Standalone Stories

The grey-haired man sat back in his chair, still looking down at the reports on his desk.

“And Subject Whiskey still has no idea that what he is doing is tantamount to declaring war on the Romulan Empire on behalf of the Federation twice a week?” he asked in disbelief.

“No sir,” the man standing in front of the ornately carved wooden desk said. He was standing loosely at attention, hands folded behind his back. His black uniform was marginally tight across the middle, speaking off a little bit too long in a desk job and not enough time spent out in the field, and he had an ill-advised black moustache, which made him look rather like a hairy caterpillar had died under his nose. “Subject Whiskey is a man supremely and singularly ignorant of the consequences of his actions in the wider scheme of things.” He reached forward and pulled a particular report out of the pile. “He has certainly proved useful, however. He has facilitated both incursion and excursion missions for Starfleet Intelligence agents in the Romulan Star Empire.”

“On the other hand,” the grey-haired man pointed out, “he has also assisted smugglers and weapons runners.”

“Haven’t we all,” the man in black said wryly. He shrugged unrepentantly at the older man’s reproachful look.

“That’s as may be, Mister Sullivan,” the grey-haired man said. “But we did it for a purpose. This man is just an idiot!”

“Which is why he is perfect for Operation Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch,” Sullivan said calmly. “S.I. no longer have any use for him. They have convinced his superiors to let him take his nine months of accumulated leave, in order to get him out of the local area and stop him running his ‘business’. We have nine months to use him as we please.”

“So you want to send him to Romulus to do… what, exactly?” the grey-haired man asked, picking up another padd and perusing the details on the screen.

“Be a decoy,” Sullivan replied. “We allow him to be detected and arrested by the Tal Shiar thus allowing the real deep cover operative to complete his mission undetected.”

“And you have a plan to get him to Romulus?” the grey-haired man queried. “It’s important he have no suspicions.”

“I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Sullivan said with a smile.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now on final approach to the Rehabilitation and Recovery Facility on Tantalus V. As we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you.”

In his cramped seat near the back of the interplanetary shuttle, Lieutenant Gavin Wall shifted uncomfortably. Although his current posting, Starbase 54, was technically a close neighbour of Tantalus V he had only been able to book passage on a low-warp passenger shuttle, so the journey had still taken an entire day. He was sweaty and smelly, and he was fairly certain when he stood up his left leg was going to treat him to an agonising cramp. The shuttle had dropped out of warp about fifteen minutes before to begin its approach under the guidance of the Tantalus V ground control and he was getting bored. There hadn’t been any stunt flying at all!

Still, it had been his decision to come here in person, and he intended to stick to it. His supervisor back on the Starbase had been good about letting him have a couple of extra days off in order to accomplish this errand. His words had in fact been, “God, yes, anything, just get out of my office!” which Wall thought was pretty nice of the bloke. Life on board the station wasn’t exactly thrilling, what with the almost total lack of any need for the station’s two shuttles to be flown on anything more than the occasional visual inspection of the outer hull of the station. Given its proximity to the Romulan border Wall had expected to see a bit more action but the truth was the Romulans mostly kept to themselves.

Still, at least his little side business had been going well. For a small fee he would take thrill-seekers on a quick jaunt across the border into the Romulan Neutral zone. He wasn’t really supposed to use the station shuttles for personal business but so far no-one had dobbed him in to his superior officers. On one memorable occasion he had taken a whole stag party out there. He had watched in amusement as they all mooned out of the window in the general direction of Romulus, and then made the groom-to-be perform a spacewalk while broadcasting obscenities on an open channel in badly-mangled Romulan.

Once or twice a passenger had asked about the legality of what they were doing, but Wall didn’t really understand what they were on about. The Neutral Zone was neutral territory, wasn’t it? That meant both sides had an equal claim to it as far as he was concerned, so he was perfectly within his rights as a Federation citizen to enter it. There was a little niggle in the back of his mind, something from a long-forgotten lecture at the Academy about Starfleet vessels in disputed territories, but if he couldn’t remember it, it couldn’t be that important.

There were only seven other occupants of the interplanetary shuttle including the pilot, co-pilot and the two flight crew. The crew – one male, one female – had the standard-issue plastic smiles plastered across their faces. This was made all the more disturbing by the fact that the female was a Jokarthan, with yellowing pointy teeth and six-inch tusks protruding from her lower jaw.

