… a compressed tetryon beam.”

Olding was still not interested.

Damerell looked around. “It’s heading this way.”

Now that was more interesting. “On screen.” The screen changed to display a large white bar coming towards them.

Something about it screamed ominousness. “Shields up!” Olding said, while Hill fiddled with the little control panel by his chair. It was at times like these that he really missed being science officer.

“Mr Wall, get us away from that thing! Warp one!!”

Wall tapped away industriously at his controls, then frowned. “Nothing’s happening, Captain.”

“I can see that. Why not?”

“Erm… I don’t know. Warp engines are non-operational.”

“Right. Full impulse!!!”

Damerell’s voice reached its standard crisis-tone, in other words a high-pitched panicked scream. “It’s gaining on us!!!!!”

“All hands, prepare for imp…”

 

Olding awoke, to discover the bridge had reverted to what he had come to know as Condition A2 (completely trashed). He picked himself up from the helm console, where the force of the wave had thrown him, and looked around for the rest of the crew. Hill appeared to be wrapped neatly around his little console, Damerell and Wall were tangled in a sorry heap by the viewscreen, Bleep, of course, had remained standing, although he was now two feet in front of his previous position and had taken the tactical console with him. Returning to his seat, Olding called, “Damage report!”

The crew slowly returned to their duty stations, and gradually the reports came in.

“Helm controls off-line.”

“Engineering reports the warp-core is down.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Tactical controls non-operational, Captain.”

All this was to be expected. What was unexpected was Damerell’s report. “Sir, I’ve just completed a navigational scan… Ahem. Um, you don’t want to hear the results.”

Olding leaned forwards in his chair. “Oh, yes I do, Mr Damerell.”

“We seem to be over 70,000 light years from our previous position.”

“Yes, very funny. Now do t’ scan properly.”

Hill was looking over the operations officer’s shoulder now, and his face was ashen. “He has, sir. We’re in the Delta Quadrant.”

Olding stood up. Now they were really in the shit. “Screen on.”

The screen flickered, then revealed empty space. Olding harrumphed. Nothing to be seen there.

Then, Damerell spoke again. “We’ve picked up a space-station directly astern.”

“On screen,” Olding said. The screen changed to show a large space-station of alien design hanging in space. Every few seconds, a pulse of energy emerged from an emitter cone on the underside of the station, and shot off into space.
Olding was about to go “Hmm,” again, when the comm channel bleeped, and a hassled-sounding Stark said, “Captain, could you come down to Engineering? We have a bit of a problem.”

 

It was the first time Olding had had a good look round his new engine room. It was a lot swisher than the previous one, with loads more in the way of flashing lights and pulsing energy bursts. The fridge in the corner looked pretty much the same, though. In fact, judging by the carbon-scoring and blast-marks, Olding judged it to be exactly the same fridge he had last seen in the engine-room of the Psycho-A.

There was a group of worried-looking engineers clustered round the warp-core, scratching their chins and muttering words with at least twenty syllables in them under their breath, while Stark tried to look commanding and ended up just looking blank.

“What’s t’ problem?” he asked, standing away from the core, just in case.

“Um, we’re not sure.” Stark had mastered the worried-engineer look down to a tee. “No matter what we do, we can’t get the warp-core on-line.”

Olding looked at the core, then at a monitor, and said, “Have you thought of taking off t’ flow clamps?”

There was a general embarrassed shuffling, and the entire engineering staff simultaneously muttered, “‘course, I was going to suggest that, but I thought you had already taken care of it.” Barfoot typed in the appropriate commands, and Olding began to look smug, when suddenly, everyone in Engineering vanished in a burst of white light.

Olding tapped his comm-badge, and said, “Olding to bridge. What have you done wi’ my engineers?” There was no response.

Olding was about to swear fluently when the burst of white light took him away as well.

 

He found himself standing in a large, sterile room, surrounded by some very surprised members of the Psycho crew. As he looked about him, trying to detect any sort of details on the walls, Hill approached him, trailing Wall, Damerell and the Doctor.

“What happened to us?” Olding asked.

Hill consulted a tricorder before saying, “I think we’ve been beamed aboard the space-station.”

“Hmm. I wonder who by?”

“I dunno. But it seems that everyone who survived the trip is now here on the station.”

“What do you mean?”

“We lost a fair few people when the wave hit us. The Doctor is the only member of our medical staff we have left.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Uh-uh.”

 

Before Hill could elaborate on their losses, a voice boomed out from hidden speakers. “Greetings, Captain Olding. It’s been a long time.”

Olding frowned. “I know that bluidy voice… it’s…” He looked across at Hill.

His first officer nodded. “Chris Graham.”

The words hit Olding like a hammer. He realised that the crew had huddled together in a small group behind him, quite an impressive feat for over two hundred people. Stepping away from them, he decided to try and reason with his former chief engineer.

“Mr Graham!” he bellowed, “I demand you come out and talk to us directly!!!!”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Olding looked sidelong at Hill. “It’s him alright.” Hill attempted to surreptitiously draw a phaser, an action which was spoiled only by the lack of a phaser to draw. “Mr Graham, what have you done?”

“I’ve done something absolutely super! I’ve brought you all to my new playground!”

“T’ Delta Quadrant is… your new playground?”

“That’s right!”

Olding was starting to get annoyed. “Mr Graham, I demand that you return us to t’ Alpha Quadrant immediately!!!!!”

“I don’t think so.” There was another flash of bright white light, and Olding found himself strapped to an examination table. He just had time to see that his entire crew were strapped to similar tables before a large needle descended from an array in the ceiling and pierced his chest. There was a simultaneous scream from the entire Psycho crew.

 

When he came to, it was to find himself flat on his back in Engineering. Standing up, Olding looked around. Sure enough, everyone else had been returned.

Tapping his comm-badge, he said, “Olding to bridge. Status report.”

Hill’s shaky voice replied. “Bridge here. We’re all alright, but we seem to have lost Mr Damerell.”

“Oh. Well see if you can find him. Olding out.”

Olding looked around. Groggy engineers were starting to regain their posts. Barfoot approached him, adopting the sidling walk a member of the Psycho crew used when they had bad news they had to give the Captain.

“Um, sir, we can’t seem to find Mr Stark anywhere.”

Olding frowned. “Computer, locate Lieutenant-Commanders Stark and Damerell.”

There was an electronic groan, and the computer said, “Lieutenant-Commanders Stark and Damerell are not on board the Psycho.”

“Bluidy marvellous.” Olding set out for the bridge. He had a feeling he knew who was behind this.

 

In Sickbay, Jackson was getting overwhelmed by the number of casualties coming in. Without his staff, he couldn’t deal with all of them. Which left him one option. He didn’t really want to use it, but he had no option. With extreme reluctance, Jackson said, “Computer, activate Emergency Medical Holographic Program.”

There was a swirling similar to a transporter effect in the centre of the room, and the EMH Doctor appeared. “Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” he said. In Jackson’s voice. With Jackson’s face. In fact, the whole thing was like another Jackson. Jackson brightened up immediately. This was going to be better than he thought.

“We’ve got loads of casualties in. You take the right-hand side, and I’ll take left. Deal?”

“Deal.”

 

Up on the bridge, Olding was trying to reason with Graham. “Look, I promise not to get angry. Just let me have my crew back!”

“Oooh, no, I don’t think I can do that, Captain Olding.”

Olding bristled. “Alright then. Have it your way. I’ll find ’em myself. Just don’t expect any help from us in t’ future!”

“Oh, I’ll be waiting here, just me and my Array. Super.”

Cutting the communication, Olding turned to Hill. “Where d’ye reckon they are?”

“I’ve carried out a scan of the station. They’re not there.”

“Great. Where else have we got?”

Mr Bleep rumbled, preparatory to saying something. Olding and the others waited politely for the android to get to the point. “Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Sensors have detected a planetary system quite close by, Captain. It appears to be the recipient of the burst of energy from the station.”

“And you think that Graham may have sent Mr Damerell and Mr Stark there?”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Yes, Captain.”

Olding turned to the helm. “Mr Wall, lay in a course for the planet and engage.”

 

In Sickbay, there was a subtle, but appreciable migration of patients from the left-hand side to the right. The crew had quickly discovered that the EMH Doctor, although looking like Jackson, was considerably more skilled than him, and so chose to swap. Already plots were being discussed to try and get the Doctor transferred out of Sickbay. Jackson, blissfully unaware of this mutiny, whistled cheerfully as he tested a blade. Nasty shrapnel wound here, but cutting off the leg ought to do it. Now then… Jackson turned back to the bed to discover that the crewman in question, Chief Earley, had absconded to the other side of Sickbay. Jackson moved on to the next one, before they could get away.

 

Some time later, the Psycho was making her way through a debris field when they were hailed by a small shuttle of unknown provenance. The hail was standard Starfleet protocol, however. That interested Olding sufficiently for him to order the ship to a standstill and the hail put on screen. A second later, the screen revealed a face Olding thought he would never see again. “Bluidy ‘ell! Fred! What’re you doin’ ‘ere?”
“Weeeell howdy, Cap’n! It sure is a pleasure to see you agin! Now that you’re here, would you consider giving a poor thirsty cowboy a lift?”
“Absolutely! Open t’ shuttle bay doors, Bleep.”
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… I’m afraid I can’t do that Dave… Shuttle bay doors unresponsive, Captain.”
“Well get ’em respondin’! That’s an order!”
“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Aye sir.”

A few minutes later, after a few hurried repairs, Fred’s shuttle was brought aboard, and Fred brought up to the conference room by a security crewman. Then it was discovered that he wasn’t the only person aboard the tiny craft.

“Ah’d like you to meet Delia. Ah found her on a little planet somewhere around here. She’s been keepin’ me company these last few weeks.”

Olding and the other male members of the crew all stared, while the counsellor watched with no little amusement. Olding’s first semi-logical thoughts about Delia was that she seemed to resemble one of those French curves you could get in art shops. He forced himself to get off that line of thought.

“Ahem. Fred, nice as it is to see you again, I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a crisis. Would you mind if we waited for a while before we talked.”

Fred was his usual genial self. “Sure, Cap’n! No problem! Ah take it this mighty fine ship’s got a bar?”

“Aye. It’s been prepared for you.”

“Weeell, thank you kindly Captain! Ah guess Ah’ll jest mosey along down there. C’mon, Delia, ah want to show you the finest ship in Starfleet.” Fred led Delia out of the conference room. Delia pouted and waved shyly at the crew. Wall waved back, and Hill slapped him over the back of the head.

Once Fred and Delia had left, the counsellor observed to nobody in particular, “You know, my empathic abilities aren’t usually what you might call strong, but just now, I was able to read the exact thoughts of every man in this room. And you know what they were? ‘Phwoooar!!!'” She stood up and left, leaving the entire command staff of the Psycho blushing furiously.

 

A while later, they reached the planet. Immediately after he’d established them in orbit (just), Wall said, “Permission to lead an armed away team to the surface to recover Stark and Damerell sir?”

Olding looked at him with his finest ‘You have to be joking’ look.

“Oh, come on, sir, please? Go on, you know you want to, please? Huh, can I, can I, please please, huh huh?”

Olding let him sweat for a few more seconds before saying, “I will lead an away team down to the surface. Commander Hill, you have the conn. Counsellor Hill, Mr Wall, you’re with me. Mr Bleep, have two men from Security meet us in the transporter room.”

