The Continuing Missions

Previously, on Star Trek:

“Who the hell are you?” Olding growled.

“My name is not important, Captain. I have some information that may be of importance to you.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that your Doctor is not who you thought he was.” Olding’s expression didn’t flicker, but he was impressed. “So who is he then?”

“Your Counsellor has been making enquiries about him in the Starfleet archives,” the man said. “Those enquiries activated flags that have come to our attention. We haven’t seen his file in a long time, so it came as a surprise to us that he was still active. But then, your crew have had quite a ride through the decades.”

“Get on wi’ it,” Olding said. “I know my history.”

“But not this bit. Your CMO used to work for us. He was one of our finest deep-cover operatives. That should answer your questions.”

“It doesn’t even start to answer my questions!” Olding thundered. “Who the hell are you, what the hell do you do, and why is my CMO killin’ people?!!!”

That took the man aback. “He’s killing people?”

“What did I just say?”

“Interesting… That shouldn’t be happening.”

“You’re tellin’ me!”

“No, Captain, you don’t understand. When we discharged Jackson, we buried his memories and training. He doesn’t know he was once an assassin.”

 

“Wall to Lobotomy.”

“Go ahead Commander,” Critchley answered.

“How long until the rendezvous with the Chesney sir?” he asked.

“They should be here in about five minutes, why?”

“And after that, how long until we reach Memory Alpha?”

“About two hours. Commander, what is going on?” Critchley demanded irritably.

“I’ll tell you everything I know when I get back on board,” Wall told him, “but it’s really important we get to Memory Alpha as quickly as possible,” he added. “That’s where this whole thing started.”

And now, the conclusion…

 

Memory Alpha

“Technical Support Incident log, Stardate 2394834962.23. Commander Richard Hill recording. Bored again. On the other hand, it’s nearly time for my 10.27 cup of tea. Wonder if there’s any Hob-nobs left? End log entry.”

Leaning back in his chair, Hill tapped a few buttons on his console, browsing the Federation News site. Nothing interesting was happening in the galaxy, a precise match for Hill’s current posting. When he had been posted to Memory Alpha, he had been promised excitement and constant challenges. So far, his greatest challenge had been to discover who kept eating all the chocolate Hob-nobs. Currently, his prime suspect was Lieutenant Brian from Environmental Control. Hill wouldn’t object, but the guy never replaced them when he finished the packet. Hill also suspected the man of super-charging the watercooler so it shot ice across the room whenever anyone went to get a drink.

Before he could go to the replicator to get his fourth cup of tea of the day, his communications panel went off. Eagerly, he answered it.

“Memory Alpha Tech Support, Commander Hill speaking, how can I help?”

“Uh, hi,” the person on the other end looked a little uncertain, “I’m not sure if I’ve come through to the right place. I’m trying to trace an order that went through the system a couple of days ago…”

Hill sighed. He was fairly sure there was a crossed wire somewhere in the system, as he was constantly getting calls for Order Tracking, which was an entirely separate department. Somewhere on the asteroid there was a technician having the time of his life solving computer-related crises. Or something. He was about to transfer the man’s call when he changed his mind.

“Right! I’ll deal with it! What’s the order number, and who are you?”

“It’s order number 876957 and I am Ensign Dougal.”

“Okay Ensign, I’ll find out what’s happening and get back to you!”

The call ended and Hill glanced at the chronometer. It was now 10.29 and he realised that the window for his 10.27 cup of tea had come and gone. He sat for several seconds paralysed with indecision before realising that he may well have fallen victim to routine. Throwing caution to the wind he decided to abandon thoughts of his cup of tea and start exploring the inner mechanics of the Order Tracking System.

He had just managed to convince the system to let him fiddle with the database when his communications panel went off again. He stared at it in shock. This had to be the first time since he had joined the Tech Support team that it had gone off more than once a shift. More shockingly, the call ident revealed this to be a call from outside the confines of the asteroid. Curious, Hill answered the call.

“Memory Alpha Tech Support, Commander Hill speaking, how can I h-oly crap!”

“Don’t think much of your phone manner!” Commander Wall replied cheerfully.

“What the hell do you want?!” Hill demanded, staring in disbelief at the image on the screen.

“I just thought I’d let you know, there’s a bit of a Federation-wide crisis going on, and we’re inbound on your position. Byeeeee!”

The screen clicked off and Hill was left staring openmouthed at the Starfleet logo for a few seconds. He was just winching his jaw shut when he heard the sound of the door sliding open behind him. He spun round, senses on overdrive, but relaxed when he realised it was just Egtum, the Head Librarian aboard Memory Alpha.

“Good morning, Commander,” Egtum said in the vaguely bored voice all Memory Alpha staff developed after their first week in post.

“Morning, Egtum!” Hill could feel the adrenaline flowing for the first time in ages as he turned back to the screen. “We have a crisis!”

“Do we, sir?”

“Apparently. Hang on, I’ll just find out exactly what sort of crisis it is.” Hill’s enthusiasm deflated a tad as he realised Wall had neglected to mention that particular key detail.

“Computer, open a channel to the USS Lobotomy, and put me through to Commander Wall.”

The computer complied, and a few seconds later Hill found himself staring at the inside of Wall’s quarters. Wall himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Er, hello?” Hill tried. The screen still showed nothing, then, there was a muffled thump from off-camera, followed by another, and Wall bounced into view, trousers jammed around knees and shirt half off.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hill asked incredulously.

“Going to bed,” Wall said defensively.

“But it’s the middle of the day!”

“Is it?” Wall checked his chronometer. “Oh yeah. Won’t bother doing that yet, then. Wassup?”

“This Federation-wide crisis you mentioned. Care to tell me the details?”

“Oh, I don’t really know everything yet. But there’s something fishy going on with the new-issue padds Starfleet’s developed, and it’s connected to Memory Alpha. I have to go re-interrogate the prisoner, see if she knows anything more.”

“So you’re coming here.”

“Yeah, we figure whatever’s going on, we’ll have to stop it there.”

“We’ll be ready,” Hill promised, with a tremor in his voice as he realised today was going to be a damn sight more interesting that he’d thought.

“Cool. Later.” Wall reached out to turn the transmission off, and in so doing let go of his trousers. Hill’s last sight of the other Commander was him looking down in dismay at his Donald Duck themed boxer shorts before the screen went blessedly dark.

Hill spun away from the screen again, shot to his feet, and grabbed Egtum by the shoulders. “Do you know what this means?”

“We’ll need to set another place for dinner, sir?”