The other occupants of the cabin were two men in dark grey security-type uniforms escorting another man who was firmly ensconced in a straitjacket, with a plastic mask covering the lower half of his face. There was a small grill in the mask, through which one of the guards would occasionally push a straw in order for the man to drink what appeared to be a banana milkshake. Wall had done his level best not to stare, which was to say he had watched the incapacitated man avidly for the best part of twelve hours. To begin with he had seemed a pleasant enough fellow, engaging his captors in jovial, if muffled, conversation, and Wall had wondered why on earth he was being transferred to Tantalus V. Then night had fallen, artificially, and the man had started grunting and roaring like an animal, straining against his restraints and, at one point, headbutting one of his guards right in the nose.

Wall had stopped his staring at that point, and started instead thinking about what must have happened to his old Academy classmate to get him locked up in a facility with people like that. During their infrequent comm chats Damerell had never talked about the events on the ZX-81 but every time Wall mentioned Christmas or parties, Damerell’s right eye started twitching violently and his voice went all funny and squeaky. Still, at least he was talking now. The first couple of times Wall had called, Damerell had hidden under the table and just whimpered for the duration.

There was a bump and a rumble as the shuttle started to enter the planet’s atmosphere. Wall had to admit that the pilot was pretty good, keeping the descent smooth and even, but it was a tad boring for his tastes. After a couple of minutes the ride smoothed out once more as the shuttle changed from interplanetary to atmospheric flight, the hum of the engines increasing in pitch as the switchover was made.

Wall sat back and enjoyed the view for a while, finding the barren landscape fairly peaceful and relaxing. There was a definite wind blowing, making the shuttle rock slightly as they descended, but they completed their journey without any issues, the shuttle finally landing with the barest of sift bumps on the landing pad.

“Ladiesh and gentlemen, welcome to Tantalush Five,” the Jokarthan steward said into a microphone. Her tusks obviously made speaking Federation standard a little difficult. “Local time ish 32:96 and the temperachure ish a balmy 38 degreesh.

“For your shafety and comfort, pleash remain sheated wif your sheatbelt farshened until the Captain shwitchesh off the farshen sheatbelt shign. Pershonal communicashun devishesh may only be ushed onesh the farshen sheatbelt shign hash been shwitched off.

“Vishitorsh to the fashility musht regishter at the main deshk. If you require ashishtansh pleash do not heshitate to arshk.

“On behalf of Planet Hopper Shuttlesh and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining ush on thish trip and we are looking forward to sheeing you on board again in the near fuchure. Have a nishe day!”

Wall obediently waited for the seatbelt sign to switch off, which it did in due course with a little ping. Then he was up and out of his seat, only to fall over in the aisle as his left calf, as predicted, proceeded to send spikes of agony up his leg. He stayed down there for a minute, massaging some feeling back into his leg before standing up, wobbling slightly, to get his things out of the overhead bin. He disembarked, giving a cheerful goodbye to the cabin crew, before jogging over to the rear of the shuttle where his things were being unloaded.

“You moving in?” a cargo handler asked, obviously taken aback by the number of paisley patterned cases Wall had piled up on two separate anti-grav trolleys.

“Nah,” Wall said with a grin. “This is just the first stop!”

 

A little while later, once he had registered at the front desk, confirmed his visit was with Philip Damerell and found somewhere to store all his luggage during the visit, Wall found himself sitting in a square room with soothing beige walls, a squashy looking cream sofa, a little wooden table with two matching chairs and a full wall of glass, showing a fairly spectacular view over the expanse of reddish rock that was Tantalus V. Off in the distance there was the hint of an ocean on the horizon.

The door opened and Wall turned away from the view to see Damerell shuffle into the room, followed by an orderly in a pastel blue uniform. The orderly guided Damerell to one of the chairs and sat him down before turning to Wall.

“No loud noises. No sudden movements.” He thought for a moment. “Also, and I really can’t stress this enough, no questions that require him to make a decision.”

“Gotcha,” Wall said, and the orderly left the two of them in peace. He walked over cautiously and sat down in the other chair. “Hey,” he said in greeting.

Damerell looked up shakily, managing a small grin. “Hi.”

“Water?” Wall asked, gesturing at the jug on the table. Damerell went still, looking at the jug with wide eyes before biting his lip, closing his eyes and counting to ten, and then nodding.

