1 comments/ 5088 views/ 2 favorites Equilibrium at Gamma Apodis By: AntoineHolliday Preface: "Battle Stations! All hands man your battle stations!" The time is the twenty-eighth Century. It's another mundane Signal Intelligence gathering mission for the Confederation deep space survey ship CSS Blackthorn. At the Pavo/Ava turn around an urgent message was intercepted by the protagonists, Major McClintock and his navigator; a summons for assistance from the Sophistry's 'Time Minister,' Mistress Karina. To respond to her urgent call the crew would have them violate their mission parameters, entering into a region of interstellar space known as the Apus Quadrant. Seeking to save the embattled members of the 'Nth Degree,' a crippled time ship set upon by eight vessels of the antagonists Morritite Federation, added by confederates within, Mistress Karina's loyal forces are waging a Temporal 'Civil War' within their realm of space time. Will the overmatched crew of the Blackthorn be able to render assistance to the Sophistry's lone Time Minister? Once their mission had been completed could Major McClintock and his crew assist Mistress Karina in the closure of a so-called 'hole in space time' that will exist within their space once the Sophistry's time ship departs that region of space – and if so at what price? Antoine P. Holliday   Ch. 1 October 19, 2777— 0645 hours according to our ship's chronometer: "Oh, Man!" I exclaimed as I thrust my feet towards the deck. I had awakened from the most incredible dream—or was it? How could I begin to recount its details before I forgot them? It seemed so real yet so surreal. Should I perform my morning prayers or chant some diamoku first? Well, I'll just have to wing it: "Computer: Start transcription!" "Begin your narrative, Major McClintock," said a mechanical voice. (Ahem!) – I'm Major Stewart McClintock, commanding officer of this Argyle-class of deep space survey ship christened the CSS Blackthorn (S-1010); a modern, more nimble version of the venerable and now decommissioned Sinclair-class of Expansion War-era battle cruiser/deep space survey craft." That vessel had a long and very colorful service career, but now her class has been supplanted by this newer version that was heavily armed with a potent set of high energy 40 mm pulse cannons mounted forward and Amidships. We could fight if we had to, but within the ranks of the Deep Space Surveillance Corps discretion was considered to be the better part of valor. This class of deep space survey ship was capable of attaining anti-matter powered interstellar (IS) drive escape velocities in the high twenties with ease. *** Our thirty day Signal Intelligence (SigInt) gathering mission was nearing its end. We have just completed the Pavo/Ara turn around and are now drifting towards the start point of our meandering mission in the vicinity of the star system of Circinus at level one impulse power. To say that this crew was mentally fatigued and bored out of their skulls at this point would be an understatement. Currently we are two parsecs inside of the boundaries of the Ara and Pavo Quadrants bordering Soo-Erthra Space. It's one of the most uneventful areas of our monitoring mission. In over two hundred twenty-eight years of SigInt missions not a single incident had been documented occurring within this region of space that faced the parsecs distant Terran southern hemisphere polar region. Yet, we still performed our mind numbing duties as if we could be attacked at any moment – or worse yet, get sucked into a raging conflict without a clue as to how to extricate ourselves. This situation had occurred in Terra's past with alarming frequency in these regions of interstellar space. *** The Blackthorn was manned by a five person crew—an indication of the 'priority' these missions rated within the Confederation Armed Forces (CAF); our missions were barely noticed and our efforts at SigInt gathering ignored accept by the leadership of the Intelligence Corps. The members onboard with five years or less of space/military experience under their helmets were our Space Machinist's Mate Petty Officer Second Class Allan Jamison of the CAF's Naval Wing—with two years onboard. My navigator, Warrant Officer First Class Dan McIntyre of the CAF's Army Air Corps and our Stellar Cartographer – our resident navigator with five years onboard. Our lone civilian, the voluptuous Ms. Claire O'Hara of CAF Logistics Command; known affectionately as 'Harelip' by the crew because it's what she sported (surgically repaired of course); this was her second year onboard. Our fourth crewmember was Mark Anderson, a Space Hospital Corpsman First Class of the CAF's Naval Wing affectionately called 'Needles.' He has over eleven years of CAF space experience. This was his second year onboard. As for me, the 'commanding officer,' I'm always called by my first name: Major. I have the most tenure in the Confederation Armed Forces over all of them