“No! Well, yes, I suppose, but what this actually means is that I get to use… The Facility.”

“Perhaps you should, sir. There’s no telling when you’ll get to go again in a crisis.”

“I didn’t mean that! Although that’s a good point…” Hill shook his head. “I mean The Facility! Capital T, capital F.”

“Ah.”

“Yes!” Hill strode over to a tasteless figurine he’d picked up on Risa some years previously, and yanked at it. The statuette swung down, revealing the circuitry beneath it, and behind Hill, a panel slid open with a slight squeak.

Hill strode over to the open panel, and regarded the fireman’s pole that had been concealed behind it. “I’ll see you down there, Egtum!”

“I’ll take the lift, shall I, sir?”

“You always have to spoil my fun, don’t you?” Hill groused as he took hold of the fireman’s pole.

A second later, Egtum was treated to a cry of “Ooohhhhsssssshhhhhhiiiiiiit!!!!!” as Hill disappeared down deep into the guts of the asteroid.

 

A few seconds later, Hill landed in an untidy heap at the base of the pole. Picking himself off and dusting himself down, Hill strode (well, limped) into The Facility. Originally a half-finished store-room hewn out of the rock of the asteroid, Hill had discovered The Facility whilst aimlessly wandering around Memory Alpha. Seeing the possibilities for something to do, Hill had begged, borrowed and stolen spare equipment to refit the place as a giant command and control centre plugged into every part of Memory Alpha. It was perhaps a measure of how utterly bored he had been during his time aboard Memory Alpha that for the first time in his life he had put something together rather than take it apart and leave it in bits for someone else to deal with.

The Facility, as Egtum had pointed out, was utterly pointless in that libraries didn’t really need command and control facilities, but Hill had persisted in building it, more as a hobby than anything else, using the excuse that “You never know when it might come in handy.” And now today, it would.

Crossing to a darkened corner of the room, Hill gripped a massive, anachronistic T-switch, and flung it downwards, screaming, “Live! Live, my creation!”

Lights flickered, a deep bass hum began in the distance, and across the room computers and monitors powered up, data scrolling in complex patterns as The Facility came to life. Hill crossed over to the ludicrously over-engineered high backed chair in the centre of a computer bank and settled into the seat.
Once there, he accessed the main library computer, and started calling up all the files on the new issue padds.

Behind him, Egtum approached, and, leaning over Hill’s shoulder, remarked, “Could this not have been achieved just as efficiently upstairs, sir?”

“I’m having fun. Leave me alone.” Hill growled over his shoulder.

“Very well, sir. Will sir require his outfit?” Egtum produced from behind his back a rubberised armour-plated version of the Starfleet uniform that included a cape and a fitted headpiece that would cover most of the wearers head. Strangely, it also had little pointed ears, a design flaw Hill hadn’t noticed originally and now had to live with.

“I’ll change in a minute, thanks,” Hill said, getting into his reading.

“Very well, sir,” Egtum placed the suit on a panel, and slipped away into the shadows.

 

USS Lobotomy, en route to Memory Alpha

Having spent the last few hours recovering from Commander Wall’s initial interrogation techniques, Lieutenant Cross was now sat in the Lobotomy‘s interrogation room, facing Wall and Captain Critchley. Seating himself carefully in a chair, Critchley reached over and activated the recording device mounted on the wall of the room.

“We’re in interview room three, aboard USS Lobotomy, interview commences at 10.53. Those present are Captain Critchley,” he tailed off and looked expectantly at Wall.

“What?” Wall asked defensively.

“Your name, idiot!”

“Commander Wall?”

Critchley sighed. “That’ll do. And the prisoner…”

“Lieutenant Hannah Cross.”

“Very well. Lieutenant, I must formally caution you. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in a court martial. Do you understand the caution?”

“What happens if I say no?” Cross asked, smiling sweetly.

“I explain it to you slowly and carefully, over and over again until you do understand,” Critchley said, frowning. There was a moment of silence before Lieutenant Cross responded.

“In which case, I do understand.”

“Good. Lieutenant, perhaps you would like to explain to us exactly what it is you were trying to do.”

Smoothly crossing her legs, the prisoner smiled seductively at Critchley and replied, “I was attempting to save the Federation from itself.”

“Aren’t they always,” Critchley said wryly to Wall, who returned the look blankly. Giving up on his first officer Critchley turned back to Cross. “I was referring to the more specific sense,” he told her, “when you attempted to destroy Federation property.”

“It was necessary to achieve my greater aims,” she replied.

“And those were?” Critchley asked, leaning forward.

“To save the Federation from itself,” Cross replied with another smile.

“It’s going to be one of those interviews,” Critchley muttered to himself.

“Can I ask a question?” Wall interjected. Critchley shrugged.

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“What have you got against me?”

Lieutenant Cross frowned. “Can you explain the question?”

“You tried to kill me! Several times! What have you got against me?!”

“Beyond the obvious?” Cross muttered before meeting Wall’s gaze. “I have nothing against you personally, Commander, merely the institution you represent.”

“Starfleet?” Critchley put in, “or the Universal Institution of Idiots?”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Wall said suddenly, “I haven’t paid my dues yet!”

There was a moment of silence as both prisoner and commanding officer eyed Wall pityingly before turning back to each other.

“As I was saying,” Critchley said, “are you referring to Starfleet?”

“Of course,” Cross replied. “Starfleet represents all that is wrong with the Federation.”

“Really?” Wall said, “I didn’t think we were that bad!”

“You have no idea, Commander Wall,” Cross told him.

“Normally I would agree with you,” Critchley told her, “however I don’t understand how a promising Starfleet officer such as yourself could come to this conclusion. Until recently you were the quintessential science officer. I couldn’t have asked for a better officer. In some cases I have,” he added, glancing across at Wall, “but in your case you achieved everything asked of you, and more. What caused this change?”

Cross paused, looked away and produced a cigarette from her pocket. Pursing her lips around it the cigarette lit itself and she inhaled luxuriously. Critchley’s eyes boggled.

“What are you going to do,” Cross inquired sweetly, “arrest me for smoking?”

“No, lieutenant,” Critchley said, “we’ve already arrested you for destruction of Starfleet property, disobeying a direct order from a superior officer, attempting to destroy Starfleet property, damaging Starfleet equipment, attempted murder and failure to observe safety protocols whilst handling explosives.”

After a moment to let all that sink in, Cross responded, “Then one more charge won’t matter, will it?”