Wall poured the water and pushed the plastic cup across the table. He cleared his throat.

“So,” he said slowly. “Um. I thought I should come and tell you in person, ‘cos, well, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person you speak to outside this place.”

Damerell nodded, sipping his water.

“Craziest thing,” Wall went on. “Apparently I entered this competition. Don’t actually remember but I figure I was probably drunk or something, yeah? Anyway, it turns out I won the grand prize, an all-expenses paid holiday of a lifetime on sunny Romulus.” Wall stopped, looking at Damerell who still had the same blank expression on his face. “For nine months,” he added.

“Oh,” Damerell said with a little frown. “Is that safe?”

“They’d hardly offer it as the prize of a competition if it wasn’t, would they?” Wall pointed out. “Anyway, I figure Federation comm channels aren’t exactly going to be on every street corner, so I’m probably going to be out of touch for a while. Just wanted to let you know, and stuff.”

“Um. Thanks. I, uh, appreciate it,” Damerell said. He finched suddenly, glancing at the door with fear on his face, his eyes flicking to look out of the window and then into every corner of the room. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

Wall looked around. “Hear what?”

“The laughter. They’re always laughing at me!”

“OOh-kay,” Wall said, standing up. “I think that’s probably my cue to leave. You take care of yourself, yeah?” Damerell didn’t respond, lost somewhere in his own head. “Right.”

Standing up and knocking on the door, Wall slipped out at the orderly stepped in, approaching Damerell carefully and talking to him in a calm, soothing voice. Just as Wall rounded the corner he heard a crash and then the plaintive voice of the orderly. “Oh bugger, not the ventilation ducts again!”

Clearing all other thoughts from his mind, Wall focussed on the thought of his upcoming holiday as he wandered back through to the main desk and collected his luggage from the storage cupboard they had let him use. He walked through the main doors just as a sleek, white, stretched interplanetary shuttle touched down at the landing pad nearby. The door opened and a man with an awful moustache stuck his head out.

“Lieutenant Wall?” he called out over the noise of the engines.

“That’s me!” Wall said brightly as he wandered up.

“I’m Tom Sullivan,” the man said. “Congratulations again on winning the grand prize! Now let’s get you all stowed away and we can chat about your, uh, itinerary once we get underway.”

“Cool beans,” Wall agreed, and a few minutes later he was planted firmly in one of the uber-plush chairs in the swanky cabin of the stretched shuttle. He had a glass of champagne in one hand and a funny-looking mouthful of food in the other. He stuffed the food in his mouth, moaned orgasmically for a moment and then grabbed three more from the tray.

He could already tell this was going to be an amazing trip.

 

Nine months later…

“So,” Sullivan said, leaning forward conspiratorially. Across the sofa from him, Wall reciprocated the action subconsciously. “Our viewers are dying to know. How was Romulus?”

“Wait, is this going to be on the telly?” Wall asked, looking over at the camera. He waved eagerly. “Hi Mum!”

“Edited highlights may be available,” Sullivan said, trying to retain his composure. His bosses had decided the best way to debrief Wall was to continue the game show prize fiction, so he had been forced back into the game show host role in order to try and wring some semblance of sense from the deranged Starfleet officer’s ramblings.

He was still bemused as to how this could have come about. Wall, far from being a useful decoy, had managed to blunder his way into the real mission, get the deep cover operative captured and nearly ruin the entire thing. Then, just as Section 31 were about to give up on the whole thing altogether, it had become apparent that not only had Wall managed to complete the operative’s mission – without even knowing what the mission was – he had managed to do so in such a way that the Tal Shiar were unaware any information had been accessed. He had then managed to exfiltrate himself from Romulus without any assistance from Section 31, apparently believing the entire time that everything he was doing was part of an extreme sports package that came with the holiday.

“If we could get back to it,” Sullivan said. “What can you tell us?”

“It’s bloody good to have my own face back,” Wall said, poking at his forehead cautiously. “I know you said immersion in the culture was part of the deal, but it was sodding weird, I’ll tell you that.” He thought for a moment. “Food was tasty, although a bit heavy on the seasonings. No complaints about the drinks, obviously,” he added, mugging at the camera. “The Gal Gath’thong was pretty impressive. Fiery.”

“And… was there anything about the holiday you didn’t like?”