 

They beamed down to a desert. While the others loosened their uniform collars, Olding, smug because he’d put on the waistcoat reserved for captains and was therefore a bit cooler, set to work with his tricorder.

“This is t’ area where we detected life-signs, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir,” Wall responded, already sweating profusely. “Sensors detected faint life signs in this area.”

“Well, now we’re not gettin’ anythin’. Explanations?”

“Erm, not really…”

Wall and the two goons from Security looked around aimlessly while Olding frowned and thought hard. Where had all the life-forms gone? If they were going to find their missing crew, they had to be able to detect life-forms of some kind. Before Olding could come up with anything close to a workable theory, his tricorder started to bleep frenziedly. He looked up.
They were surrounded by rather unfriendly-looking aliens. They were quite unlike anything Olding had ever seen before. Unfortunately, the weaponry they were holding looked all too familiar. He had been on the wrong end of phasers far too much recently.

Wall tried to surreptitiously go for his phaser, but Olding said, “Hang on a minute. Let’s see if we can’t pull off a non-violent first contact for once.” He stepped towards the alien he presumed to be the leader, prayed the universal translator would actually do what it was supposed to, and said, “Mornin’. I am Captain Christopher Olding o’ t’ Federation Starship Psycho. I come in peace. I am here to find missing members of my crew, and would appreciate any help you can give me.”

There was a silence, long enough for Olding to start wondering if the aliens had heard him say anything at all, before the one he had addressed spoke.

“I am Marge Kollandah of the Khazi-Oglers. I have not seen your crewmen. If they are not on the surface, then they may well be below, with the Otenta.”

“The Otenta?”

“A humanoid species that lives deep within the planet. They are too cowardly to come out to the surface and fight.”

Olding didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. When aliens started talking about cowards and fighting, he felt an almost irresistible urge to run away. He wondered if this was how Damerell felt.

Before he could tap his comm-badge, and make a peaceful getaway, the tense calm of the situation fell apart, as Wall said, “Oy, get your hands off my phaser! No, I’m not that kind of guy!” With that, he thumped the Khazi-Ogler who had been pawing at his equipment. The other Khazi didn’t seem to like this. Reluctantly, Olding drew his phaser, set it to stun., and shot the Khazi leader. “Run!” he shouted, and the away team all too willingly obeyed. They ran as fast as they could, ducking laser shots, until they could get behind a large rock and call for transport.

As they re-materialised in the transporter room, Olding began to shout at Wall. “You just can’t bluidy control yourself, can you? I had a good dialogue going there, and you just threw it all away!!!!!”

Wall cowered, until Olding’s face stopped glowing purple, and he said, “Oh, well, t’ damage is done now. Come on, we’d better find a way to get underground.” They made their way to the bridge.

 

Damerell sat up groggily. He was in what appeared to be a hospital, but he couldn’t be sure. Certainly the walls were bright white, and the equipment behind the bed he was on appeared to be medical in design, but there were certain things missing that every hospital should have. Like doctors. On a bed next to him was Stark. Before Damerell could lean over and prod him, Stark sat up, grabbed his head, and said, “Bleargh.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” agreed Damerell.

Stark looked around him, then suddenly a look of panic crossed his face, and he charged at the door. Trying to push his fingers into the crack, Stark puffed and panted as he attempted to get the door open by brute force.

Damerell climbed off the bed and said, “What are you doing?”

“I’ve got a flan rising in the oven!!!! I have to get back to it immediately!!!!!!”

Damerell’s jaw dropped open and he watched as Stark managed to summon up superhuman strength from somewhere, and opened the door a crack. The door then slid open the rest of the way, and Stark dropped to the floor. Before either he or Damerell could get out, though, a group of people dressed in white charged through the door, picked Stark up, threw him onto the bed, all the while yelling things like “Twenty-two litres of hydrocordrazine! Stat!”

Stark continued to struggle, shouting, “You don’t understand!!! This is a flan emergency!!!!!”

Eventually, they subdued him with a hypospray.

Damerell, suddenly aware that they were going for him next, started to babble, “No, no, really, it’s okay, I’ll just sit here and mind my own business…” They got him with the hypospray, and he fell back on the bed.

 

Olding had been hovering around Bleep’s console for quite some time, while Bleep unsuccessfully attempted to detect subsurface life-forms. They had been scanning the planet repeatedly for quite some time, and they were getting nowhere.

“Sod it!” Olding muttered, just as Fred and Delia came onto the bridge.

“Anythin’ the matter, Cap’n?”

“Aye, Fred. We’ve lost Stark and Damerell on the planet. We think they’re below t’ surface, but we can’t detect anything down there. There’s supposed to be an entire species called t’ Otenta down there!”

Delia looked interested at that. “Captain, I am Otenta. Perhaps I could assist you?”

The counsellor, who had been hovering in the background, said, “I can see what you’re thinking, Captain. I thought you were above that sort of thing.”

Olding scowled. He hadn’t actually been thinking anything of the sort, but of course, now that the counsellor had mentioned it, his mind immediately switched course. He blushed furiously, angry at both the counsellor and himself. Recovering quickly, he said, “Of course, lass. Do your people live below t’ surface?”

“We do Captain, but we are protected by a shield that covers our homes. The shield is old, however, and there are holes in it now. That was how I got out.”

Olding thought for a while. “Mr Bleep, can you scan for an energy shield?”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… affirmative, Captain.” He manipulated the console, and, a second later, a light started to flash. “Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… I have detected an energy shield some metres under the surface.”

Olding repressed a groan. They could have cleared this up hours ago. He turned to Delia. “Could you show us where you got through the shield?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Fred moved next to Delia, and said, “Ah’d like to come along for the ride as well, Cap’n.”

“Of course. Mr Hill, Mr Wall, you’re with me. Counsellor, you have t’ conn.”

 

Down on the planet’s surface, Olding and the others followed Delia into a small cave mouth, which led to a long passage descending deep into the planet’s interior. After a while, they reached a glowing barrier that filled most of the tunnel. There was, however, a small gap that they could just squeeze through. One by one, they crawled past the shield, and headed further down into the darkness. Olding wondered if rescuing Stark and Damerell was really worth it.

 

Stark and Damerell were busy hyperventilating. They had just been revived, and had their predicament explained to them. They hadn’t realised just how much trouble they were in. For the first time, they noticed the lumps that had been growing on them, and were told that they were incurable. Once they had stopped screaming, the hyperventilating had begun. In an effort to take their minds off it, the Otentan doctors had taken them for a guided tour around their city.

Stark and Damerell only half listened as the Otentans jabbered away nineteen to the dozen. “My name is Doctor Dugroz, and this is Doctor Joncartah. This is the Otentan city of Goh-fam. It is famous for its statues of…” And so the torture went on. Finally, even Damerell was desperate enough to risk an escape. After a brief period of consultation with Stark, the two of them claimed to need to visit a bathroom. While the Otentans waited outside, Stark prised open the window, and the two of them vaulted out, and legged it down the corridors.

After a while they stopped running, and started hyperventilating again, simply because they were too exhausted to do anything else. It was while they were in this state that they were found by a group of young Otentans.

Damerell gathered enough breath to gasp, “Stay back! I’m armed with, erm, fingers, and I’m not afraid to use them!”

The Otentans exchanged glances, and one of them said, “We are not here to hurt you. We are here to help you. You want to escape, don’t you?”

“Damn right!” panted Stark.

“Then come with us.”

The two of them followed the Otentans into an area of the underground city where the neat white walls were replaced by roughly hewn rock caverns. As they walked, Stark and Damerell both realised just how weak they were. By the time they had arrived at their destination, they were barely capable of walking. So they were incredibly dispirited when they saw the huge staircase that the Otentans indicated they had to climb.

“You will be able to return to your home in the stars once you are on the surface,” one of them said.

Damerell was immediately suspicious. “What d’you mean?”

“You have been sent here by the Caretaker, have you not? He lives in space, so you must too.”

“Er, well, actually…”

Damerell’s flow was cut off by Stark’s firm, “Yes, that’s right. Thanks very much. We’d better be going.”

As they started to climb, Damerell said, “Why did you stop me?”

“Because I can recognise a religious argument in the making when I hear one. We want to get out of here, don’t we?”

“I guess so.”

“Well then.” The two of them slowly and painfully began their climb towards the surface.

 

At approximately the same time as Stark and Damerell began going up, Olding, Hill, Wall, Fred and Delia finished coming down. Delia led them to the hospital, but of course, they drew a blank.

Doctor Dugroz was there, wringing his hands. “I really don’t know why they left. I mean, all we did was tell them they had an incurable disease, and they came over all funny.”

“Hmm.” Olding thought for a while. Turning to Delia, he said, “Lass, d’ye have any idea where they might have gone?”

Delia said, “We didn’t see them on our way down, so I guess they might have tried the staircase.”

“The staircase?”

“The route our ancestors took when they descended below the surface many aeons ago. If they met up with any others of our people, they might have been directed there.”

Olding silently cursed his engineer and operations officer for not having the sense to stay still and wait to be rescued.

“Take us to this staircase, then.”

They reached the staircase just as a tremor began to build. “What the hell?” Olding said.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot, the planet is vulnerable to earthquakes. We read signs of a biggun building up before we beamed down.”

Olding’s attempt to stare menacingly was foiled by the intense vibration which meant Hill couldn’t see him.

“We’d better catch up with them before anything serious hits us.” Another tremor added some urgency to Olding’s statement, and the away team began to climb.

 

Above them, Stark and Damerell, rapidly approaching exhaustion point, were forced to hang on while the tremor rocked the rickety staircase. Once things had calmed down, Stark looked around, and said, “Now, I’m no engineer, but I think these stairs are gonna give pretty soon, so we’d better hurry up.”

“Okay.” They struggled on, faces red and breath coming in gasps. After a while, a thought crossed Damerell’s mind: “What do you mean, you’re no engineer?!”

 

Aboard the Psycho, the counsellor’s relaxing afternoon catnapping in the command chair had just been spoilt by the arrival of several ships in the area.

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… sensors unable to identify vessels.”

“Not surprising, really. I suspect Starfleet’s records for the Delta Quadrant are a little sketchy.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… vessels are assuming attack positions.”

“Oh, are they?” The counsellor wondered if they knew who they were dealing with. “Yellow alert! Shields to standby, set up phaser pre-locks on the enemy vessels. Nothing overtly hostile, just enough to make them think twice about having a go.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Stand clear of the doors please… Aye, sir.”

The counsellor swung the command chair about a bit, and pondered her situation. Part of her was hoping that Captain Olding would get back here tout de suite, whilst another part was wishing that he wouldn’t, so she would get to take on the enemy herself. Assuming they were the enemy, of course. If they weren’t, then who better than the ship’s counsellor to speak to them?

 

Wall, who was leading the group up the staircase, said, “I think I can see them.” Raising his voice, he yelled, “Oy! You two!! Hang on a sec so’s we can catch up.”

From several flights up a weak voice said, “Not a problem. We can’t go any further. I’m knackered.”

Quickly covering the last flights separating the two groups, the away team reached Stark and Damerell, who were lying on a platform, plainly exhausted. “Just a quick breather before we carry on,” Damerell tried to assure them.

Olding raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. C’mon, let’s get this lot to t’ top before the main ‘quake strikes.”