Critchley frowned at her and Wall grinned cheerfully before accidentally inhaling cigarette smoke which made his eyes water as he started to hack and cough. With both officers’ eyes upon her, Cross ran a finger along her right thigh, reached up to pluck the cigarette from her mouth, blew a perfect smoke ring and, oh so slowly, uncrossed her legs. There was a moment of perfect silence before the prisoner raised her left leg and gently settled it atop the right.

There was a long pause before a nonplussed Critchley spluttered, “What was that in aid of?”

Cross smiled slowly, and in a husky voice purred, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“Perhaps, Lieutenant. You are, however, wearing Starfleet uniform trousers.”

“As are we all,” Wall said helpfully.

“Indeed,” Critchley said. “If we’ve quite finished, I’d like to get back to the questioning.” He leaned forwards and steepled his fingers. “For a young officer with a great future to decide that Starfleet is the root of all evil is a massive change. What caused it?”

For the first time during the interview, Cross appeared uncertain. “I… uh…”

Wall suddenly frowned and before anyone could stop him leaned forwards and said, “I’ve never had one of those, can I try it?” He snatched the cigarette from Cross’s mouth, remembered to turn it around just in time and took a deep drag. Smoke curled from his ears, his eyes crossed and, removing the cigarette from his mouth he said in a long, smoky outrush of breath said, “Wooooaaaahhh, that’s some good shit!”

“I beg your pardon?!” Critchley said, snatching the cigarette from Wall.

“Go on, take a bit old gulp, it’s sweeeeettt…”

“What has come over you, Comm… wait…” Critchley sniffed the cigarette carefully. “This isn’t just tobacco.” Tapping his comm badge he said, “Critchley to sickbay.”

“Brown here.”

“Doctor, I have a research project for you. Meet me at Interrogation Room Three!”

“Do I have to? It’s not like I don’t have anything else to be getting on with!”

“Doctor, that’s an order!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me!”

In disgust, Critchley signed off. Turning to the recorder, he said, “Interview terminated at 10.58. And not a moment too soon.”

The door opened and security entered to take the still bewildered Cross back to her cell. Critchley stood, casting an eye over the incredibly mellow Commander Wall who, as he watched slid bonelessly out of his chair muttering something about pink elephants and lemonade. Doctor Brown appeared in the doorway.

Critchley handed him the cigarette and said, “I want you to find out what this is.”

“It’s a cigarette. I can tell you that now, and I didn’t even need a lab!”

“Find out what’s in it,” Critchley said impatiently. Turning, he pointed back in at Wall. “And sort him out!”

 

USS Psycho, also en route to Memory Alpha

“How’s t’ Doctor,” Olding asked as he strode into sickbay.

“Heavily sedated,” the Counsellor replied, pointing at the unconscious Jackson lying on a biobed. “It was the best way.”

“How’d he get the bruise?”

“Heavy sedation,” the Counsellor replied, shrugging. “He started to become hysterical and I restrained him.”

“What with?”

“Nurse Holt.”
Olding glanced across at the petite frame of the nurse, and said, wonderingly, “How?”

Holt produced a steel bar from behind her back and slapped it into her other palm.

“Ah,” Olding said, deciding not to pursue the matter further. Turning back to the Counsellor, he said, “Any progress on our investigation?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” The Counsellor picked up a padd and handed it to Olding.

“It’s a list o’ t’ colonists. So what?”

“Look at the highlighted one,” the Counsellor said.

Olding looked, and nodded in understanding. “That was t’ name o’ his target, wasn’t it?”

“Yes it was. I realised that all his attacks were aimed at the colonists, so it was just a matter of checking their names.”

“One problem, Counsellor. Jackson was given that tasking eighty-odd years ago!”

“And that’s where our progress grinds to a shuddering halt,” the Counsellor concluded smoothly. “But at least it’s something.”

“What are you goin’ to do now?”

“Interview our Joe Falco, I guess.”

“Get on wi’ it then.”

“Aye Captain.” The Counsellor left sickbay, and headed for the converted cargo bay where the still shell-shocked colonists were.

 

“Halt, who goes there?” The voice was deep, firm and threatening.

“Your boss,” the Counsellor replied.

“Oh. Pass, friend.”

The two security guards on the door stood aside to let the Counsellor enter, and she walked confidently into the cargo bay, instantly the centre of panicked attention as the colonists watched her with worried eyes. “Only me,” she said cheerfully. “Where’s Joe Falco?”

There was a shuffling at the back of the bay, as one of the colonists tried to hide behind some of the others. The Counsellor caught sight of this and said, “Come on, come out front. I won’t bite.”

With extreme reluctance, Falco made his way to the front of the group, and approached the Counsellor warily. “Hi!” the Counsellor said brightly.

“Uh, hi?”

“Excellent! Come with me, I’ve got a few little questions I need to ask you.”

The Counsellor showed Falco into a briefing room, and as the colonist sat down, said, “Fancy a coffee or a snack? No? Don’t mind me then, will you.” Turning to the replicator, she said, “Fruit smoothie, and a large slab of chocolate cake, please.” As the replicator produced her order, she said, “Sure you won’t have anything?”

Falco shook his head dumbly.

“Fair enough.” The Counsellor took a seat, and tucked into the chocolate cake with gusto. A few seconds later, through a mouth full of gooey chocolatiness, she said, “So, why was our Doctor trying to kill you?” (Actually, she said “Mmmf mmf mmf mmmf kill mmmf,” but in the interests of brevity the translated version is provided).

“I don’t know,” Falco said.

“You see, I’ve got a problem now,” the Counsellor remarked.

“I’m sorry?”

“My problem is, you’re lying to me, and I know you are.”

“Eh?”

“Empath.”

“Ah.” Falco considered his options before crossing his arms and saying, “No comment.”

The Counsellor took another big mouthful of cake, washed it down with a draft of the smoothie, and said, “Okay, we can play this game, but I am going to get some answers. Excuse me a second.” She reached down and unclipped the phaser from her belt, placing it on the table in front of her. Falco watched it with widening eyes. As if noticing his gaze, the Counsellor said, “When you sit, it rides up something chronic.”

“No comment.”

“Okay.” the Counsellor regarded Falco through narrowed eyes for a moment, then her expression abruptly changed to a wide beaming smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Sure you don’t want some cake?”

“No, thank you.”

“Fair enough. Joe really is a lovely name, you know.”

“Uh, thanks,” Falco said, uncertain as to where this was going. “Family name.”