“Wasn’t entirely convinced by the extreme sports at the end,” Wall decided. “I mean, the base jumping thing was fine, and everyone likes a good ride in a fast shuttle, but the whole space-walk-between-shuttles-in-a-homemade-spacesuit was a bit over the top. All in all, though, it was good. Eight, maybe eight-and-a-half out of ten. Needed more time for sightseeing.”

“Right,” Sullivan said faintly. He decided he wasn’t going to get anything coherent out of Wall, and they had enough surveillance footage to reconstruct the series of events. The important thing was that they had vital information with which to better protect the Federation. Information that was, at this very moment, hidden in the base of a horrifically ugly figurine of a traditional Romulan gralg-herdess somewhere in amongst the pile of cheap tat Wall had brought back as souvenirs. It would, sadly for Wall, go missing between now and when he left the building.

“Well, I think that’s everything then Lieutenant,” Sullivan said. “Thanks for your time.”

“No problem,” Wall said cheerfully.

It took a bit of time for him to collect his things and finally get to the point of leaving the building, but as he did so he spotted someone he recognised skulking about in a corridor. “Lenny!” he called out, hurrying across the brightly-lit lobby of the building where the interview had taken place. “Hey, Lenny!”

The man stopped, surprised. His eyes widened when he saw Wall. “You!” he exclaimed.

“Good to see you again man,” Wall said. “We had some good times on Romulus, huh? Remember the set’leth feeding time at the zoo?”

Lenny grimaced, looking down at his leg. He was wearing shorts in order to accommodate a large bandage around his left calf. “How could I forget,” he said. “You saved my life.”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Wall said magnanimously. “That guy should have been more careful. His little slip nearly got you killed along with him! Are you here to do an interview for the game show too?”

“Um, yeah, something like that. Do you have somewhere to be?” Lenny asked, pointing at Wall’s bags.

“I should probably get home,” Wall said. “See if any of my houseplants are still alive. Catch you later!”

He strode off, leaving Lenny behind. He was really looking forward to sleeping in his own bed again!

 

Behind him, ‘Lenny’ watched him go with troubled eyes. He didn’t flinch as a woman dressed in a severe black skirt and jacket combo stepped up to his shoulder.

“The moron has left the building,” she quipped.

“He’s not that bad,” ‘Lenny’ protested, weakly.

“Oh, for goodness sake Lennick,” she huffed. “It’s your own fault you got made by that Tal Shiar operative instead of him. And yes, if it hadn’t been for him, it would have been you in the belly of the set’leth instead of the Tal Shiar scumbag. You’re just lucky the Romulan didn’t have time to tell anyone else about you. Your job was to babysit the decoy, make sure he got caught.” She pulled a face. “But let’s face it, if you hadn’t been stuck in hospital Jeremiah would still have been caught and Wall wouldn’t have accidentally finished the mission for him. It all worked out for the best.”

Lennick nodded and shrugged. “I suppose so. I dislike feeling beholden to anyone, especially someone like that.”

The woman shrugged back. “So do something nice for him, balance out the cosmic forces or whatever. Goodness knows you have the resources at your disposal.”

Lennick nodded thoughtfully. “You know what, I might just do that.”

 

A short intraplanetary shuttle ride later found Wall relaxing in the disgustingly filthy embrace of the little flat he kept in south London for when he wasn’t on assignment, sitting back to watch the latest in cheesy holonovels with a large slice of takeaway pizza – with everything, of course. He hacked and coughed as he bit into a Targarien pepper, eyes watering profusely, thumping his chest as he recovered before digging in for the next bite.

The comm system built into the wall of his flat pinged and Wall sighed, pausing his holonovel and regretfully putting down his pizza. He made his way through the debris of his everyday life to the comm system, which chirped when he accessed it to indicate a visual message. Tapping the buttons to download it to a padd he slipped into a wall slot, Wall waited for the system to make its usual chuntering noises whenever it was asked to do something, then collected the padd and tiptoed his way back over to the sofa.

He was halfway through another slice of pizza before he remembered the message, so he picked up the padd from where it had been dropped and flicked it on. His eyes widened as he read.

From: Personnel Assignments <postings.hr@command.starfleet.ufp>
To: Gavin Wall <spacejockey2264@wahoo.ufp>
Cc: Lt. G. Wall <gcwall@starbase54.starfleet.ufp>
FAO: Gavin C. Wall
RE: Posting
Dear Mr. Wall.