There was another tremor, more serious than previous ones. While Wall and Hill picked up Damerell, Fred threw Stark over his shoulder, and the group climbed. The tremors were now getting to be continuous, making keeping their footing difficult. Several times, Olding stumbled, and had to hang on to the railing for support. Somehow, Fred, with Stark hanging over his shoulder, managed to keep going, and so he was the first one out. Wall and Hill came next, dumping Damerell down onto the surface. They waited for a while, and Olding didn’t turn up, so Hill tapped Stark’s comm-badge, and got Stark, Damerell, Fred and Delia beamed back up to the ship.

“Why couldn’t you have let me go as well?” Wall whined.

“Because you’re still fit and I might need a hand with the captain,” was Hill’s response. Dragging the unwilling helmsman along with him, Hill went back down into the tunnel system, to the staircase, where the earthquake was now in full swing, and the rusty metal was clearly not going to hold for much longer.

“About bluidy time,” came a voice. Hill and Wall saw Olding, perched on a loose platform.

“Hang on, sir!” cried Hill. “We’re coming!”

“Are we? I mean, do we have to?”

“Yes, Mr Wall.”

“Oh.”

 

They scrambled back down, and realised why the captain wasn’t getting anywhere. There was a six-foot gap between the platform and the rest of the stairs, and the platform was on the verge of collapsing. Without thinking, Hill threw himself across the gap, just managing to get a grip on the other side. Having done so, and being thus afforded with a view straight down, he realised just what an incredibly stupid thing he had just done. Olding, seeing what was going on, wasted no time in crossing over Hill’s back to safety. He and Wall were about to pull Hill to safety when the platform collapsed.

In the confusion, Hill somehow managed to turn around, and made a desperate grab for the edge of the stairs. He missed, however, and was just about to start screaming when he felt something grab his arm. Wall, in a fit of the stupidity that frequently passes as heroics, had dived forwards and caught the first officer just in the nick of time. Hill was now left dangling over an incredibly long drop, and Wall was starting to get pulled over the edge. Olding grabbed Wall’s ankles, and braced himself against a broken strut. He could see that the links on this piece of the staircase weren’t holding too well, either, and they had seconds to do something about it.

“Pull him up, Mr Wall!”

“You have to be joking!” Wall could feel his arm apparently getting longer and longer.

“Well then, Mr Hill, climb up his arm!”

Hill swung himself backwards and forwards, until he could swing his hand high enough to grab Wall’s arm above the elbow with both hands.

Wall, through gritted teeth, moaned, “Do I look like a climbing frame to you?”

Hill was far too interested in saving his own life to respond. Eventually, he managed to heave himself back onto the platform, and the three of them hurried back to the surface, where the transporter operator found them and pulled them away.

 

Back on the bridge, Olding dusted himself down, and asked for a status report from the counsellor. She then pointed out the ships that were hanging off the Psycho‘s bows in a classic attack formation.

“Have they made any moves towards us?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. We’re going back to have a few words with Mr Graham.”

 

The Psycho returned to the Array, with the unidentified ships travelling in company. Arriving in a close orbit (it would have been a standard orbit but Wall botched the approach), Olding beamed over to the Array with the counsellor.

“Right, Mr Graham! We need to have some serious words! Come out here this very minute!!!!”

There was no response. The counsellor nudged Olding, and pointed to a small curtain set into the wall. It appeared to be twitching. Olding strode over and pulled it aside. Behind the curtain was Graham. He held a microphone.

Recovering from the shock quickly, he said, “I see you’ve changed your tailor. Not bad.”

“Never mind all that! I want to know how you got here, why you infected my officers with that… whatever it was, and sent them to that grotty little planet! It’s taken t’ Doctor bluidy hours to clear up t’ infection!!! And once you’ve done explaining, you can send us back to t’ Alpha Quadrant.”

“Not asking for much, I see. Well, I suppose you remember how you left me on that ghastly planet, arguing with that rather small-minded creature?”

“Yes,” Olding said, a little uncomfortable about having that brought up. “How did you get away, and why haven’t you aged?”

“I managed to talk the creature into using its power to aid my quest to find a new home. After a bit of persuading, it joined with a machine I built, providing me with a power source, and pushed me out here. I built the Array using my machine, and lived here in peace and quiet, sending power supplies to the Otentans just to interfere with their development, it’s quite fun, you should try it sometime, until you arrived and made everything go all horrible. Speaking of which, do you still have that evil Richard following you about?”

“Commander Hill is still one of my officers, yes.”

“Never mind. As to your officers, they were infected by a little something I’ve been working on. You see, I’ve been improving my mind, by carrying out a few little experiments into biological warfare. That was just an experiment I tried, and it worked quite well, actually.”

Olding simmered as he heard the explanations. “How come you haven’t aged, then?”

“Plastic surgery. Rather good, don’t you think? And that brings me to another point. I’m quite happy to send you back, if you will supply me with a female to mate with.”

“What?!!!”

“It’s quite a simple request.” Graham looked at the counsellor. ‘I have the relevant machinery. It would all be very clean. It is absolutely necessary that I ensure that the spirit of Grahamness continues to survive in the galaxy.”

Olding realised that his former engineer, who had always been a bit strange, was now 100% absolutely potty, barking, nuts, loopy, nutty as a fruitcake. Unfortunately, he also held the only key to getting them home.

“Er, can you give us a while to think about it. I’ll need to consult my crew. Especially the, er, women.”

If looks could kill, the look the counsellor shot him would have done the same job as a phaser on a very high setting.

“Come on, counsellor, we’d better be going.”

 

The counsellor had been ranting on for about ten minutes now. Olding had let her go on, as he needed to get his thoughts in gear, but now he was trying to get her to shut up, she wouldn’t.

“…I think it’s absolutely disgusting that you’d even consider handing over one of our crew to that…”

“Er, excuse me, counsellor….”

“…That monster, that, that despicable excuse for…”

“Ahem. Counsellor?”

“… that slime-ridden piece of…”

“SHURRUP!!!!!!”

The counsellor did so.

“Thank you. Now then. I have no intention of letting Mr Graham reproduce. T’ thought o’ one o’ him in t’ universe is scary enough, without actually helping to produce more. But, he is our only quick way home. If we destroy that station, which seems to be our only other alternative, we’ll be stuck here. I just want to be sure that everyone understands that. Can I have a show of hands please. All those in favour of bumping off Mr Graham…?”

There was a unanimous show of hands. even Bleep was voting. Presumably he had bad memories of Graham’s attempts to rebuild him.

“Right then. Better get it over with. Red Alert!”

The crew piled back out onto the bridge. Olding stood in front of his seat, and said, “Arm the thoron devices. They’ll be powerful enough to take out t’ station.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Thoron devices armed, Captain.”

“Open hailing frequencies. Better warn that lot what I’m about to do.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Hailing frequencies open, Captain.”

“Attention unidentified vessels. This is Captain Christopher Olding of t’ Federation Starship Psycho. I intend to destroy t’ Array. I would advise you to back away from the station to avoid damage from the explosion.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Stand clear of the doors please… They are responding, Captain.”

“On screen.”

The screen displayed the face of the Khazi-Ogler Olding had met before.

“This is Marge Kollandah. I cannot allow you to destroy the Array! I want the superior technology it contains!!!”

Olding sighed as he realised he was about to make a new enemy. “Hard cheese, Kollandah. Fire thoron devices!”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Thoron devices fired, Captain.” The Array exploded into a thousand pieces, and Olding thought that he had probably done the Delta Quadrant a huge favour.

“Mr Wall, evasive manoeuvres! Get us out of here!”

Wall threw the Psycho into a series of twists and turns that sent warning lights running across Damerell’s board. He shouted, “The inertial dampeners are giving out!”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Incoming.”

“Sod t’ bluidy inertial dampeners!!! Just keep us alive!!!”

With those detailed orders ringing in their ears, the crew got to work.

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Stand clear of the doors please… permission to open fire?”

“Permission granted. Phasers only, I want to keep our torpedoes.”

Bleep opened fire, knocking one of the Khazi ships into another. The two ships dissolved, but the others kept coming.

“Keep firing, Mr Bleep!”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Aye, Captain.”

The ship shuddered as it was hit by Khazi energy-weapons.

“Shields down to seventy percent!” Damerell yelled.

“Thank you. And, Mr Damerell?”

“YES?”

“No need to shout.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

 

After a while, the battle reached stalemate. The Khazi seemed to realise it at the same moment as Olding did, as Kollandah hailed them, and snarled, “You have made an enemy here today,” before departing at high warp.

“Hmm,” Olding said, “With any luck we won’t see him again. Helm, lay in a course for home.”

Wall flicked through ‘Collins Guide to Federation Space and its Environs’, realised the book was absolutely no damn use whatsoever, aimed the ship roughly towards where he thought the Federation might be, and reported, “Course plotted and laid in, sir.”

“Engage.” The Psycho shot off towards home.

 

Some hours later, Olding arrived in Fred’s Bar. It was already doing a roaring trade, even though Fred had only been back for a few hours. He plonked himself down on a stool, ordered a nice relaxing Horlicks, and called Fred over. “Fred?”

“Yes, Cap’n?”

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask: how did you get here? Last thing I saw of you, you were a prisoner of t’ Jem’Hadar in t’Gamma Quadrant. That’s a long way from here.”

“Well, Ah don’t rightly know what happened, but Ah was a prisoner for quite a while, until one day there was some sort of accident on board. All the power went off, so Ah sneaked out, managed to steal one of their shuttles, and kinda pottered around here for a while until you found me.”

Olding suddenly sat up very straight. “I need to know t’ exact details of what happened when you escaped.”

“Weell, Ah can’t tell ye much more than that, except that Ah did notice that there was an entire fleet of ’em, hangin’ around this huge great metal wheel-thing. There was a kinda shimmery blue effect in the centre of this wheel. When Ah left, it went away though.”

“What did? T’ wheel, or t’ shimmery blue thing?”

“The shimmery blue thing.”

Olding felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. “Fred, I need you to come wi’ me.”

“But, Mah bar!”

“Delia can run it for now. Come on, this is important!”

 

They arrived in the conference room, and Olding summoned the senior staff. Fred told his story again, and Olding said, “I think what Fred’s talkin’ abou’ is an artificial wormhole.”

“What?” Stark, who had been reading up on wormholes, felt confident enough to mock. “That’s not possible.”

“Isn’t it? I think t’ Jem’Hadar have built a portable wormhole, which was supposed to get them into t’ Alpha Quadrant. Somehow it went wrong, and brought them out here, and now they’re tryin’ to get back to t’ Alpha Quadrant.”

The crew thought about this. Even Wall and Damerell realised that this would cut back on their travel time home.
There was one problem, though, as Hill pointed out, “Thing is, though, I don’t think the Jem’Hadar would be too keen to just let us borrow their wormhole. We’d have to fight our way to it.”

Olding nodded. “I know. But I think it’s worth t’ risk.”

The others considered it. When it became clear no-one else was going to say anything, Wall said, “I say we go for it. I mean, what do we have to lose?”

“Our lives,” muttered Damerell.

“I mean, other than that? We could be home in a couple of weeks.”

Olding, sensing that the group was on the turn, said, “If we try gettin’ back t’ normal way, we’d soon start runnin’ low on rations, and I’d have to cut back on luxuries, replicator rations, and so on.”

As he had suspected, that clinched it. The crew, layabouts to the core, couldn’t bear the thought of losing their privileges. Combat with a Jem’Hadar fleet now seemed preferable to having to give up use of the replicators.