“Really? So nice to see families keeping up traditions like that. Now my family, they were all over the place, but then Grandad was a bit of a nut, in all honesty.”

“My grandfather is where I got my name from,” Falco admitted.

“Oh? So sweet!” The Counsellor concentrated, and could feel the nervousness dying away. Now to pounce. “So what did he do that had him targeted by Section 31?”

 

Memory Alpha

Having reviewed all the data in the systems concerning the new issue of padds, Hill had taken the opportunity to change into his ‘special’ uniform and was now squeaking his way around The Facility, unable to properly bend his legs and arms stuck out at 37 degree angles from his body.

“It’s just because it’s the first time I’ve put it on!” he called out to Egtum as he approached the librarian, who was watching him impassively. “It’ll settle down as I wear it in.”

“Indeed. Is there anything sir would like me to do?”

Before Hill could answer his communication panel beeped at him. He collapsed into his chair and, bending his entire body to reach the button, answered the call. Ensign Dougal appeared on the screen, his expression rapidly becoming one of unmitigated horror at the sight of Hill in a rubber uniform.

“Uh, uh, C… Commander?” he stammered, looking as if he was wishing he had never made the call.

“Ah, Ensign Dougal! I… er…” Hill thought quickly. “I’m still looking into your query. I’m afraid we’ve had rather a lot of… issues… to deal with today. Rest assured I will make your query a matter of priority!”

“Uh… thanks?” Dougal signed off in a hurry.

Hill frowned for a moment. “What the hell was his query?” he muttered to himself. Automatically, his fingers started tapping on the panel, requesting the details of the call. As they appeared it all came rushing back and he started to delve back into the Order Tracking System. He had managed to get no further than before when his communication panel went off again. Sighing in frustration and muttering under his breath, Hill took the call.

The screen was filled with a close up of Commander Wall’s left nostril.

“Is this thing on?” his voice querulously as he drew back, revealing the rest of his face. In the short period since they had last spoken Wall had accumulated three days’ worth of stubble. His hair had grown to shoulder length and was plaited into dreadlocks. At least, they would have been dreadlocks were it not for the pretty bow at the end of each strand. Perched on top of all this was a multicoloured woollen beanie. His bloodshot eyes regarded Hill unsteadily. Simultaneously, both officers cried, “What the hell happened to you?!!”

“You’re out of uniform!” Hill said forcefully.

“Well, so are you,” Wall replied, adding, “ooh, look, pretty patterns!” while staring at something off camera.

“I’m not,” Hill said defensively, pointing with some difficulty at his chest, “look, comm badge,” he forced his arm up a little, “and three rank pips!” He relaxed his arm, which immediately shot back to its original position knocking a padd off the desk. Behind him Egtum sighed and picked it up.

“I know who did it!” Wall shouted suddenly.

“Who?” Hill asked excitedly.

“It’s a man, with a suit and a face!”

As Hill tried to interpret that, Doctor Brown appeared at the edge of the screen. “I told you not to leave sickbay!” he said, walking up behind Wall and injecting him with a hypospray. Wall giggled, his eyes crossed and he disappeared downwards, the cessation of his motion signalled by a thump. Doctor Brown regarded Hill dispassionately through the screen. “The Lobotomy will be arriving at Memory Alpha shortly,” he said, ending the transmission before Hill could say anything.

There was a moment of silence as Hill exchanged a glance with Egtum. A red light started blinking on one of the control panels.

“What’s that?” Hill asked as Egtum reached over to peer into the monitor.

“It appears the Lobotomy has taken up position alongside Memory Alpha,” the librarian said.

“He wasn’t kidding,” Hill remarked. “Help me up out of this chair will you?”

As the two of them wrestled to get Hill back on his feet, Hill considered what to do next. “If I go and meet whoever’s coming across from the Lobotomy, why don’t you look into that order Ensign Dougal was harping on about?”

“Very good, sir,” Egtum replied.

Hill waddled towards the lift, ascending to the main Memory Alpha section of the asteroid. Once there he squeaked at great speed in the direction of the transporter room. The transporter operator made a Herculean effort to suppress the fit of giggles that began when he saw what Hill was wearing but eventually failed, leaving Hill to work the controls himself as the technician collapsed helplessly to the floor guffawing madly.

A figure appeared on the transporter pad, coalescing into the distinctively dreadlocked form of Commander Wall.

“You’re looking better than when I last saw you,” Hill commented as Wall stepped down off the pad.

“You’re not!” Wall replied cheerfully.

“Hmm. Come on, we’ve got a crisis to solve!”

They exited the transporter room and had just begun to stride (or in Hill’s case shuffle purposefully) down the corridor when the lights went out and the asteroid shook. It was a moment before the red emergency lights came on.

“What was that?” Wall asked, looking around. Hill tried to shrug but gave up fairly quickly.

“No idea, but it can’t be good.” He turned around and headed back to the transporter room, emitting a startled squeak when the doors failed to open and he rebounded, tipping over backwards to land on his back, legs and arms in the air. “Help me up,” he said, his tone daring Wall to say something.

“While you’re down there,” Wall said, “maybe this would be a good time to explain what we know.”

“You really think now’s a good time?”

“Why not? It’s not as if you’re going anywhere!”

 

USS Lobotomy

“Captain to the bridge!”

Critchley hurried out of his ready room, standing in front of the command chair. “What is it Lieutenant-Commander Campbell?”

The Ops chief was frowning at his console. “Memory Alpha’s just gone dark sir!”

Critchley opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. “What the hell does that mean?”

“She’s raised shields!”

“She doesn’t have shields!”

“Sensors say otherwise, sir. Also, there’s a scrambling field in the area preventing communications and tranporter operations.”

“Explanation?”

“Uh… not yet sir. I’m guessing someone’s raised shields and set up a scrambling field.”

Critchley glared at him. “Helpful,” he said sarcastically. “Who?”

“We’re working on that sir.”

 

Memory Alpha, a corridor

“…so she was brainwashed and trying to kill me!” Wall finished his exposition.

Hill glanced at him. “And destroy the padds,” he pointed out. “You don’t have to be brainwashed to want to kill you.”

“You reckon?”

“Look, just help me up will you?”

There then followed a further five minutes of panting and wheezing as they got Hill back on his feet again.

“So what now?” Wall asked.

“Now,” Hill said with a tone of growing importance, “I’ll take you to the one place we’ll be able to solve this mystery, my command and control centre!”

“I thought this was a library?”

“Well now it’s a library with a command and control centre!” Hill told him forcefully.