I am pleased to confirm that as of Stardate 812736.23 your promotion to Lieutenant-Commander has officially been granted. This promotion comes with a new posting, that of Chief Helmsman aboard the USS Psycho, SMC-1234.

Please report to your nearest Starfleet facility to collect your new uniform and rank insignia and present yourself aboard your new assignment on Starbase 63 by Stardate 812889.53.

Further details of your posting and future crewmates can be found at the links attached.

Congratulations,
Admiral Hollis

“Yeehhaaa!” Wall yelled out, punching the air in excitement. He was finally getting off that ditchwater-dull space station! He was going to be allowed to pilot a starship again. He’d never heard of the Psycho but that hardly mattered. It was a ship, a real ship!

He tapped on the links to open up the various bits of information. There was some stuff about the ship itself – an older model, but Wall knew sometimes the older vessels were the ones that more fun to drive, without all the boring high-tech bits and bobs that made everything uniformly dull to pilot.

Skipping over that, he came to the crew roster. He didn’t recognise the names of the captain, first officer, doctor or engineer. He had a vague recollection of meeting an ‘R. Hill’ at the Academy but the chances of it being the same person were pretty remote.

He stopped, staring at the screen. Right there, listed next to his name as a new crewman, was ‘Navigator – P. Damerell’. Surely it couldn’t be…

It wasn’t. A moment’s investigation showed it to be one Lieutenant-Commander Philomena Damerell. No apparent relation to any other ‘P. Damerell’ of Wall’s acquaintance. Wall put the padd down, disappointed. Suddenly very much aware that it had been a full nine months since his last conversation with his friend, he felt the urge to make contact. “Computer, what time is it on Tantalus V?”

“The current time on Tantalus V is 16:86,” the computer informed him.

He headed over to the comm unit and placed a call to the Rehabilitation and Recovery Facility. Once connected to the reception desk he asked to speak to Damerell. The receptionist, a severe-looking Vulcan woman, fixed him with a look. Wall squirmed, uncomfortably reminded of sitting outside the head teacher’s office at school.

“May I ask what your business is with Philip?” she asked.

“Just wanted a chat, you know,” he said, grinning. “Catch up, shoot the sh- uh, breeze. We’re old friends.”

“Indeed,” the receptionist replied, raising an eyebrow. She looked down at something on her console, tapped a few controls and nodded after a moments. “Philip is currently socialising in the communal area. His behaviour has been stable recently. Dr van Gelder believes some contact with friends would benefit him. Please hold the line.”

The screen went black apart from the Tantalus V symbol rotating slowing in the middle. Soft, soothing music started emanating from the speakers, a pleasant if boring little tune undoubtedly designed for its soporific effect. He hurried over to grab the pizza box and his drink from the coffee table, returning to the comm system and taking a gulp of the drink just as the screen blinked back to show Damerell’s worried-looking face. As a result, the former navigator was greeted by an explosive belch that erupted from somewhere in the depths of Wall’s stomach.

“Hello to you too,” Damerell said, sounded a bit offended.

Wall wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and grinned back. “Alright? How’s things?”

Damerell shrugged. “Okay. I’m, uh, a lot better than I was,” he said as Wall peered at the screen. His friend did look much improved from their last conversation – more colour in his face, eyes actually focussing, hands not fidgeting restlessly.

“Cool,” Wall said with a grin. “So, have I got a story for you!” he went on. “I just came back from the most amazing holiday. The things I’ve seen! Waterfalls on fire, I even got to feed a baby set’leth by hand! It was-”

“You’ve got to help me,” Damerell interrupted in a harsh whisper, leaning in close to the screen. His eyes were wide and serious. “I can’t take it in here! Everyone’s crazy!”

Wall looked back uncertainly. “That is sort of the point,” he said.

“I’m not crazy,” Damerell insisted. “I had a, uh, a funny five minutes but I’m better now!”

“Uh-huh,” Wall said noncommittally, taking a big bite of pizza to avoid having to say anything else. After a moment Damerell subsided, looking glum. Wall spent a few more minutes telling stories about his holiday and Damerell gradually started to respond more. At the end of a story where Wall had inadvertently insulted a rather stout Romulan matron and then equally inadvertently initiated a convoluted Romulan courtship ritual with his apology, he was laughing so hard he snorted loudly. Wall grinned, pleased with himself.