combined at fourteen years. This was my first deep space SigInt mission as a commanding officer. *** It seems as if this crew had been chewing at each other's butts since our entry into this region on October 8, 2777. Incidents of 'unwanted physical contact' have been leveled by Ms. O'Hara against my space snipe and navigator; the second such time such allegations have been directed against both men since entering the 'turn around.' If I didn't get a handle on this issue it had all the earmarks of pending sexual harassment charges being filed upon our return to Puyallup colony. It seemed as if my 'perceived inaction' to Ms. O'Hara's plight may have emboldened the alleged perpetrators to carry on. So, I have made it a point to address the entire crew during this leg so this behavior would cease. I could have placed both men on report. This action would not only mean a 'black mark' on their performance evaluations, but upon mine as their 'rookie' commanding officer. There was a saying that heavy was the head that wore the crown. I had yet to form the persona of most of my former commanders who would roar self-righteously that while on a mission 'their word was law!' Somehow, those sterling words refused to fall from my lips in light of my paucity of command expertise—just would not sound as 'inspiring.' I never brought this subject up with the navigator, who was also my first officer. With him being one of the accused it would serve no real purpose. If anything had to be done in regards to framing an admonishment it would have to be done by me, but at a time of my choosing. *** September 30, 2777: We had just finished running an unannounced casualty drill: Hull breach on the third deck, frame eighty-nine. The personnel involved were Needles Anderson, Petty Officer Jamison, and Harelip. Mr. McIntyre was the monitor. During our drills the four of them seemed to mesh well. They performed the required remedies for this casualty drill like the pros they were. It was afterwards that their personalities got into the way. Once again the loud, complaining voice of Ms. O'Hara could be heard throughout the vessel. It seems as if she had once again been 'touched inappropriately' and wanted to make sure that I heard her strident complaint. "Enough of this childishness! All crewmembers muster on the flight deck," I ordered over the comm system. The sound of shuffling boots could be heard treading the deck as all three personnel found an area within its confines to plant their butts. "Shipmates! This situation that currently has us by the balls has got to end! Now Harelip—ugh! Excuse me; Ms. Claire O'Hara has brought to my attention that she is being sexually harassed by the males of this crew. We all know how the CAF frowns on such behaviors—especially among mixed crewmembers on its combat vessels! Just what is the problem? Why can't you men leave this woman alone?" I asked. "Major! It was just horseplay!" said Jamison sheepishly, "I meant no harm, Major! I mean, we'd just nailed another drill and I felt like giving her a gentle slap on her . . . butt," said the space snipe. But O'Hara took acceptation to his description of events: "Oh, bullshit. You cupped your hand against my crotch, from behind, mister!" she shrieked. The fact that her voice went up three octaves nearly caused my glasses fall from my face. Then the other male involved spoke up: "Sir! I may have gotten a bit overzealous in my actions, but I assure you that the touch I gave her wasn't meant to disturb her," said Warrant Officer McIntyre. Again, O'Hara ardently protested his assertion: "You groped my breasts! I think that was a 'bit excessive' if you ask me," she said, staring at both men as if she wanted to castrate them with a dull knife. I just looked at the deck. I shook my head from side to side in contemplation; then I formed a response to what I heard. All Petty Officer Anderson did was gaze at us, his eyes filled with bemused indifference. "We are only a five person crew! This type of behavior was what one would expect to occur on a ship with a much larger complement, not one this size. Let me cut to the chase. Here's what I want to see happen: You two will apologize to Ms. O'Hara for your 'inappropriate touching' of her . . . person. Then, I'll follow up on that. Go ahead – do this now," I ordered. It was Petty Officer Jamison that led off: "Ms. Orwell. I profoundly apologize for causing you such distress. I didn't mean to have this situation rise to this level. I will be on my best behavior for the remainder of this mission. I promise." Then, Warrant Officer McIntyre added his Mea Culpa: "Look, Claire—Ms. O'Hara. Um-m-m, I am sorry as well. Look. Your mounds err—you are so beautiful and my emotions got out of hand. For that I am so sorry. I hope that you will accept my apology as well." Then all hands just looked about at each other. The tension in the air was so thick you could chew it. After an extended period of silence it was my