“Alright, let’s do it,” Hill said, and Stark and Damerell nodded agreement.

“Right, then. Fred, show Mr Wall where this thing is, and let’s go.”

 

“Captain’s log, Stardate 47865.98. T’ Psycho is on her way towards t’ suspected Jem’Hadar wormhole. I’m goin’ to look bluidy stupid if there isn’t a wormhole there, but, on t’ other hand, two weeks detour isn’t goin’ to make much of a difference to a seventy-year voyage, which is what we’re lookin’ at otherwise. We haven’t seen any of the Khazi-Ogler recently, so I’m hopin’ for a couple o’ quiet weeks until we get to t’ wormhole. End log entry.”

The crew of the Psycho went about their normal daily business, trying to forget about the fact that they were one hell of a long way from home, and actually getting further away with every second. Given these rather tense conditions, the counsellor did have second thoughts about carrying on with her programme of psychological reviews, but eventually decided that they needed to be done, and to put a hold on them would be to admit to the crew that she felt they were under greater strain. Counsellor Hill had very quickly learnt that the Psycho crew were best treated like children: if you pretended everything was alright, they would probably think everything was alright. The moment you gave them a hint of problems, they fell apart faster than a shuttle after one of Wall’s landings. So she called Stark to her office to get on with his psychological review.

“Good afternoon,” she said cheerfully. “Take a seat.”

Stark sat down, and said, “Now what?”

“Well, let’s talk about your job. I’m sure you’d be the first to admit that you’re not the world’s greatest engineer.”

“I’m learning!” Stark said defensively.

The counsellor adopted soothing tone #12. “Of course you are, but you’re still not quite up to speed, are you?”

“Well, no.”

“So how do you cope? What do you do when you’re confronted by one of those little disasters that occurs in an engine-room every day?”

“Who’s been talking?!”

“No-one, no-one. I just meant that there’s got to be a lot of complicated problems to solve, and if you’re not trained to solve them, how do they get solved?”

Stark relaxed a bit. “Oh, that’s easy. I just get Barfoot to deal with it.”

“I see. Doesn’t that bother you? Having someone who’s better at your job than you are working under you?”

“Nah.”

“You mean you don’t feel uneasy? Threatened in any way?”

“Nah.”

The counsellor realised this was starting to become a bit of a one-way conversation. “So you have no problem with doing a job you’re completely unsuited for, are unable to carry out and have juniors who can do it better than you can?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Well, if they’re gonna pay me for doing it, I’m not gonna argue.”

 

Stark returned to Engineering wondering why the counsellor had ordered four double whiskeys at the end of his review, then drunk them herself. He assumed it was her way of coping with the strain. Wandering around the warp core, and trying to remember how it worked, he noticed one of his engineers, Chief Earley, hurriedly closing a Jefferies tube hatch.

He walked over. “Anything wrong?”

“Er, no, no, nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Honestly.”

Something told Stark he wasn’t being told the whole story. He looked carefully at the chief. The top of his tunic was unzipped, and Stark could see a mass of hair protruding. Too much hair, in fact, to be normal (or even abnormal) body hair. Stark grabbed at the hair, and pulled it free. It turned out to be a small ball of fur, that when Stark held it, purred quite appealingly.

“This is cute,” Stark said, stroking it, “What is it?”

Earley, attempting to bluff his way out of it, said, “Oh, just a tribble,” as casually as he could.

Stark had clearly never seen a tribble before. “Very nice. Oh, well, here you go.” He handed the tribble back to Earley, and wandered back to his office.

 

Later that evening, Stark was in Fred’s Bar with Wall and Damerell, having a quiet drink. Suddenly, he was struck by a thought. “Either of you two heard of tribbles before?”

Wall nodded. “They’re real pains in the backside. Providing they don’t get too much food, they’re not too bad, but the moment you feed them just a little bit too much, they start reproducing like crazy. Apparently, they’re born pregnant.”

Stark felt his hackles rise, as a series of very unpleasant thoughts shot across his mind. “So, um, someone having one on a starship wouldn’t be a clever idea.”

This time, Damerell replied, “You’d better believe it! Having one on a starship quickly becomes having eleven on a starship, then a couple of hundred, and before you know it, the entire starship’s infested!”

Stark stood up. ”Scuse me,” he said, knocked his drink back, then ran like hell for Engineering. Wall and Damerell looked at each other.

“Wonder what all that was about?” Wall said.

“Dunno. Maybe he’s got a tribble aboard.”

They both sniggered at the thought of such a patently stupid idea.

 

Stark ran into Engineering, panting hard. He ripped the hatch cover off the Jefferies tube, and peered inside. His worst fears were confirmed as he saw the large number of tribbles clustered inside the tube. Stark, realising that he had to report this, reluctantly tapped his comm-badge, and said, “Stark to Olding. We have a problem in Engineering, sir. You’d better get down here.”

 

Olding crossed his arms, and frowned as the first of many tribbles was dug out of the Jefferies tube.

Stark was cringing as he said, “… I didn’t realise that they were such a problem! If I had, I wouldn’t have let Chief Earley take his away!”

“You mean that there are more on the ship?”

Stark nodded. Olding’s face was an interesting shade of purple, he noticed.

“Right. Mr Stark, you will have control of the tidying up parties. I want you to find every last tribble on this ship, and pile ’em in t’ runabout. And send Chief Earley up to my ready room.”

Olding stormed out of Engineering, and Stark breathed a sigh of relief. It could have been worse, he reflected. At least he was still in one piece.

Looking across Engineering, he saw Earley cowering behind the warp core. Stark didn’t bother to move round, preferring instead to shout across, “You heard the Captain! Go and see him in his ready room!”

Earley scuttled away, and Stark retired to his office to plan out how he was going to carry out this anti-tribble operation. A quick glance at a map of the ship’s Jefferies tube network told him that the tribbles would be all over the ship by now. Stark banged his head against the desk. There, that felt better. And it was about as productive as anything he could think of to do. Eventually, he came to the unavoidable conclusion that the only way they were going to clear the ship was by hunting the tribbles down by hand. Which would mean he’d have to ask for extra resources from the captain. Oh boy.

 

Olding was staring at Chief Earley, who was trying to give a reasonable excuse for having a dangerous pet like a tribble aboard.

“… I er, didn’t actually know at the time that they were dangerous. Um, you see, the guy who sold it to me, er, Cyrano Jones Junior, he, er, said that they were perfectly safe, and would just be cute and adorable so long as I didn’t feed it too much. And I didn’t feed it too much! I mean, just a nibble here and there, just enough to keep it going, not really enough to encourage reproduction or anything…” Earley trailed off under Olding’s icy stare.

“So how come t’ bluidy tribble is now THOUSANDS of bluidy tribbles?!!!!”

“Erm, well, you see, when we were all on the Array, it, er, got access to the replicators, and, kind of, um, ate.”

Olding stood up, and Earley instinctively flinched. “I suppose I can’t blame you for the tribble reproducing.”

Earley relaxed a little.

“However, I CAN BLAME YOU FOR HAVIN’ ONE IN T’ FIRST PLACE!!!!!!” Olding’s shout echoed off the bulkheads, and Earley clutched at his ears. “And also, I happen to think that just bundlin’ it into a Jefferies tube was reckless and stupid. Takin’ all of these factors into account, I have decided that your punishment shall be to clean t’ decks. Wi’ a toothbrush.”

“What?”

“What?, sir.”

“Sir.”

“Go on then. Snap to it.”

Earley hurried out of the ready room, and Olding threw a padd at the door after him. So much for a quiet couple o’ weeks, he thought bitterly. The tribbles were going to be hell to get rid of, and, even if they did manage to shift all of them to the runabout, what then? Olding’s plan was only a vague one, which involved finding an uninhabited planet and dumping the tribbles there. But they had to actually find a planet first. Olding began to pace up and down, pausing occasionally to kick the panel by the door.

 

Stark had decided, wisely in his view, not to go to Olding with his request for more men and equipment, but to go straight to the counsellor, who, as Security Chief, could loan him men. She had agreed, and so now she and Stark were leading teams of security men with large nets, trying to catch the tribbles, who had now burst clear of the Jefferies tubes and were roaming the corridors freely. They were getting reports of tribble infestations from all over the ship now, so they were kept busy.

The latest report was from E Deck, which was crew quarters. Once the tribbles got a foothold there, Stark realised, they would have effective control of the primary hull. At least they hadn’t got tribbles on the bridge yet.

Stark and his team pounded down the corridors on E Deck, nets gripped tightly in hand, hunting for tribbles. As he saw the first one bounce out from behind a door, Stark yelled, “Tally-ho! We’ve found them!!” and leapt into action. Flinging his net down, he covered the tribble. A quick flick of the wrist swung the net round with the tribble at the bottom, and Stark threw the unfortunate tribble into a big bag that two of the Security men were carrying. “One down, several thousand to go,” Stark muttered.

He motioned to the Security men to cover the door to the affected cabin. They stood on either side of the entrance, nets raised high, while Stark slammed the door open button, then stood back. He didn’t make the move fast enough, however, and was bowled over as a tribble tidal wave poured from the cabin and engulfed the team. For a few seconds, all was pandemonium as the flood of tribbles filled the corridor for several metres on either side of the door.

The counsellor’s team, who had been a few seconds behind Stark, arrived just as the dust settled. “Quick! We’ve got to dig them out!” the counsellor said, before throwing herself into the pile of tribbles. Furry balls flew as she dug into the pile, before triumphantly producing a stunned engineer. Stark spat out hairballs, and angrily kicked tribbles aside as he clambered clear of the pile. His Security men, who hadn’t been caught in the main rush, were able to pull themselves clear, and the two groups stood considering the situation.

At length, Stark said, “We’re not going to be able to get rid of them, are we?”

“I think you’re right,” the counsellor said, leaning on her net. Turning to a computer terminal, she said, “Computer, display location of all known tribbles at this time.” The computer did so, bringing up a map of the ship, with red flashing lights to indicate the location of the tribbles. There was a depressingly large number of them.

Stark traced a finger along the map. “They’re using the Jefferies tubes to spread out all over the ship. We can’t hope to stop them! If they’re in any more cabins in these quantities,” he waved a hand at the pile of tribbles, which were being swept up into sacks by the Security men, “we’ll be overrun before the day is out.”

The counsellor nodded. “We obviously can’t keep this up for ever. We’ll have to find another way of getting rid of them.”

“Okay, but what?”

“Got me there.” They looked helplessly at one another.

Stark, sighing, said, “I guess we’ll just have to carry on as we are for now and try and come up with something else as we work.”

“Right. Can you cope here?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later then. Come on lads.”

With that, Counsellor Hill and her team disappeared off down the corridor.

Stark turned back to his group, who were still piling tribbles into sacks, and said, “Well, come on then! Let’s get a move on!”

 

The tribbles had reached the bridge. Hill and the others watched helplessly as the grating popped off the air vent and tribbles poured out. In vain Wall and Damerell tried to pick them up and pile them into the sacks they had placed on the bridge for just this eventuality. Although they worked fast, there were just too many tribbles pouring out. Hill pushed his way through the rising levels of tribbles to the captain’s ready room, and forced the door open.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” came the inevitable cry from inside.

Hill yelled, “We have to evacuate the bridge, sir! The tribbles are overrunning us!”

Olding scrambled out onto the bridge to find the crew using Bleep as a dam while they picked up vitals and clambered into the turbolifts. Olding and Hill picked their way over to the lift, and climbed in seconds before the tribbles reached it.