“‘Kay… so how do we get through the doors? They’re all locked!”

Hill was about to make a witty comment in reply when he realised that, for once, Wall actually had a point. “Shut up.”

There then followed a period of a few minutes when they tried to avoid each other’s eyes as they looked around, trying to find a way out of the corridor, at least into a room with a computer panel. It was Wall who first heard the sound, since Hill’s hearing was rather restricted by the rubber mask.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That sound!”

“What sound?”

“That sound!!!”

“I can’t hear any sound!”

“Take the mask off then!”

“No,” Hill said, protectively clutching the sides of his head, “It’ll ruin the image!”

Even Wall had nothing to say to that, so he concentrated instead on trying to locate the source of the noise. He approached one of the walls. “It’s coming from over here!” he shouted, looking up in time to see the grate from an air vent come crashing down onto his head. Fortunately his dreadlocks saved him from outright unconsciousness but he staggered back, stunned, as a figure dropped out of the air vent, landing in a cat-like crouch. Hill stared at the new arrival.

“I know you!” he shouted, “you’re the janitor!”

Wall steadied himself and let the world come into focus. Standing in front of him was a Benzite clutching a mop with a knife taped to the handle. The janitor lunged for Wall with the business end of his weapon, which Wall barely avoided. As the Benzite drew back for another swing, the soaking wet mop end caught Hill full in the face, knocking him off his feet with an inarticulate cry of rage.

Wall sidestepped the knife and grabbed the mop handle to attempt to wrestle it from their attacker. He quickly discovered the folly in this plan when the stronger Benzite forced him back against the corridor wall. Wall struggled for a few moments, trying to ignore the gasses being blown in his face by the Benzite’s breathing apparatus.

“Hey, I’ve smelt that befor… nyargh!” Wall cried as the Benzite lifted the Starfleet officer clear off the ground.

From his prone position on the floor, Hill was struggling manfully to reach his utility belt. Eventually he got one hand on one of the compartments, opening it and pulling out a boomerang in the shape of a Starfleet insignia. Concentrating, he relaxed his arm, timing his release carefully. As his arm sprang back to its usual 37 degree angle, the insignia flew across the corridor to strike the Benzite on the side of the head. Their attacker staggered, dropping Wall to the floor before making his escape on slightly wobbly legs. He tapped a code into a turbolift panel and the door opened to let him in. Wall made a half-hearted attempt to chase him but collapsed to the deck when the turbolift closed and the ‘locked’ light began to flash again.

“What took you so long?” Wall moaned, getting to his feet with no little difficulty.

“Never mind, just help me up!”

“That’s all I seem to do!” Wall complained as once again he helped Hill to his feet. “Hey, that Benzite had the same stuff in his breathing thingy that Cross had in her cigarette.”

Hill considered that. “That means… whoever brainwashed Cross also brainwashed the janitor and is on this asteroid!”

Wall raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, I hadn’t thought of that!”

“If they can brainwash one, they can brainwash more, and there are 136 people on Memory Alpha. The only ones we can trust are ourselves and the transporter operator.”

“Who’s stuck in the transporter room,” Wall pointed out helpfully, walking over to the still open vent. “I think this is our only way out,” he commented.

Hill looked at Wall, then at the vent. “Ah, crap.”

 

USS Psycho

“When do we get there?” the Counsellor asked.

Ingram replied, “Fifteen minutes, seventeen seconds.”

Stark, who had arrived on the bridge, remarked, “You’re getting as bad as the Captain.”

“There’s method in my madness,” the Counsellor replied. “Watch.” She tapped her commbadge and said, “Hill to Olding.”

“Go ahead,” Olding’s voice replied.

“ETA, fifteen minutes, twelve seconds, sir.”

“Thanks, Counsellor.”

“Not at all, sir. Hill out.” She signed off and looked back at Stark. “See?”

“Once we get there, do we know what we’re doing?” Stark asked.

The Counsellor looked sidelong at him before replying, “Probably not.”

“So what do we know?”

“Precious little. It seems that our doctor was reactivated to kill the grandson of the man he was sent to kill on his last mission for Section 31.”

“Ookay. Any ideas why?”

“Not really. I looked up both their files, and they’re both stamped classified, not to be viewed by anyone below the rank of God.”

“Oooh.”

“Yeah. I know they were something to do with research and development, but…” she shrugged helplessly.

“That’s not helpful.”

“Tell me about it.”

At that moment Olding emerged from his ready room, and said, “I think it’s time we checked on our Doctor. We may need him. Counsellor, you’re with me. Mr Stark, you have t’ bridge.”

The Counsellor and Olding stepped into the turbolift. As the doors closed, the Counsellor remarked, “Giving Stark the bridge? A little unusual.”

“We’re five minutes away from a potential crisis. Mr Damerell will only just be coming round by then.”

“Ah.”

 

Back on the bridge, Stark settled uneasily into the command chair, and said, “Uh, red alert?”

Sirens blared, crew rushed about, and Bleep announced, “Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Full power to weapons?”

Stark’s eyes grew wide as saucers, and he stammered, “Forget I spoke.” Abruptly, the noise died away, the lights returned to normal, and everything settled down again. “Last time I try that,” Stark muttered to himself.

 

Olding stepped into sickbay to see Jackson on his feet again. The bruise across his forehead had died down, although Nurse Holt was shadowing him with the bar just in case.

“Doctor, how are you feeling?” the Counsellor asked.

“Uh… Like I’ve been hit round the head,” Jackson responded.

“Oh, right, yes,” the Counsellor replied, momentarily at a loss.

“Never mind that,” Olding said, “What do you remember?”

“Nothing, Captain. I remember a man telling me that the big cheese flies at midnight, then I remember waking up in that Jefferies tube with twelve guys from security pointing phaser rifles at me.”

“That’s no bluidy use.” Olding drummed his fingers against the biobed as he thought. Inadvertently, he initiated a level 3 scan of Jackson’s kidneys, and everyone watched as the results of the diagnostic scrolled across the screen above the bed. Jackson got to the readings first and managed to turn the screen off before Nurse Holt could start to snigger.

Olding clicked his fingers and pointed at Jackson, who instinctively backed up a step. Unfortunately, that was into the biobed, and Jackson flipped over backwards to land painfully on the deck beyond. Olding sighed and leaned over the bed. “You remember t’ man who activated you?”

“Uh, I think so,” Jackson admitted from his prone position.

“Good. Get Crewman Biv up here.”

“Biv? The Tellarite?” The Counsellor was confused.