turn to add the capper to this informal gathering: "Let it be known that as of 1208 hours I am declaring this matter resolved!" "However, if it should happen again I will document it and place the guilty parties on report! That will mean that this crew will be disbanded upon our return to Puyallup and I will lose my command! If that should happen I don't think any of you would want to face me after the fact. Savvy?" I said—with authority. "Yes Sir!" they voiced quietly. "Outstanding! Keep your hands to yourselves. That goes for you too, Ms. O'Hara. Let's not nail these males to the cross here, understood?" I asked. "Fully Major," she said. "Okay fine! Knock off ship's work. Lunch for the crew," I said. With that said I turned to take my seat on the flight deck to become embraced by the solitude of the Blackthorn's cockpit. *** October 6, 2777: The ship's chronometer read 0234 hours. Six days had passed without further incident. Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior. Shipboard routines were once again being performed in a professional manner. Mac and I were having a conversation on the bridge and that situation with his groping of Claire O'Hara had become the main topic: "Mac. I am very surprised that you were engaging in this happy horseshit. Why are you pulling on Harelip's chain?" I asked. "Are you blind, Major? She's so gorgeous! I just can't help wanting to touch her—to hold her. You know what I mean?" asked Mac in a juvenile manner. "Yes, I do; but you and I are officers in the CAF, McIntyre! You of all the members of this crew should realize that such actions place your career in jeopardy – mine as well!" I scolded him. "Yes, you're right Major. But, Sir, since we entered this sector of space every time I see her walking about I just want to hold her, to kiss her and —oomph! You know?" asked the navigator, "Which is funny, Sir, because at Puyallup we never interacted. But, here in this enclosed environment I've developed this sudden, uncontrollable urge to touch her Major," said Mac. That last bit of self-serving crap had raised my hackles, but it was the best I could expect to hear from Mr. McIntyre. I felt the 'urge' to walk about the ship: "You have the bridge, number one," I said. "I have the bridge, aye Sir," said the navigator.   Ch. 2 I had made my way to the second deck medical section. Sitting at his post was Needles Anderson was going over his medical stores inventory. I stood by his hatch watching him professionally perform his mundane task. If the rest of the crew was bored doing their exacting routines this man should be in a coma. He really had no other function onboard but the medical treatment of our crew members and as part of our damage control team. "Needles. A word with you," I said. The petty officer immediately launched to his feet. "Yes Major!" he said. "At ease, Needles—I need to know things. I am asking this of you this because next to me you have the most experience in space. What the matter with these crewmembers?" I asked. Giving my interrogative sober thought he offered an answer: "They're acting like they want to get laid, Sir. The level of adult maturity on this command has deteriorated as of late," said Petty Officer Anderson. "Go ahead, continue with you observations, Needles," I said. "Well, if I may be frank, Sir; one of the reasons I accepted orders to this posting was that the crew was small. Being on a vessel with a larger compliment was a pain in the ass, Major. I do better when things are slow, Sir. That fact was the most enjoyable aspect of my duties onboard the Blackthorn," said Petty Officer Anderson. "That was indeed something I've taken note of. Yes, I've been watching you perform, Needles. Just as no doubt you've taken note of mine. So, be honest. I want a direct answer: Do I suck as a commanding officer?" "Sir. To be brutally honest: You are doing the best you can with a suddenly dysfunctional crew. Last week was the first step in the many you will have to take if you intend to corral their respect, Major," said Needles. I just sat and looked upon his features. He did not flinch: "So I take that to mean that I do suck," I said. "Major. You don't 'suck,' Sir. I've served under some officers who have—you aren't even close. If anything you're trying to 'befriend' everyone. That's not necessarily the best course of action to take either, Sir," said Needles with a straight face. "All right then. I'll leave you to your duties. Thank you for your candor, Petty Officer Anderson," I said. With that I rose to leave his space, the corpsman rose from his seat and assumed the position of attention as I departed the sick bay. *** The next destination I ventured to: The SigInt station located on the cavernous third deck, amidships—the center of that space. This super secured vault like space covered an area on the port side from frames fifty to sixty-four. It was crammed with a sophisticated sensor array console and data processing