“Auxiliary control,” Olding said, and the lift set off. As it descended, they could hear muffled thumps from the roof as tribbles landed on it.

 

Stark’s team were back in Engineering, after having delivered their sacks full of tribbles to the runabout. The rear compartment of the Liffey was now so full that they could no longer open the doors, but had had to take a panel off the top of the engines to pour the tribbles in through and pray that they wouldn’t figure out how to climb.

While the Security men took a breather, Stark conferred with Barfoot, who he had left in charge of Engineering.

“… I still reckon going after ’em with phasers is your best bet,” Barfoot said. “Haha, die foul tribble!!!” he added, waving an imaginary phaser at Stark.

“Yeah, thanks. Somehow I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“Oh well, if you’re not going to listen to my ideas…” Barfoot wandered off, humming the Federation Anthem off-key. Stark watched his deputy engineer go. Disturbingly, he found himself giving serious consideration to the phaser idea. Maybe on stun… Suddenly, the idea hit him full in the face. He tapped his comm-badge, and said, “Stark to Hill.”

Two voices said, “Yes?”

Stark cursed. He’d forgotten. ‘Sorry, Commander, didn’t want you.”

“Charming.”

Hill hung up, and Stark said, “Counsellor, I have a cunning plan.”

Quickly he explained his idea. When he was finished, the counsellor said, “You’re in luck. Five minutes ago, the Captain would have turned you down like a shot, but they’ve just had to evacuate the bridge. He’s not happy. I reckon you should suggest it to him.”

“Right then.”

Stark took a deep breath, tapped his comm-badge again, and said, “Stark to Olding.”

“Olding here.” Olding did not sound at all happy.

“Sir, I have an idea.”

Once more, Stark explained his plan. Olding thought for a moment, then said, ‘Are you sure this will get these bluidy pests of my ship?”

“I think so sir. It would at least give us time to collect them up without them reproducing and giving us a bigger headache.”

“I’ll give the orders.”

“Thank you, sir.”

 

Three hours later, the tribbles were in control of both Engineering and the saucer section. The Psycho crew had crowded into the holodecks on F Deck, as they were the only rooms that could be completely isolated from the rest of the ship. They were waiting anxiously for Olding and Stark to arrive in Holodeck three, when the plan would begin. Most of the senior staff had assembled in three, so the bad jokes quotient was higher there than anywhere else. That was bad enough, but the tension reached breaking point when, above the low murmur of conversation came the sound that no person in a confined space ever wanted to hear.

‘Parrrp!!!!!’

The conversation immediately got more pointed. “Oh for Christ’s sake!”

“It wasn’t me! Don’t look at me!”

“Jeez, that is strong!!!!!” Slowly, the crew shuffled away from a point in the centre of the room, making the crowding worse. “Can’t we turn the air-conditioning on?”

“Dur! Do you want to be gassed?”

“What d’you think’s happening to me now?!”

At this juncture, Olding and Stark shot into the Holodeck, and security-sealed the door.

Olding turned to the crew, and said, “The intruder alert system’s been activated. In abou’ twenty seconds the ship will be flooded with an anaesthetic gas! Hopefully that’ll knock ou’ t’ bluidy tribbles for long enough for us to get ’em into the shuttles and ou’ o’ here!” Abruptly, his expression changed, and he demanded, “Alright. Who the bluidy ‘ell was that?!”

“We don’t know sir.” Hill’s face was grim. “But we’ll find out.”

“I should bluidy well hope so.” Silence descended as everybody tried to breathe shallowly. The first casualties came about twenty minutes later, just before it was deemed safe to leave the Holodecks. Those closest to the discharge couldn’t keep breathing shallowly for long enough, and they passed out. Finally, Olding unlocked the doors, and the crew spilled out into the corridor. As they ran out, sucking in great big gulps of air, Olding shouted, “Your first priority is to get those tribbles to t’ shuttles!”

 

This time, Stark’s teams found collecting the tribbles a lot easier, as they were all unconscious, and so didn’t reproduce while they were being picked up, or while they were in the bag. It was still an arduous task, but now that Olding had committed the entire crew to it, it was over much more quickly. There were a few more tribble-falls in various parts of the ship, but by the time that the tribbles were beginning to come around again, they were all securely in the shuttles, and the shuttlebay was being depressurised ready for launch.

The Lecter was under the command of Stark with Barfoot co-piloting, the runabout Liffey was being piloted by Wall and Damerell (they wouldn’t let anybody else near it), and the von Bulow was crewed by Counsellor Hill and Doctor Jackson. Olding had the Psycho halted close to a star system that contained a class M planet that was free of sentient life.

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Sensors detect some natural predators. The tribbles will have some restrictions on their development, Captain.”

“Good. We don’t want ’em to completely destroy t’ planet.” Olding hit the button that put him through to the shuttles.

“Olding to shuttles. You have permission to launch.”

The screen showed the two shuttles and the runabout fly out of the Psycho‘s shuttlebay, turn towards the planet, then enter warp. Olding relaxed. Hopefully this farce would soon be over.

The shuttles made good time to the planet, found several quiet spots at different points around the planet to deposit the tribbles, and landed. Once down, the crews quickly discovered that it was easier to kick the tribbles out than it had been to get them in. Half-an-hour’s worth of throwing purring tribbles out onto the planetary surface, and the first tribble colonies had been established. The shuttles then took off again, and set off back towards the Psycho. Wall and Damerell were singing noisily to their copy of ‘The Best of Queen’, and generally having a great time. Stark was being quietly smug while Barfoot gabbled on about how amazing it was that they’d been able to get all the tribbles shoved into three tiny shuttlecraft, well, the runabout wasn’t so tiny, but you know, it’s still pretty amazing, and…

 

Jackson and the counsellor, however, had a few problems. The counsellor had just completed her shuttle-training course, as part of a self-improvement programme that was supposed to eventually make her proficient in every major ship-operation (the reason being that, having carried out psychological evaluations of everyone except Olding, the counsellor didn’t trust anyone except herself and the captain to competently manage the ship, and so she wanted to be ready, just in case).

So, she could deal with most common or garden problems aboard a shuttle, but this was quite weird. “Sensors are detecting some sort of anomaly up ahead! It’s affecting our systems!” she said.

Jackson peered out of the cockpit. “I can’t see anything,” he said in a doubtful tone of voice.

“It’s there, trust me! Now hang on! I can’t avoid it!” Counsellor Hill slapped her comm-badge, and said, “Mayday! This is the von Bulow! We’re caught by some sort of anomaly! I can’t break us free! Mayday!”

She heard the beginnings of an answer, but then the shuttle impacted with the anomaly and Jackson and the counsellor lost consciousness.

 

When she came round, the counsellor opened her eyes to see Damerell leaning over her. That shock was enough to get her standing up, and looking around. Strange, she thought, this doesn’t look like sickbay. Before she could say anything to Damerell, Jackson came to in the traditional way.

“Urgh. Where am I?”

Damerell answered, “You’re in a cave system. I’m afraid I can’t tell you where.”

The counsellor looked closely at Damerell. He looked like the operations officer, but there was something in his voice, something subtly different… Ah! That was it! He no longer had that whining quality to his voice that marked the Damerell the counsellor knew. His next comment proved it.

“Hi. Buzz Damerell’s the name. I’m exceedingly pleased to meet you, Doctor Jackson.”

“Eh?”

The Doctor looked blankly at Damerell. “You already know who I am.”

“Yuh. But it’s always a pleasure to meet someone as famous as you are in the flesh.”

“What?”

Before Jackson could do or say anything more, the counsellor grabbed his arm, and hissed, “I don’t think we’re in the Delta Quadrant any more, Doctor!”

“Then where are we?”

Buzz Damerell overheard this. “I’m really sorry, believe me, but it’s best you don’t know. The resistance can only survive if we keep everything secret.”

The resistance? Even Jackson knew that wasn’t right. It was the counsellor, however, who got to the answer first.

“It’s the mirror universe!” She whispered in Jackson’s ear. “You know, the one that Kirk found back in the twenty-third century!”

She could practically watch the synapse carrying this piece of information arrive at Brain Central, as Jackson’s face slowly changed from a blank stare to a horrified grimace.

Before he could shout anything potentially damaging, the counsellor added, “We may not be safe here. Best not to say anything about where we came from, eh?”

Turning back to Buzz Damerell, she said, “Hi! Deborah Hill, Doctor Jackson’s assistant! So we made it to the resistance! We’ve been trying for weeks!”

Damerell frowned. “What do you mean? The Doctor’s been with the resistance for years.”

“I meant, that we’ve been trying to find this group for weeks.”

Damerell nodded. “I see.” His eyes were still suspicious, and the counsellor realised that it wouldn’t be as easy to pull the wool over the eyes of this Damerell as the Damerell they were used to.

Damerell – “Just call me Buzz” – led them into a larger cave, where a collection of ragged-looking rebels lounged around, cleaning phaser rifles, or eating some sort of gruel which smelt frankly revolting. The counsellor, looking around, recognised several faces. Stark was there, as was Duffy, apparently not dead in this universe, and a handful of others from the Psycho. Interestingly, Olding, Hill, Wall and Barfoot weren’t there. The counsellor wondered what had happened to them. Maybe they had been killed in a mission or something.

Buzz brought them over to a flat-topped rock, where a series of maps and other documents were laid out. “Doctor, Miss, I appreciate this is a terrible imposition, but I wonder if, now you’re here, you wouldn’t mind taking part in a little operation we have planned?” Before either of them could say anything, Buzz pulled out a picture of a Cardassian cruiser.

“This is the Galor-class warship Crakerz, or in Standard, the Psycho. She is nominally commanded by Gul Olding, but the real power aboard the Psycho is Glinn Hill. Olding’s just a weak figurehead. Nonetheless, Olding is a well-known name, and we feel that kidnapping him would be a major blow to the Cardassian-Klingon Alliance. In two days, the Psycho will pass through this sector. When it does, we intend to board her, capture Olding, and Hill too if possible, and destroy or at least disable her. Are you in?”

Jackson was still a bit taken a bit aback by it all, but the counsellor had been thinking fast. A Galor-class warship had roughly equal power-output to a standard-sized Federation cruiser. With that power at their disposal, they might be able to find a way of copying the anomaly that brought them here, to send them back again.

“Yes, we’ll do it,” the counsellor said decisively.

“We will?” Jackson didn’t sound keen.

“Yes. One thing though. What happened to the shuttle we were in?”

“I’m terribly sorry, but in the crash the shuttle was written off. We were able to salvage parts though. Would you like to see?”

“Yes. Come on.” The counsellor dragged Jackson with her to take a look at the wreckage.

Buzz showed them a pile of data chips, battered sensor systems, and other bits and pieces that the rebels thought would be useful, including, revealingly, the toilet, which had miraculously survived the crash. ‘I’ll leave you to it. If you find any personal items, you’re free to take them, but I ask that you leave the equipment, if you don’t mind. We could use it.”

“Yeah, sure,” the counsellor said, already rummaging through the pile.

As soon as Buzz had left, and they were alone, Jackson said, “Are you crazy?! This isn’t our universe! We don’t have to get involved! We should be trying to find a way to get back, not starting a fight with our friends.”

“Something tells me the crew of the Psycho in this universe aren’t going to be our friends. Besides, I am thinking about getting back! We’re going to need serious amounts of power if we’re to recreate the anomaly. We’re also going to need…” the counsellor brandished an isolinear chip in what could only be described as a threatening manner “… the sensor data from the shuttle.”