“Aye. And t’ best artist aboard,” Olding replied. “Between him and Jackson, they can produce a sketch o’ t’ bastard who set all this off.”

“Interesting,” the Counsellor said. “Hang on, aren’t Tellarites very short sighted?”

“Yes. And?”

“And he’s an artist?”

Olding chose not to dignify that with a reply.

 

Fourteen minutes later, Jackson arrived on the bridge clutching a padd, Crewman Biv in tow. Olding, who had reclaimed the centre seat, turned and said, “Done, Doctor?”

“Yes sir. Here’s the sketch. It’s pretty close. The nose was maybe a tad longer and his bearing was a bit more regal but other than that…”

“Regal?”

“I don’t know!”

“Fine.” Olding stared at the picture. It showed an older male human with an expression of vague boredom, but it was no-one he recognised. “Not much bluidy use then.”

“It may yet be,” the Counsellor said.

“Aye, true.”

“We are now arriving at Memory Alpha,” Ingram announced, as he brought the Psycho out of warp by the asteroid.

Olding stood and squinted at the screen. “What’s that ship?”

“Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… IFF indicates it is the USS Lobotomy, Captain Critchley commanding, sir.”

“Critchley… Oh God.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t like Captain Critchley, sir,” the Counsellor remarked.

“Not him, Counsellor. Who’s his first officer?”

“Point taken, sir.”

There was silence for a moment, until Damerell, who had been working it out a little slower than the rest of them, suddenly burst out with a “Woohoo!”

“Thank you, Commander.” Olding said irritably. “Hail t’ Lobotomy.”

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

“Lobotomy, this is t’ Psycho. What’s goin’ on?”

 

The viewscreen changed to show Captain Critchley in his command chair. “Psycho, Lobotomy. Memory Alpha has raised some form of defense shield and is interfering with communications and transporters. Just before the shield went up, we beamed Commander Wall aboard to liase with a Commander Hill aboard the asteroid. We have had no word from him since and are forced to assume he and Hill are attempting to resolve the situation as best they can without outside assistance.”

“Bugger,” Olding responded.

“Quite. We have been attempting to penetrate the shield, but with no success as yet.” There was a sudden burst of high volume near incomprehensible shouting from the Lobotomy, and Critchley listened, wincing slightly as he did so. Sticking a finger in his ear and wiggling it experimentally, Critchley said, “It appears my chief engineer believes that with both ships working in tandem we may be able to collapse the shield. He suggests if he comes aboard the Psycho a scheme may be implemented.”

“Sounds good to me,” Olding said. “We’ll move to a safe distance so your engineer can beam aboard.”

“Very well, Captain. Lobotomy out.”

 

Memory Alpha

“How much further?” Wall asked.

“About fifty metres,” Hill replied.

“Good. I’ve pushed your rubbery arse about as far as I want to,” Wall grumbled.

“Not far now,” Hill said encouragingly. Under normal circumstances, he would have been far more hostile to Wall, but unfortunately the design and cramped conditions of his ‘uniform’ had made it nearly impossible for him to move about in the air ducts, and so he had to rely on Wall to push him through.

With a final titanic heave, Wall got Hill to the grate leading into the Tech Support office. Hill took the grate off, and forced his arms out into the open. Wall, taking a breather behind him, watched with interest as Hill fell out of the air vent with a strangled scream. After the thud, Wall poked his head out and said, “Are you okay?”

“Shut up, get down here and help me up!”

Grumbling under his breath, Wall scrambled out of the air vent and began the laborious task of getting Hill back up on his feet again.

“Soon have you up and about again, don’t you wo…” Wall’s reassurances were interrupted by a familiar sound of a Benzite breathing apparatus. “Uh-oh,” Wall said.

“Hurry up!” Hill screamed.

“I’m trying!”

The breathing sound was joined by a deep roar, and Wall leapt sideways as a tongue of flame lashed across the Tech Support Office. Standing by the door, and clutching a lighter and what appeared to be a can of furniture polish as an improvised flamethrower, was the janitor.

“Get me up!” Hill screamed, but Wall was running for it. In desperation, Hill flung himself from side to side, but only succeeded in turning onto his front so he was stuck in a most undignified position, unable to move his arms and legs to get away. The janitor turned the fire on Hill, who could feel the rubber on his posterior start to heat and melt. Desperation took over, and Hill began to scuttle across the floor, anxious to get away from the flames.

He looked across at Wall, who was cowering in a corner. “Use the watercooler!” he screamed.

“What?!”

“Trust me!”

“Really?”

“Yes?!!! Do it now!”

Wall threw himself at the watercooler, and twisted the spigot around to face at the janitor. With a doubtful expression, he turned on the tap and watched in outright shock as a jet of water and ice was flung across the room at the janitor. Hill silently blessed Lieutenant Brian and his little quirks.

The janitor turned his attention to Wall, and the jet of flame hit the iceflow head on, the two elemental forces meeting in a shower of sparks and puddles.

In the midst of all this, the commpanel on Hill’s desk went off. “Rescue!” Hill cried, and rolled his way over to the desk. He slapped down hard on the button, and said, “Hill to Lobotomy…”

“Um…” Ensign Dougal’s face appeared on the main monitor. “Hi.”

Only the fact his arm was unable to move prevented Hill from slapping his forehead. “What?!”

“I was just wondering if you’d had any luck with my order?”

“In case it’s escaped your attention, Ensign, but we are a little busy here!” As he spoke, a stray flame jetted across behind him, causing an inadvertent yelp.

“Oh, okay. Well, if you do come across my order…”

“I’ll be sure to send it down. Hill out!” Hill slapped down on the commpanel and tried to figure out what he could do next.

“I’m running out of water!” Wall screamed. “Get the spare bottle!”

Hill looked across at where the bottle was, fifteen unpassable feet away. He gritted his teeth, tensed, and threw himself sideways into an undignified roll towards the bottle.

He fetched up against it with a thwack, and, shaking his head to clear it of bells ringing, managed to get his arms around the bottle and haul it off it’s rack. Then, Hill and bottle rolled unsteadily in the direction of Wall.

“Hurry up!”

“I’m… coming!” Hill cried between rolls.

Finally, he got there, and Wall hauled him up into a sitting position.

“What are you doing?!” Hill cried.

“Using you as a firebreak!”

The flames began to lick up Hill’s back, as his uniform took the brunt of the janitor’s attack. Hill could only watch helplessly as Wall quickly removed the empty bottle, and, grunting with the effort, lifted the full bottle in place. “This is very hot!” Hill screamed.