Damerell suddenly looked up to one side and nodded, reluctantly. “Time’s up,” he said, suddenly going glum again. “Speak soon?” he added hopefully.

Wall nodded. “Count on it,” he replied with the best smile he could muster. The connection closed and the helmsman sat back, smile dropping off. He felt bad for his friend but it wasn’t like there was much he could do about it. He looked around again at his apartment, suddenly realising how forlorn it looked – the pizza for one, the single drink, the paused holonovel. He felt obscurely guilty for not enjoying his freedom more, knowing his friend was stuck on Tantalus V.

Abruptly he decided he needed company. He shoved the last slice of pizza into his mouth all in one go and then, while he was struggling to chew and not choke, he grabbed his identity tags and his coat and headed out the door.

 

A couple of hours and considerably more drinks later, Wall had made a friend. He had ensconced himself on a stool at his local pub, The Alpaca and Ferret, early in the evening and proceeded to carefully drink himself into a state of loquacious inebriation. He had been alternately celebrating his promotion and lamenting Damerell’s predicament to whoever would listen. His current victim was a man who was almost as far gone as Wall himself, bleary-eyed and hunched over his pint glass.

“An’ an’ an’ then it was all sad, an’ he looked so sad an’ I feel bad, y’ know?” Wall was saying. “I jus’ wanna help ‘im, y’know? He’s my friend – my best, bestest friend in the whole world!” He paused, his eyes widening. “You’re my friend too!” he said earnestly, grabbing the man’s arm. “It’s just me and him, we’ve been mates for ages. He’s a bit rubbish at stuff but he’s a good mate!”

The man lifted his head, revealing the subtle but distinctive vertical crease in his forehead of an Acamarian. He smiled, revealing white teeth. “You’re a good friend,” he slurred.

Wall brightened. “I am!” he agreed enthusiastically, clutching the man by his shoulders. His expression changed, twisting uncertainly. “Be right back!” he blurted out, before hurrying for the toilets. Bursting through the doors he went straight for a urinal, unzipped and relaxed. He sighed as the relief spread throughout his body. Glancing to the side he made eye contact with the man at the next urinal and grinned cheerfully. The man’s eyes widened and he quickly looked down before hurrying away.

The tinkle and gurgle of liquid hitting the porcelain and draining away continued for an unfeasibly long time before Wall was done. He absently ran his hands under the cleanser and then staggered back out to the main room. At the bar his stool remained empty. To his disappointment, the stool next to it was empty as well. His new friend was nowhere in sight. Pouting, Wall headed back to the bar, resumed his seat and waited to get the bartender’s attention. He had more drinking to do and more friends to make!

 

About five thousand miles away, in the city of San Francisco, Philomena Damerell was just sitting down for a spot of late lunch. She had received orders posting her to the USS Psycho and had spent the night and quite a lot of the morning brooding on the way her career had taken a nosedive in recent months. Despite the promotion to Lieutenant-Commander, she was under no illusions that the particular promotion and transfer was to get her out of the way. Her navigational skills were more than adequate, in her opinion. It was just unfortunate that no-one seemed to appreciate her advice on the best way to do their jobs. Captain Dryden certainly didn’t appear to value the ten page bullet-pointed list she had sent him, although she did think confining her to quarters for the remainder of the mission had been something of an overreaction. No-one ever seemed to appreciate her advice, which was probably the reason she didn’t have anyone to celebrate – or commiserate – with.

She was alone in the apartment she shared with her Benzite sopropod Fluffy, a feline-equivalent with six legs and a scorpion tail – de-barbed, of course – and a collar designed in the same way as a Benzite breathing apparatus, set to release the required vapours into the air under its pig-like nose with every breath.

After tidying up her lunch things she thought about starting to pack, but instead ended up channel hopping her way to a repeat of the last season of Real Houseflarns of Blargon VIII. She was into her third hour, with Fluffy nestled into the crook of her curled up knees, when the door chimed. She tried to ignore it in favour of watching Ti’Fanee’s reaction to finding out Bel’yn’da had been performing ch’anly’ah with her rixflarn Scrog but, when it rang again, she turned off the screen and heaved herself off the sofa with a grumble. Fluffy opened one eye irritably and promptly spread out into the warm spot she had left behind.

“Who is it?” she asked, pressing the intercom button next to the door.