“I still can’t believe you want to take part in this crazy operation.”

“I do want to suggest a couple of changes.”

“Oh, good.”

 

“… So, if the Doctor and I were to be ‘captured’ by the Psycho crew, we could break out and disable the ship. Ought to make your job a little easier.” The counsellor was explaining her refinements to Buzz’s plan. Beside her, Jackson was making little strangled noises and turning white.

Buzz looked doubtful. “How do we know you’ll be able to get out of confinement? Besides, I don’t like the idea of exposing such a talented surgeon as Doctor Jackson to those kinds of dangers.”

Jackson began to take more of an interest in what was being said. “Oh, well, obviously, I wouldn’t want to expose myself…”

“It’s quite alright,” Counsellor Hill interrupted, before Jackson could reverse everything she was arguing for. “I’ve had security training. And Doctor Jackson is as skilled a fighter as he is a surgeon.” Which wasn’t strictly true, the counsellor reflected. From what she had seen, Jackson was actually a better fighter than a surgeon. Which wasn’t saying much.

The rebels didn’t look too keen on her plan, but they all depended on Damerell to make the decision. Quite unlike her universe, the counsellor thought, as Buzz considered the idea.

“Alright then. We’ll let you have one of our shuttles. It’s been used for spares, so it’s in a pretty terrible condition, but I’m sure that Chuckles Stark can whack it into shape for a short flight.”

Leaning in to the counsellor and Jackson, and lowering his voice, Buzz said, “I wouldn’t say it to his face, but Chuckles is such an engineering genius that sometimes I think he could use a tricorder as the power source for a starship and get it to run at maximum warp.”

The counsellor patted Jackson politely on the back as the doctor began to cough and splutter.

“Anything wrong?” Buzz asked.

“No, nothing at all, honest,” Jackson forced out, as his coughing fit slowly subsided.

“Right. Good. You’ll leave in two days then. Once you’re aboard, we’ll give you six hours to disable the ship. If the Psycho is still intact after then, we’ll have to attack.”

“I understand.”

 

As the counsellor and Jackson moved away with Stark to check over their shuttle, Duffy approached Damerell.

“Do you trust them?” he asked.

“Not entirely,” Damerell admitted.

“Supposing they’re spies?”

“Then we’ll kill ’em.”

“But supposing they warn Hill we’re coming?”

Damerell grinned confidently, and the light in the cave glinted off his front teeth. “Then we’ll kill them when we capture the Psycho.”

 

Two days later, Jackson and the counsellor set out aboard their dilapidated shuttle. It felt almost like home to them, and so once they were underway both of them relaxed. The counsellor decided she could now safely explain her plan to Jackson without him giving it away.

“Once we’re aboard, we’ll have to get out for long enough for me to get access to a computer. I figure that if I can get access to the engineering controls for long enough, I can set up a subspace distortion to match the patterns recorded by the von Bulow‘s sensors.”

“What about lowering the shield and all that?”

“I can do that as well if we get access to a computer console. But that has to come after we set up the subspace distortion.”

“Oh boy. Are you sure that will work?”

“Well, it’s either that or clicking your heels together and saying, ‘There’s no place like home’, three times.”

“Oh. Do you think that might work instead? It sounds a lot less risky.”

The counsellor banged her head against the shuttle’s conn, while Jackson looked nonplussed.

 

Once they reached the co-ordinates that Buzz had assured them were right in the path of the Psycho, the counsellor hit the button that Stark had rigged up to start an engine failure. At the same time, Jackson began broadcasting a mayday signal. Setting the signal on continuous loop, they sat back and waited.

They didn’t have to wait long. After an hour, a ship dropped out of warp very close to the shuttle’s position. It was a Galor-class warship. Before the counsellor could think about hailing the ship, the warship hailed them.

“This is Glinn Hill of the Alliance warship Psycho. We will bring you aboard.”

A tractor beam caught them and brought them into the Psycho‘s shuttlebay. When the counsellor opened the hatch and stepped out onto the deck, she found herself at the wrong end of far too many Cardassian phaser rifles with Cardassians behind them. Behind them stood Hill in Cardassian armour. Next to him stood an exceedingly ugly troglodyte, also in Cardassian armour. The counsellor slowly raised her hands, as did Jackson, when he joined her in the shuttle’s hatchway.

“We surrender,” she said.

“I should think so,” Hill said.

His voice was lower and more menacing than Commander Hill’s; the counsellor realised that calling this Hill ‘Unk’ was probably even more unsafe than when she did it to her universe’s Hill. And besides, ‘Glinn Unk’ didn’t sound right. Hill peered at her, apparently without recognition, and the counsellor breathed a sigh of relief. She had been praying that she wasn’t going to find out that her counterpart was aboard the Psycho.

But when Hill’s gaze reached Jackson, he let out a cry of delight, and said, “So! We have the famed Doctor Jackson! This is indeed a glorious day for the Alliance.”

He moved past the Cardassian guards, until he stood close enough to them for the counsellor to realise that he had extraordinarily bad breath, and said, “Mr Wall will escort you to the holding cells, and I will join you later for a little chat. How painful the chat becomes is entirely up to you.”

He then turned on his heel and stalked away, motioning to the troglodyte as he went past. The troglodyte rubbed his hands together, and let out a high-pitched cackle, and moved over to them. He moved with an odd walk, a sort of half skip caused by the fact that his right leg seemed to be incapable of bending.

As he got closer, the counsellor realised that it was indeed Wall, but he was totally unlike the Wall the counsellor knew and barely tolerated. His right shoulder was forced up at an unnatural angle, with the arm hanging limp and useless at his side. His head was tilted over to the right, so it was jammed against his shoulder, and the right side of his face was hideously scarred. To complete the picture, an eyepatch covered his eye.

“Come this way, my prisoners,” he said, in a whiny voice that sent shivers up the counsellor’s spine. What was worse, however, was the lecherous way his left eye travelled up and down her. But in the midst of her disgust, the counsellor saw the beginnings of a plan. As Wall marched (well, skipped) them away, the counsellor made a point of walking next to him. Aware of the fact that he was trying to surreptitiously glance at her, a process made more difficult as she was walking on his right-hand side, the counsellor adopted a friendly tone.

“Are you the Wall I’ve heard about?” The next bit was a leap in the dark, but worth a try; “The famous daredevil shuttle pilot?”

Wall cackled, a sound which was bad enough to start off with, but which got worse as the cackle degenerated into a hacking cough. “Once perhaps,” he answered, wiping the flecks of spit from his face with a sleeve. “But after the crash, I am no longer the ace I once was. And believe you me, I was amazing!!!!!!!! The crème de la crème!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

And with that, the last vestiges of guilt the counsellor felt about her plan disappeared. This Wall was in no way similar to the Wall she knew. This Wall was an egotistical, lecherous monster. The other Wall, while an annoying git, didn’t possess half the ego of this creature, any comments on his ability being no more serious than pleas for people to believe he was competent. She doubted he even knew what ‘the crème de la crème’ meant.

She nodded understandingly. “I’m sure you’re just saying that. I mean, no talent as great as yours could be stopped by an accident.”

Wall grinned. “No, I have lost much of my ability. I am now merely excellent.”

“I can imagine.” And, steeling herself, the counsellor stroked his shoulder, repressing the shudder. Wall looked at her, and his grin grew wider. He turned to the Cardassian guard, and barked something in Cardassian. “I have ordered the guard to escort the Doctor to the brig. You can come with me. I imagine you will feel more comfortable talking to me.”

“I should think so.” Interesting, the counsellor thought. For the first time ever, simply being in the same room as someone is making me physically sick. What a curious phenomenon.

Wall led her to his quarters, and gestured to the bed. “Sit down, why don’t you.”

The counsellor swallowed hard, praying her stomach wouldn’t give out, and said, “No. Come here.”

Wall’s grin got wider, and he sidled over. The counsellor put both hands on his shoulders, leaned over, pouting slightly, waited until Wall’s eyes had closed in anticipation, then kneed him with all the force she could muster. The troglodyte collapsed to the floor, wailing in pain.

Somehow, he managed to regain his feet, and said, “You will pay for this,” in an unnaturally high voice.

The counsellor backhanded him, and he slumped to the floor again, out for the count. Suddenly, the counsellor felt one hell of a lot better. A quick sweep of the room revealed two things, his computer terminal, and evidence that he shared one thing in common with the other Wall. Attached to the bulkhead beside the console was a Post-It note with his security codes on it. Nice to see they are both equally moronic, the counsellor thought wryly.

She tapped in his codes, accessed the engineering computer, and arranged for a subspace distortion burst in three hour’s time. That ought to give her enough time to rescue Jackson and get away. Remembering the other part of her mission, the counsellor then lowered the shields, brought the ship to a standstill, and scrambled the entry codes so badly that it would take days for anyone to regain control.

Removing Wall’s phaser, she stuck her head out into the corridor and glanced around. It was empty. Good. The counsellor set out, hoping she could remember enough of the security briefings she had read on Cardassian ships to locate the brig.

 

Aboard the small fleet of shuttles hiding in the Psycho‘s sensor blind spot, the readings that showed the shields down were cause for celebration. Buzz Damerell struck a pose in the centre of the cockpit, pointed to the Psycho on the viewer, and proclaimed, “Death or glory!!!” The others cheered as they engaged their impulse engines and sped towards the helpless Psycho.

 

In his cabin, Gul Olding looked up from his plants as he felt the ship decelerate. He wondered if there was something wrong. If there was, maybe Glinn Hill would let him out of his cabin. He did hope there was nothing seriously wrong. He did so dislike too much excitement. But still, a walk would be nice. Olding gingerly tried the door. The security locks the Glinn had placed on it had failed!

Olding wandered out into the corridor, saw nobody was around, and set off for a pleasant stroll. No doubt the Glinn would complain later, but for now it was just nice to be out and about for a change.

 

On the bridge, Hill gazed down from his throne at Engineering Specialist Barfoot, who was nervously reporting the total failure of his engines. Hill was not happy. His unhappiness was increased when a junior Cardassian turned to him and said, “Glinn! We are being boarded!”

“What?! Sound the alarm!! It is a Resistance trap!!! We must repel them!!!!” Hill left the bridge, determined to see to the destruction of the rebel attackers himself.

The shuttles had attached themselves to the docking ports, and the crews had forced open the airlocks. Now, rebels were swarming into the corridors of the Psycho, cheering wildly. Buzz was enjoying it all immensely, strutting down the corridors with a hand phaser in each hand, shooting Cardassians almost without looking. Duffy, his faithful lieutenant, was by his side, and could be relied upon to make admiring comments at the appropriate moments. Not that too many needed to be made, of course, as Damerell already knew he was the greatest.

During a lull in the battle, he spun his hand phasers round his fingers, deciding where he should go next. Duffy, who had been watching the display, waited until Damerell lifted his hands above his head, to say, “How on Earth can you do that? Those things don’t have trigger guards.”

Damerell, his concentration broken by Duffy’s voice, said, “Easy. I just… whoops.” The phasers flew out of his hands, and clobbered a Cardassian who was sneaking up behind them. Damerell looked round, saw the unconscious Cardassian, and smiled so that the light glinted off his front teeth again. “All planned in advance, of course.” If Duffy had any thoughts on that, he wasn’t saying anything.