“Just a sec!” Wall looked at Hill, considered the situation for a moment, then booted Hill firmly in the chest. As Hill rolled backwards with an indignant squeak, Wall slammed on the water spigot and the ice flow began again, passing neatly between Hill’s outstretched legs and arms.

For a moment, the janitor’s flamethrower looked as if it might overcome Wall’s supercharged watercooler, but then the flames sputtered once, twice and went out as the polish can ran out.

The ice jet hit the janitor squarely in the chest, throwing him backwards into the opposite bulkhead. Wall kept the jet going until he was certain the janitor had stopped moving, then ran over and kicked the unconscious Benzite in the head, just to make sure. “We got him!” he crowed.

“Very nice,” said a now damp yet molten Hill. “Now help me up.”

 

USS Psycho, Main Engineering

The doors to Main Engineering parted, and Stark and Barfoot turned to greet their guest.

“You call zis an engine room?!!!” Lieutenant-Commander Erich von Falken announced by way of a greeting.

“Oy! I’ll have you know I mopped this floor this morning,” Barfoot said indignantly. By way of confirmation, a crewman in the background slipped on a damp patch and went flying.

“Are you Chief Engineer Stark?!” von Falken demanded. Barfoot mopped the spittle from his face and said,

“Uh, no, he is.”

“Thanks,” Stark had time to say before von Falken executed a parade ground perfect about turn and stared him down. “Chief Engineer Erich von Falken reporting to begin ze modifications to your main deflector dish!”

“Pay up,” Stark said, “I told you it’d involve the deflector dish.” Reluctantly, Barfoot handed over three strips of gold-pressed latinum. Pocketing the cash, Stark turned back to von Falken. “Erm, what do you need?”

“Ze complete obedience and unquestioning loyalty of your entire engineering staff!!!”

“Right. Well, good luck with that,” Stark said, and promptly retreated into his office and sealed the door behind him. Barfoot watched him go, wondering if there was anywhere he could run to. Accepting the inevitable, he said, “Um, where should we start?”

“First, zere is ze indoctrination!”

“I don’t think we’ve got time for zat, I mean that. Maybe we should skip straight to the actual engineering,” Barfoot suggested. von Falken eyed him suspiciously, as if Barfoot had suggested dressing in drag and doing the hula. “Very vell, ve vill try it your vay!”

Barfoot ran that sentence through his mind, then realised it was probably a good thing. “Cool! Let’s get to work then.”

 

Memory Alpha

Hill pointed with some difficulty at the fireman’s pole. “All we have to do is slide down the pole, and we’ll be into The Facility, and I’ll be able to take control of this situation.”

“How’d you do that?” Wall asked.

“Slide down the pole? It’s easy, just grab hold and…”

“Not that. Make your voice go all deep with a bit of reverb when you say ‘The Facility’.”

Hill stared at Wall speechlessly for a moment, before saying, “Can we just get on with it?”

The two of them stepped to the pole. Wall went first, sliding down with a cry of “Wheee!”

Rolling his eyes, Hill grabbed the pole. “Oooooohhhssssshhiiiiiiiiiiitt!!!!”

 

At the bottom, Wall landed in reasonably good order, and turned to admire The Facility. Unfortunately, a second later, Hill landed on top of him, dropping Wall like the proverbial sack of spuds.

As Hill fought to untangle himself from the unconscious Wall, the throne like chair rotated around, and Hill’s eyes widened as he realised who was behind it all. With a trembling finger, he pointed and said, “My God! The Butler did it!”

 

USS Psycho

“Olding to Engineering. Are we ready?”

Barfoot came on the line, voice trembling. “Nearly sir. And, Captain…”

“Yes?”

“I’d just like to say how unutterably grateful I am to serve aboard this ship.”

“Okay,” Olding responded, nonplussed. “That’s always nice to hear. Now about my weapon?”

“Nearly ready sir.” In the background, there was an outbreak of shouting, and Barfoot whimpered involuntarily. “Barfoot out.”

Olding and the Counsellor exchanged looks. “What was that about?”

Before Olding could reply, another voice came on the line, distorting the bridge speakers as it did so. “von Falken to bridge! Ve are ready to commence ze dispersion field!”

Olding uncrossed his eyes, and said, “Very well, commence when ready.”

“Aye, sir.”

 

Down in Engineering, von Falken turned to Barfoot, who flung his hands in front of his face and dropped to his knees. “Good! You are learning!” von Falken nodded approvingly, and moved over to the diagnostics table. “Mr Barfoot! Man ze link vith ze Lobotomy!”

Barfoot shuffled on his knees to the appropriate panel, and with trembling hands stabilised the link. “Ready.”

“Ve may now commence ze operation!” von Falken jabbed the controls, and watched with satisfaction as the sine wave on the display screens adjusted to the pattern he had calculated.

 

Olding watched as orange swirling beams poured from the deflector dishes of the Lobotomy and the Psycho and struck the interference shield around Memory Alpha. Beneath his feet, the ship started to shake alarmingly. “Olding to Engineering. This goin’ to cause us any problems?”

“von Falken here! Do not vorry, Captain! Ze ship vould not dare disobey my calculations! It vill remain vithin tolerances!” The channel clicked off again, and Olding felt his eyebrow quirk upwards. “That’s the last time I do that,” he muttered.

A moment later, von Falken was proved right when the shields around Memory Alpha shuddered and failed. “Bleep… wzrtfgl… Mind the gap… Sensors detect transporter operations now possible, Captain.”

“Counsellor, assemble a boardin’ party.”

“Don’t you mean an away team?”

“No, I mean a boardin’ party. Take that bluidy asteroid back, Counsellor!”

“With pleasure.”

 

A few minutes later, the Counsellor and her advance party arrived in the Sensor Control Room on Memory Alpha. “Is that sensor blind working?” the Counsellor demanded.

“Aye, sir.”

“Don’t start with the sir!”

“Sorry.”

“Good.” The Counsellor moved over to the controls, and hurriedly accessed the archives. “Right then, now to access the last ten hours or so, feed it into the current buffer, set it to loop, and… hey presto! Just like in the movies.”

She stepped back from the console in satisfaction, and tapped her commbadge. “Hill to Psycho. We’ve looped their internal sensors so they’re showing the movements from ten hours ago. You can beam the assault teams in now.”

“They’re on their way, Counsellor,” Olding responded.