“Building maintenance,” came the reply. “We’ve had a report of an energy leak in the conduits, we need to check your supply.”

“Scan your ID on the door pad, please,” she said. A moment later the intercom panel beeped and displayed a green light, alongside a picture of a non-descript looking man in a scruffy uniform. Pressing a button, Philomena opened the door. “Come in,” she said, noting absently that the man looked just like his photo – even the creases in his uniform looked the same.

“Thank you,” the man said, stepping into the apartment and looking around. Philomena tapped the controls to close the door.

When she turned around she found him standing uncomfortably close and stopped, startled. He had a device in his hands she didn’t recognise and Philomena assumed it had something to do with the energy conduits. “Sorry,” he apologised. Before she could ask what for he tapped a button on the device and her vision wavered. She stumbled backwards and abruptly found herself on the floor. Something pressed against her neck and there was the hiss of a hypospray. Philomena tried to flinch away and protest but her voice and her strength seemed to have been stolen away.

Even the sounds in her ears started to distort and Philomena’s mind tumbled into darkness.

 

The maintenance man caught her as she fell and lowered her gently to the ground. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face and looked down at her. “I don’t know what you did,” he said conversationally, “but someone really wants to mess with your head.”

He opened a panel on the device he was carrying and took out another hypospray. This one looked bigger and most complicated than the first. He located a point behind her right ear and set the hypo against it. Squeezing the button he injected a small implant, one designed to release a tiny amount of a powerful psychotropic drug into her system at irregular intervals, sending her body into spasms and her brain into overdrive. The implant itself was specially designed to be undetectable to standard medical scans, although it might present itself if a quantum scan was used.

Having done that he used the device to access the communications systems and wipe all evidence of his arrival. A few minutes later, the door chime sounded.

He opened the door to find a man and a woman standing there in paramedics uniforms. He nodded to them, let them into the apartment and then, without a backwards glance, slipped out of the door. The paramedics loaded Philomena onto an anti-grav stretcher and carted her out of the door.

For a few minutes there was silence, broken only by the regular hiss of Fluffy’s breathing apparatus. Then the door opened again to reveal the maintenance man. He strode over to Fluffy and held out a hand full of treats. The animal roused and ate the food languidly. Once it was all gone, the man scooped the animal up under its middle. The sopropod tensed but allowed him to lift it up. He glanced around the room and, with the sopropod tucked under one arm, headed out of the door. Pulling the device out of his pocket he once again wiped all evidence of his presence and then headed off down the corridor, whistling cheerfully.

 

Wall woke to thundering in his head and a taste in his mouth akin to the worst kind of rotting matter. He cracked his eyes open to find he had forgotten to darken the windows, so the sunlight speared into his brain. He cried out in agony and rolled over, only to find he was already on the edge of the bed so the next few moments were eventful and painful. He thumped to the floor on his tailbone and clonked his head on the bedside table.

He laid there for a few minutes, stunned and in pain, tangled in his blankets while the events of the previous night slowly came back to him in patchy, confused flashes. He groaned, hoping he hadn’t bored too many people to tears with his whining.

“Bleargh,” he said, sticking his tongue out. It felt like sandpaper in his mouth.

With watering eyes he stumbled to his feet and staggered into the bathroom, splashing his face with water. He cupped his hands under the tap and gulped at it greedily, sighing in relief as it eased the hot ache in his throat. He suddenly became aware of wetness under his feet and looked down. His face twisted in a grimace as he realised that the kebab he had bought on his way home hadn’t stayed in his stomach – and not all of it had gone into the toilet bowl.

It took until lunch time for him to start feeling vaguely normal. In that time he had guzzled down a few pints of water, spent some time cleaning the bathroom until it sparkled and stood under the sonic shower for as long as he could take the vibrations. By the time he sat down at his table with a cheese sandwich and another glass of water he was feeling almost human.

Having eaten and slipped the empty dishes back into the replicator he stretched and yawned, contemplating going back to bed for the day. He was still officially on leave, not scheduled to be back in uniform for a week. He had checked when he first got the assignment and there was a fast Starfleet shuttle heading from the London Spaceport to the Gardyloo system. From there he had a transport booked to Starbase 63. The whole journey would take five days, so he still had two more to enjoy himself.

His comm system chimed. “There is one message waiting,” the computer informed him.