 

Jackson was stuck in his cell, considering his fate. All he had ever wanted was a quiet life, just him in his sickbay, happily cutting things and people up. And for a long time, that was what he had had. Starfleet knew what they had, or rather, didn’t have, in the Psycho and her crew, and so they only used them for the dull missions, the ones that weren’t in the least bit risky. Until that day in orbit of Throid IX, when the Psycho had fallen prey to the thing that starship crews dreaded most – “you are the closest ship available” – and Jackson’s life had suddenly become a lot more eventful.

Now, after a series of unfortunate events which Wall had described as ‘adventures’ but which Jackson thought of as disasters, he found himself in a universe where he was considered to be an expert surgeon and doctor. Which was all very well and good, except he was on the wrong side to take advantage of it. You didn’t get much in the way of chat-show appearances or book-signing tours when you were part of a rebellion seeking to overthrow the society that organised the chat-shows and book-signings.

Jackson dearly wished his counterpart was here, so that he could tell him to switch sides, get the publicity he deserved, and then buy a nice mansion somewhere and retire. Most of all, though, he wished the counsellor would get here and rescue him so that they could go home and he could return to his cutting.

 

It was becoming clear to Hill that they were losing ground. The rebels were fast and determined, and the crew of the Psycho had been ill-prepared to fight this battle. Turning to Barfoot, he said, “We’ll have to fall back to the shrine, where we can unleash the full force of our powers!”

Barfoot nodded, and he and Hill broke and ran.

 

Gul Olding, blissfully unaware of the fight going on practically all around him, was enjoying his unexpected stroll when he rounded a corner and bumped straight into Counsellor Hill, hurrying in the opposite direction.

“Mornin’, lass,” he said in a friendly tone, “What can I do for you?”

The counsellor, recovering quickly from the shock, raised her phaser, and said, “You can take me to the brig!”

Olding, shocked by this sudden turn of events, meekly led the way towards the brig, all too conscious of the phaser prodding into his back. As they walked, he said, “Who are you?”

“Haven’t you heard the sounds of fighting? Don’t you know what’s going on?”

“No.”

“The forces of the rebellion are capturing your ship! You’re now a prisoner of the rebellion.”

Olding thought for a moment, and said, in a sing-song tone, as if it was something he had learned by rote and never really understood, “The rebellion is evil. They seek to destroy everything the Alliance has created. They have no compassion, no understanding, they wish only to destroy.”

The counsellor stopped, and grabbed Olding by the shoulders. “That’s not true! The rebellion is trying to rid the human race – your species – of slavery! All they want is the right to be free! Don’t you want to be free?”

“I am free! Well, sort of, when Glinn Hill lets me out of my cabin, and…”

“Exactly! You’re not free! You work for the Alliance and yet you’re not free! You should join the rebellion! They need people like you! Fight for your freedom, for your right to determine your own destiny, to be free of all the Glinn Hills who fill this universe!!!!!!”

Olding looked thoughtful. The moment was ruined by a familiar voice saying, “Very good, now, would you mind freeing me?” They had arrived at the brig.

 

Hill and Barfoot had rushed through the ceremonial preparations that usually took them half an hour or more, threw on the gowns and the masks, and dragged the goat out from its stall. There was no time to waste if they were to save the ship.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Good. And remember…”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t eat the goat after it has been put through the fires of hell!”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, I only did it once. One little mistake and they never let you forget, I don’t know…” Barfoot’s grumbling trailed off into a series of barely audible mutters.

Ignoring him, Hill began the mystic chant: “Onare Block, alof theguyz caler flam yngo…”

 

Buzz consulted his tricorder. It showed that most of the ship was now under rebellion control, which was good. It also showed him where Glinn Hill was hiding. Collecting a few rebels together, Buzz set out for the shrine. They reached it in no time, and Chuckles planted a small explosive charge on the opening mechanism. He then set up a flashlight set to full power on the bulkhead opposite the door.

“Ready, Buzz.”

Buzz nodded. “Do it.”

Chuckles detonated the explosive.

Hill was still going through the chant when the door suddenly flew past him, “Wenshe waksby, shebri tenzup thenay borhood… What the hell was that?” He looked round to the now-open door, where a figure stood in a painfully bright light. It was standing, feet apart and hands on hips, visible only as a dark shadow. As Hill watched open-mouthed, he heard music start, so loud he could feel the vibrations in the deck. First, trumpets, sounding three notes that rose in pitch: Daa, DAA DAAAAAA. DEN DEH!!! Then, loud, thudding drum beats: Dum-dum dum-dum dum-dum DUM. DAA DAA DAAAAAA DEN DEH!!!!!

The music faded out, and a voice said, “Hi.”

Hill’s eyes narrowed. “Buzz Damerell! I knew I would face you some day. Prepare to meet your match as I unleash the forces of Satan our master!!!!”

This did not have the intended effect. Buzz looked around him, realised where he was standing, and said, “What? You mean you’re a devil worshipper as well?”

Hill’s jaw dropped. “Good grief?! You too? Well why on Earth didn’t you say so?”

The moment of confrontation dissipated, to be replaced by excited chattering as the former enemies swapped recipes, hints and tips, and so on.

 

This was still going on when Counsellor Hill, Jackson and Olding arrived. They stood in the entranceway, gobsmacked by the scene in front of them. Hill and Buzz were talking away like old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years, and around them little groups of rebels and the crew of the Psycho did the same.

“Erm, excuse me…”

Hill looked round as the counsellor spoke. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“Well, we found we were all devil-worshippers, so it seemed to be a bit pointless to carry on fighting. We’re all going to join the rebellion.”

The counsellor started to laugh.

Hill then noticed Olding. “I’m sorry, Gul, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to…”

“Lock me up in my cabin again? NOT BLUIDY LIKELY!!!!!!” Everybody turned around, shocked. Even Jackson and the counsellor looked surprised. Olding was trembling with long-suppressed rage. “If we’re goin’ to join t’ rebellion, we’re goin’ to do it in an organised fashion. And that means, Glinn, you obey my orders, got it?”

Hill’s jaw was in danger of falling off, it was hanging so far down. All he could say was, “Yes, sir.”

“Right! Now we’re goin’ to have a few changes around here! For starters, stop faffin’ abou’ wi’ that goat and get yourself tidied up.”

There was a chorus of “Yes, sir”s, including, the counsellor was interested to see, from Buzz. It seemed natural order was returning to this universe.

“Come on,” she said to Jackson, “We’re going.”

 

They quietly made their way down to the shuttlebay, and appropriated a shuttle. There was no-one around to see them go, and for that the counsellor was grateful. They had had quite enough excitement. Besides, their three hours was almost up, and they couldn’t afford any more delays. One brief self-taught course in Cardassian shuttle operations later, and the shuttle shakily made its way out of the bay, and sat roughly where the counsellor had set the anomaly to appear.

While they waited, Jackson remarked, “You realise we’ve busted the Prime Directive to shreds. Changing Gul Olding like that.”

“Have we? I prefer to think we’ve just set things back on track again.”

At that point, the anomaly appeared in front of them, and the counsellor sent the shuttle tearing into it.

When they reappeared on the other side, they were ecstatic to see the Liffey and the Lecter sitting close by.

Wall was hailing them. “Er, how did you manage that?”

The counsellor, fighting back a shudder when she realised who it was, strove for the casual appearance. “What’s that, then?”

“Turning a Federation shuttle into a Cardassian one.” Wall’s voice had that carefully neutral tone that told the counsellor he didn’t believe what he was saying, but felt he had to say it anyway, and as sensibly as possible, or just crack up completely.

“It’s a long story.”

“I thought it might be,” Damerell offered. “With us, they tend to be.”

The counsellor found herself thinking of Buzz Damerell, and laughed.

Jackson looked at her quizzically. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking. Imagine what it would be like to serve on the other Psycho.”

Jackson, who was still thinking about the ‘skilled surgeon’ comments, replied, “Heaven.” Now it was the counsellor’s turn to look quizzically at him.

 

A few days later, Counsellor Hill and Jackson were walking down a corridor when Wall met them. He was carrying a padd, which he handed to the counsellor. It was a copy of all her psychological reports, with Olding’s comments attached. They read, “disturbingly accurate.”

As the counsellor glanced through them, Wall suddenly developed an itch in his right ear. He twisted his head down and scratched it using his shoulder. The counsellor chose that moment to look up. The pose Wall struck was just too reminiscent of the other Wall. Reflexes taking over, the counsellor belted Wall right in the mouth. As the helmsman toppled backwards, the red mist cleared, and the counsellor suddenly realised what she had done. “Oh, god, sorry! Wrong universe!! Damn, damn,” and, overcome with guilt, she hurried off down the corridor.

Wall sat up, clutching his mouth, and gingerly checking to see if any teeth had been dislodged. Thankfully, it didn’t feel like it. “What waf all dat abou’ den?” he asked.

“Um, case of mistaken identity, I think,” Jackson replied. “Need anything cut off?”

“No!”

“Oh well.” Jackson wandered off, leaving Wall sat dumbly on the deck.

 

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 47889.4. T’ Psycho is a few hours away from t’ point where Fred appeared in t’ Delta Quadrant. It’s almost crunch time, as Mr Wall would put it. If I’m right, then t’Jem’Hadar have constructed an artificial wormhole, which we can use to get home. If I’m wrong, we’ve got seventy years to kill while we travel home. And just to complicate things, a Khazi fleet has latched onto us, and is following us. They’re moving marginally faster than we are, so they ought to reach us at about t’ same time as we get to t’ wormhole. Lovely. End log entry.”

The counsellor had one more psychological review to do. Captain Olding. She was not looking forward to this one. Even after her recent experiences with the alternate Olding, she was still slightly in awe of the captain, and wasn’t quite sure how to handle this review. So when Olding arrived at her office, it was the counsellor who was more nervous. She forced herself to calm down as Olding took a seat.

“Captain Olding. Let’s get stuck in, shall we?”

“Okay.” Olding’s tone made it clear to the counsellor he was in one of his “Let’s be awkward and unapproachable” moods. That made it easier for her, because she now had a definite target to reach. She had to break through that.

“Captain, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how do you cope with this job?”

“Same as any other starship captain – I just think o’ t’ pay.”

“Yes, but your job is slightly different. You’ve got this crew to cope with, for starters.”

“Aye. That does make it a bit more difficult, I can tell you.”

“So how do you manage? How do you remain sane when you’re dealing with a bunch of loonies like this lot?”

“I just take a deep breath and count to ten when they really annoy me. But…”

“Yes?” The counsellor knew she was close to getting Olding to admit something big now.

“They don’t annoy me all that often. Not seriously, that is. I know that there’s always some little thing, like Damerell not being able to do his job correctly, or Hill dismantlin’ somethin’ vital at a crucial moment, or Wall bleating on abou’ wantin’ to do a handbrake turn in a starship, but that’s not too bad. You get used to it.”

“You do?” That wasn’t a carefully crafted method of getting information out of the captain, the counsellor realised. That was outright astonishment.

“Yeah. They’re alright really. They may not be t’ most efficient crew in Starfleet, but their hearts are in t’ right place. And they’re just as brave as any other crew. And loyalty? Second to none in terms of loyalty, they are.”

“You actually like them, don’t you?”

“Well, I’ve got used to ’em.”

Olding looked guiltily at the counsellor, who pressed home her advantage. “It’s more than just being used to them, though, isn’t it? You do actually like them!”