“Hill to assault teams. Kick some arse, have some fun. See you at the bar. Hill out.” The Counsellor looked at the shocked stares of her security team. “What?”

 

“This is not comfortable,” Hill said through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Wall said.

They had been strapped onto a sturdy bar, which was rotating slowly over an open fire. Several of Wall’s dreadlocks were already smouldering, and Hill’s already ruined uniform was rapidly becoming a puddle of rubber mixed in with the ashes below them.

“Do you know,” Wall said conversationally, “I had a dream about precisely this situation happening the other night.”

“I really don’t need to hear that!”

“Sorry. I never know when to stop sharing.”

“Way, way, WAY before that.”

“Okay.”

 

“Counsellor, we’ve picked up a commbadge identifying itself as having come from the Lobotomy.”

“Commander Wall,” the Counsellor said. “Let’s go.” She strode for the exit, followed by her team. On the way, she monitored the comms chatter from the assault teams the Psycho had put aboard the station. “Sounds like this guy’s brainwashed a lot of people,” she commented, as the fourth major firefight broke out somewhere in the asteroid.

They ran through the corridors of Memory Alpha, following the signal from Wall’s commbadge. On a couple of occasions, they came across brainwashed librarians clutching weapons, but Hill’s team dispatched them with few problems.

Finally, they reached a turbolift, and the Counsellor summoned the lift. There then followed a few seconds of vaguely embarrassing hanging around as they waited for the lift to arrive. Then, all seven members of the team squeezed into the lift, and with no small difficulty the Counsellor pressed the ‘down’ button.

They poured out of the turbolift into The Facility, weapons at the ready. As she marched in at the head of her troops the Counsellor remarked, “I see my Uncle’s handiwork in all this… Oh, hi Unk!” She waved at Hill, who wailed and gnashed his teeth in response.

“So where’s the bad guy then?” she asked.

“Right here,” said a voice from behind her. The Counsellor spun, and said, “You’re the man from the sketch!”

“I shall take your word for that. My name, however, is Egtum.”

“Pronounced bastard,” Hill added from his slowly rotating position over the fire.

“You’ve been very clever, I’ll give you that,” the Counsellor acknowledged, keeping her weapon trained on Egtum. “Let me see if I can put this all together. You brainwashed Lieutenant Cross aboard the Lobotomy to destroy the shipments of neural interfacing padds, and our Doctor to kill the inventor of those padds, right?”

“Very good, miss. Joe Falco was the grandson of the man who first came up with the designs for those infernal devices.”

“Ah… Which is why Section 31 tried to take him out the first time.”

“No. Section 31 wanted the technology for themselves. I am the only one to make the effort to cleanse the Federation of this scourge!”

“Okay.” Taking her left hand off the barrel of the rifle, the Counsellor waved her finger against her head in the time honoured ‘cuckoo’ signal, before replacing it again and steadying her stance. “So what have you got against padds?”

“Not just padds. This Federation has become far too dependant on technology! Every problem, every crisis, every slight handicap is tackled by some new gizmo! With my army of librarians, I intend to restore the hardy, frontiersman stock who once made this Federation great!”

“By destroying padds. Bit of a slow start, I can’t help but feel,” the Counsellor commented.

“Look, this is all very fascinating,” Hill screamed from the roasting spit, “But in case anyone’s forgotten I’m being cooked over here!”

“And me,” Wall added, anxious not to be left out.

“And him! Hurry up and cut me down!”

“I don’t know,” Wall grumbled. “Cut me down, pick me up. It’s all me, me, me with you these days, isn’t it?”

“Anyway…” The Counsellor said, anxious to get the showdown back on track. “There must be something bigger to all this.”

“Oh, there is,” Egtum said, his eyes glowing with the fires of fanaticism. “I will destroy the memory banks of this asteroid. I have already destroyed the access system, and with a press of this button,” he indicated a jury rigged big red button, “I shall wipe the memory banks. Then, the asteroid itself will be destroyed as its warp reactor overloads! The Federation will be forced to start again, without the ‘aid’ of its computers and its databanks.”

“So that’s the whole plan?” The Counsellor asked.

“It is indeed.”

“No hidden surprises?”

“Do there need to be?”

“Fair point,” the Counsellor conceded, then shot Egtum. “Men. I suppose he thought I wouldn’t dare shoot him. Wrong!”

“Well done, you saved the day and got the bad guy. Now cut me…”

“Us…”

“Down!” Hill finished.

“Sheesh, unk, don’t get so hot under the collar,” the Counsellor remonstrated.

She stepped over to the roasting pit, produced a knife, but before she started cutting, said, “What on Betazed are you wearing?”

“It’s my special uniform,” Hill said defensively.

“It’s special alright,” the Counsellor replied. “Unk, I’m worried about you.”

“Fine, be worried. Just CUT! ME! DOWN!”

“Okay, okay.” The Counsellor was as good as her word.

 

As the Counsellor set about freeing Wall and Hill, Olding strode into The Facility, followed by Critchley.

“Well done, Counsellor!” Olding said.

“She’s your Counsellor?” Critchley said incredulously.

“O’ course. Why else would I call her Counsellor?” Olding pointed out.

While Critchley assimilated that piece of information, Olding regarded Hill and Wall, who were busy putting out the fires on each other. “You two!”

Hill and Wall leapt to attention, an image only slightly spoiled by the fact that Hill’s uniform had mostly disintegrated, leaving him covered in black rubbery stains, and that Wall’s ribbons were still smouldering gently. “I suppose you’ve done a reasonable job,” Olding allowed. “Although, Commander Wall?”

“Sir?”

“Get a haircut.”

“Sir.”

 

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 23949836363.5. Memory Alpha is safe from t’ plans o’ that evil librarian. Hmm. Somehow the threats to galactic peace aren’t what they used to be. Anyway. Commander Hill assures me that he can repair the damage done to t’ asteroid’s computer systems. This will involve usin’ t’ Psycho as a spare hard drive for the entire Memory Alpha databank whilst Hill reinstalls the access systems, after which the data can be copied back across. T’ Psycho will spend a few weeks here, whilst t’ Lobotomy has taken t’ colonists onto t’ Harwood Colony. Strangely, they left wi’out Commander Wall, who has decided to go on leave, and Lieutenant-Commander Damerell has gone with him. Wi’out those two idiots gettin’ underfoot, hopefully the repair efforts will go a bit smoother.”

“Supplemental. T’ Counsellor has just pointed out it’s a year to t’ day that Wall and Hill left t’ Psycho. It’s been a funny old year. End log entry.”