“Play message,” he instructed. A moment later Damerell’s face appeared on the screen he shifted nervously before speaking.

“Um. Is this on? Okay, uh. God, I hate messaging systems. Um. Apparently there’s been, uh, a mix up? I guess. Anyway, can you come and pick me up? Only I’ve got this message that says I’m being posted to a ship. The, uh, the Psycho. And you’re the helmsman? That’s what it says. Uh, yeah. Cheers, mate.”

Wall sat in stunned silence one Damerell’s face had disappeared from the screen. Surely that couldn’t be right? He sat down at his computer console and called up his original assignment message. Tapping the link at the end he looked at the crew roster. There was ‘Navigator – P. Damerell’ again. Only this time when he pressed on it brought up his Damerell’s bio and info. There was no indication that it had ever been anything else.

He couldn’t explain it. And, he realised after a moment, he didn’t really want to. He had wanted Damerell to be set free, and he had been hoping they could work together again. This was everything he had wanted, and he wasn’t about to check the dental hygiene of a bonus equine.

He sprang into action. The journey from Earth to Tantalus V took three days. From there to the Gardyloo system was another three days. If he left right away the two of them could make the transport from Gardyloo to Starbase 63. It took a few moments to book a second ticket on the same transport and he winced at the cost.

Still, he could always get Damerell to pay him back – eventually.

 

Three days later, once again smelly and with cramp in his left calf muscle, Wall limped into the reception area of Tantalus V. He recognised the severe Vulcan woman behind the desk and gave her a grin and a wave. She responded with a raised eyebrow, which Wall took to mean she was thawing towards him. It was a shame that, with any luck, he was never going to see her again.

While he was waiting, sitting on a remarkably uncomfortable bench off to one side, a shuttle landed outside. The doors opened and a woman was wheeled in on a stretcher being pushed by an Acamarian man in white scrubs. The woman was yelling and struggling to sit up against the straps holding her down.

“No. No! It’s not real! I’m not supposed to be here! I’m a Starfleet officer!”

Double doors opened and a flurry of orderlies appeared, surrounding the woman. A hypospray was injected into her neck and she subsided, face slack and eyes staring.

“Watch out for this one,” the Acamarian said, handing over a padd to the doctor who had followed the orderlies. “She’s coherent a lot of the time, then she just has these fits. No idea when one is going to come on.”

“Was she in Starfleet?” the doctor asked, flicking through the notes on the padd.

“Yep. Not now, obviously. You can’t be in charge of systems on a starship when you’re prone to outbursts of violence and hallucinations.”

“I still can’t believe this happened,” the doctor said. “I mean – how could we have had the wrong patient in here for a whole year?”

The Acamarian shrugged. “I guess these things happen.”

The doctor thanked him and stepped over to the patient, who was drooling gently onto her pillow. “Don’t worry Philomena,” she said, smiling down at her. “We’ll take good care of you now.”

The woman was wheeled away, all of the orderlies going with her, and Damerell walked through the doors after they were gone, into the relative quiet. The Acamarian orderly glanced at him, then over at Wall, before disappearing out of the door. Damerell glanced around nervously, as though worried this was all an illusion that was going to be snatched away at any moment. A man followed him out and shook his hand.

“Good luck Philip,” the man said. “I’m sorry for the mix-up but I think we can all agree that your time here has been well spent.”

“Yes, Dr. van Gelder,” Damerell replied, biting his lip. “Thank you for all your help.”

Wall jumped to his feet and closed the gap between them, clapping Damerell on the shoulder with a bright grin. “Alright mate? Ready to go?”

Damerell nodded. He said goodbye to Dr. van Gelder and the two of them walked out of the building, pulling Damerell’s meagre anti-grav luggage behind them. The doors whooshed closed and they stood in the fresh air. Damerell tipped his head back and inhaled deeply, eyes closed and with an expression of ecstasy on his face. His reverie was interrupted when Wall slapped him on the back again.

“Come on,” the helmsman said. “We’ve got a shuttle to catch!”

They headed across to the spaceport, where a shuttle was waiting to take them to the Gardyloo system.

“So what’s the Psycho like anyway?” Damerell asked as they approached the low building where they could be processed for travel.

“No idea,” Wall said cheerfully. “With us on board, though, I bet it’s gonna be great!”

He slung his arm over Damerell’s hunched shoulders and the two of them walked on, side-by-side.

THE END