“Aye, well…” Olding sighed. “Yes, alright, I do like ’em. They’re my crew, they do the best they can, even if that isn’t very good, and I wouldn’t swap ’em for any other crew! Despite their little foibles, and their big ‘uns, in their own quirky way they’re t’ best damn crew in the fleet!! They get t’ job done and they don’t ask for pay rises. Makes ’em alright in my book.”

The counsellor’s eyes bulged. “Erm, thank you, captain. That’s all.”

“Right.” Olding stood. “And if you let any of ’em know what I just said to you, I’ll have your commission. Got it?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Good.” With that, Olding left, leaving the counsellor staring at her notes in shock.

 

Some hours later, Olding was up on the bridge, when Bleep reported, “Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Sensors detecting a concentration of vessels up ahead, captain.”

“On screen.”

The picture showed lots of little dots moving about like flies.

“Magnify.”

The scene enlarged, until the dots could be clearly identified as Jem’Hadar vessels.

“It’s an invasion fleet!” Hill said.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it,” Olding agreed. He looked at the screen more closely. “Enhance sector D4.” The picture expanded to reveal a large circular object, hanging in space. In the centre was a shimmery blue effect.

Fred, who was on the bridge with Delia, said, “That’s it, Captain. That’s what Ah saw when Ah escaped.”

“Right.” Olding bunched his fists until his knuckles went white, and said, “We’re goin’ t’ try it. Mr Wall, take us in!!!”

“Aye, sir.”

“Red alert. Shields up!! All power to the weapons systems!!!”

The bridge lights went red, and people ran around.

Hill clutched his console nervously. “I’m reading forty-three ships out there. That’s forty-three against one.”

“I know, Commander. We’ll beat ’em somehow.”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… The Khazi fleet is almost within weapons range, captain.”

“Oh, wonderful.”

The Psycho plunged towards the Jem’Hadar with the Khazi behind them.

Hill turned to Olding. “Sir, we know the Jem’Hadar screwed up their wormhole aiming once. What if it’s still not ready?”

“We’ll just have to take that chance.”

“Great.”

Just then, the ship jolted. “Bleep…wzrtfgl… Stand clear of the doors please… The Khazi have opened fire, captain.”

“Have they really?”

Ahead, Damerell started to whimper.

Olding settled back in his chair. So far everything was going as normal. Hopefully a good omen.

Damerell interrupted his whimpering long enough to say, “Captain, the Jem’Hadar ships are turning to attack!”

“Lock phasers onto the leading ship and fire!”

“Do we break away, sir?” Wall was looking over his shoulder at Olding and not concentrating on what he was doing. As a result, the Psycho began to wobble on her course.

“Negative, Mr Wall. Continue on course.”

“Nyaaaargh!!”

“Mr Damerell! Get a grip on yourself!!!” Damerell sniffed noisily, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and said, “Aye, sir.”

 

Olding knew that the Psycho couldn’t take on both the Jem’Hadar and the Khazi and expect to win. So he had to even the odds a bit.

“Sir, we’re getting VERY close to the Jem’Hadar!!”

“I know, Mr Damerell. Mr Wall, prepare to pull hard right on my mark.” Olding thought for a minute, and realised there was only one manoeuvre that would fit the bill. “Stand by on that handbrake.”

“Yes, sir!” Wall took his hands off the controls long enough to rub them together. Then, while one hand positioned itself over the thruster controls, the other hand reached down to where the handbrake was situated. The barrage from both sides was getting almost intolerable now.

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Shield integrity down to forty percent, captain.”

“Stand by, ready… now!!”

Wall yanked up hard on the handbrake, and simultaneously fired the port thrusters. The Psycho lurched into the tightest turn any starship had ever done. The inertial dampeners screamed, stress indicators on Damerell’s board lit up, everyone was pushed back into their seats, and through it all, Wall was shouting, “Yeehaa!!!!”

Releasing the brake, he thumped more power into the system, and the Psycho screamed out of the turn, and away from both the Jem’Hadar and the Khazi.

Unable to follow them, the Khazi’s shots impacted with the leading Jem’Hadar ships. The Jem’Hadar returned fire, and within seconds, the two sides were furiously beating the hell out of each other, and apparently ignoring the Psycho.

Olding breathed a sigh of relief. “Well done, Mr Wall! And if you think I’m ever goin’ to let you do that again, you’re gravely mistaken!”

Wall’s grin was so wide, it was in danger of doing serious muscular damage.

“Yes sir!”

Olding turned to Damerell. “Scan the wormhole. See if you can detect where it emerges.”

Damerell started up his sensors, and scanned the wormhole. Slowly, a dim picture built up of the star patterns on the other side of the wormhole. He fished out his Operations manual, and his copy of Operations for Dummies, and flicked through until he found the command that got the computer to compare the star patterns. Tapping it in, he waited expectantly, until the computer gave him an answer. “Sir, it’s the Alpha Quadrant! Sector 001!” Olding felt his hairs on the back of his neck rise . This was it! They could go home.

The counsellor, who had been silent during the opening moments of the battle, said, “We have a problem.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Olding asked.

“If we go home through the wormhole, we’ll be leaving it open for the Jem’Hadar, the Khazi, and everyone else who wants to come through, to attack the Federation.” the Counsellor replied.

“We’ll have to destroy it after we’ve been through.” Olding realised that was a big problem.

“And how do we do that?”

Hill had been consulting his computer. “Destroying it would take more photon torpedoes than we have available.”

“So that rules out setting them to delayed explosion.” Olding’s elation died. That left them only one more option. “The warp core,” he said.

“It’s the only thing we’ve got available that would do the job,” Hill agreed.

The bridge crew all realised what that meant. On the verge of going home, they would have to destroy themselves to prevent the Federation from invasion. What a bummer.

Olding couldn’t believe it. There had to be another way out. “I don’t believe in t’ no-win scenario. There has to be another option!”

Jackson walked on to the bridge at that moment. Olding turned to him in desperation. “Doctor, I need your advice.”

Jackson stood next to Olding’s chair. “Go on then.”

“We have to detonate the warp core if we are to destroy the wormhole and prevent the Jem’Hadar from attacking the Federation. But we want to find a way to survive that.”

Jackson frowned. “Dammit, I’m a doctor, not a tactician!”

“Yes, well…”

“Hang on, I’m thinking.”

The entire bridge crew turned to watch Jackson. Sweat was pouring off faces, Damerell was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, and even Bleep looked nervous.

Finally, Jackson said, “Can’t you jettison the warp core?”

“Yes! Doctor, you’re a genius!” Olding fairly thumped the control panel. “Engineering. Prepare to set the warp core on overload then jettison.”

“What?” Stark sounded incredibly agitated.

“Just do it!”

“Aye aye.”

The channel closed, and Olding looked at the bridge crew. “Hang on, everybody. Mr Wall, you’re goin’ to have to fly this ship on emergency power alone. Can you do it?”

Wall looked nervous. “I’ll try, sir.”

“Don’t try. Just do.”

 

Down in Engineering, Stark and his team were hurrying to prepare the warp core. Well, Stark was standing back, having given the general orders, while his engineers hurried. As Stark watched, Chief Earley went past, frantically brushing the warp core with his toothbrush.

Stark took pity on him, and said, “I think you can forget that part now.”

Barfoot dashed up, and said, “We’ve set the core to overload. We’ve only got five minutes!”

Stark slapped his comm-badge, and said, “Bridge, we’ve set the core on overload. You’ve got five minutes to do whatever it is you want to do!”

“What! We’re not ready yet!”

Stark, more than a little stressed by now, shouted, “Well you’re going to have to be!!!”

 

Olding cut the channel, fumed for a few seconds, then said, “Go on then, Mr Wall. Full ahead!”

Wall started the auxiliary systems up, and the Psycho shot forwards, through the battle, heading for the wormhole.

Olding looked at the screen, and opened the channel to Engineering again.

“Are you ready to jettison the core?”

Stark had his hand on the switch. “Of course we’re ready!! Did you think I was just going to wait?!!”

“Alright, calm down, Mr Stark. Stand by.” The Psycho was almost at the opening to the wormhole. They jerked as a stray round impacted against them, and then, “We’re in!” Wall shouted.

“Jettison warp core!”

They all felt the thump as the core went, and Stark reported, ‘Core jettisoned.”

“Right, Mr Wall, get us through this!! Divert all power to the helm!”

While Damerell thumped away at his console, frantically pulling power from the auxiliary systems to give to the helm, Wall attempted to steer through the twisting wormhole. Everyone else just had to wait and hope. Olding had all his fingers crossed and was experimenting with his toes, Hill was wondering if duranium could substitute for wood in the luck stakes, and Jackson clung to the tactical console, preventing Bleep from doing much.

“We’re about halfway!” Wall called out. Olding looked at Hill.

“Three minutes gone. Not fast enough!”

“You have to go faster, Mr Wall!”

“I’ll try, sir!” Then, Bleep, who had managed to pry Jackson’s fingers from his console, reported, “Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Core breach has accelerated, captain. Detonation in fifteen seconds.”

“What?!! Mr Wall?!!”

“Forget it, sir! She won’t go any faster than this!!!”

Olding turned to Hill. “What happens if we’re still in the wormhole when it collapses?”

“Um, well, best case scenario, it dumps us back into normal space, about halfway back, so we’d just be a lot closer to home.”

“And worse case?”

“Ahem. The, er, energy, it, uh, rips us apart.”

“Bollocks.”

“You said it, captain.”

Wall was doing incredibly unsafe things in an attempt to get the ship clear of the wormhole. He was bleeding power from everywhere, including life-support, to try and get the ship to move faster. The engines were already operating well above the safety margins, and, if it wasn’t for the fact that the comm system was out, the bridge crew would be treated to Stark hysterically screaming abuse at them as his crew tried to cope with Wall’s demands. But, in his heart, he knew it just wasn’t fast enough.

“Warp core detonation, Captain!”

On the viewer, they could see the view astern. The wormhole was collapsing, the blue walls dissolving at a terrifyingly fast rate. The blue was being replaced by black, and the edge of the blue was closing with the Psycho fast. Olding frantically cast around in his mind for alternatives. They couldn’t be beaten now, not when they were so close! In the end, there was only one thing he could do. Nothing.

The blue edge reached the stern, and the ship began to shake.

Wall yelled, “Just a bit further!”

The edge of the wormhole began to slowly overtake the ship. Olding ordered the viewer to face forwards. He didn’t particularly want to see their end. As the picture reformed, he saw an end of another sort. The end of the wormhole was in sight. But would they reach it in time? Of course they bluidy would, Olding told himself. He leant forwards in his chair, as if trying to pull the ship through by force of will alone. Wall gritted his teeth, and shut off life-support, diverting the power to the helm. That gave him the last burst of speed he needed. The Psycho burst into Sector 001, perilously close to Earth, half a second before a bright flash of light announced that the wormhole had closed.

Olding opened his eyes. He hadn’t realised they were closed.

“I think we can stop now, Mr Wall.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Wall brought the Psycho to a halt, looked around at the bridge crew, said, “Not too damn bad at all, I think,” then passed out. Damerell retained enough sense to divert what little power remained back to the life-support systems, before following suit. The rest of the bridge crew let out shaky sighs, and a fair few discovered they had left dents in the solid duranium of their consoles where they had been gripping them.

Olding looked around him, and said, ‘I think we can let Starfleet sort out t’ mess now.”