equipment. It's where all the sensor inputs from our outside and inside our hull were catalogued and stored. In comparison to the older versions this suite was very much state of the art. This was Claire O'Hara's world. It kept her virtually isolated from intimate contact with her shipmates. She was also one of the triggers for the ship's defensive capability: Our pulse rifle's tracking radar and synthetic optical sights. With the push of a button she could initiate the system's automated fire control system. This function could also be performed from the bridge. Our navigator could command their function if Claire became swamped with other mission priorities during an encounter. After all: Our primary mission was signal intelligence gathering. *** Normally, the weapons operator would be conversing with other crew members on the mess deck which also occupied this deck at the amidships section of this deck. Tonight no one was there. Advancing towards the super secured hatch I touched it, the massive door slowly opened. Advancing to its threshold I caught sight of the sensuous form of Ms. Claire O'Hara draped across her console. As much as I hated to acknowledge it Mac was right: She was gorgeous! From the outer hatch entrance I addressed the soundly sleeping female civilian. "Ms. O'Hara! You really should make your reports to the bridge on time," I said in a loud voice. She immediately sprang to her feet: "Sir! I'm sorry! I must have dosed off." Actually she had done nothing wrong. Our mission was for all intents and purposes over. The computers were now handling the sensor gathering role – comparing what we had vacuumed up on the outbound leg with the return leg's intercepts. This was just an excuse for me to violate her space because I was the only other person onboard who could enter it thanks to our genetically encoded hatch locks. "As you were, O'Hara. I came to discuss matters with you in regards to your interactions with the crew post ass chewing by yours truly. How are things with you now?" I asked her. "Major, I have had no further incidents with those men. I had a chance to think on things. They are 'men,' Sir. I doubt if this level of tension would be an issue on a larger command with more females onboard," said Ms. O'Hara. I took time to really look at her with a critical eye. I have found that women, even in this highly enlightened era we now live, still fall back on those old tricks to keep males off balance. I called it 'gender blackmail,' a practice that fell out of practice in the mid twenty-second and faded from use through the twenty-fifth. Now, like most societal trends it appeared to be making a comeback. "Okay. Now, I have a question for you: Why are you so tense around Allan and Mac but not Needles? I find that—peculiar. Does he disturb you? Do I 'disturb' you?" I asked her. "No Sir! Petty Officer Anderson and you are 'mature men,' Sir! You both treat me with great respect. Those other two can't seem to keep their hands to themselves. Oh, I know how they are feeling, Major. I feel the same way—but not on duty, Sir! We are supposed to be shipmates, not dates on a lark," said Ms. O'Hara. We talked for an hour. When I rose Miss O'Hara reached out to shake my hand, and then impulsively hugged me! "Oh, thank you, Major. I really appreciate your allowing me to vent my feelings to you. I promise that I will man my post more effectively in the future, Sir," she said in the most sincere tones. I stepped back from her standing form. I gave her a harsh glassy-eyed stare: "You realize that you just committed what you stated Jamison and Mr. McIntyre had done to you: 'Unsolicited touching and show of affection?" I asked. "Oh shit! Major! I meant no harm, Sir. I wasn't—" "I believe the word you are looking for is 'thinking.' Just bear that in mind if another such incident occurs. This 'sexual harassment' crap can be a double edge sword, O'Hara – it can cut both ways. Carry on," I said. *** The last stop on my ship's tour was the second deck aft Engineering console station located at frame 110 on the starboard side. At his post monitoring our ion powered impulse (IP) drive engine's performance parameters sat Space Machinist's Mate Second Class Allan Jamison. While we had been on station it has been our prime mover of choice. It used less fuel to operate and could be immediately shut down if the antimatter powered interstellar (IS) drive were brought on line. Our speed now was sub light plus one. Compared to our idle IS drive it seemed as if we weren't moving at all. However, 'speed' in interstellar space was relative. The distances are so vast that there was nothing in the areas we traversed to gauge our rate of travel against. As I walked towards his station space snipe Jamison rose to his feet. He came to rigid attention while I was frantically gesturing for him to relax. Equilibrium at Gamma Apodis "Major! All our systems and auxiliaries are functioning within normal parameters, Sir." "Damn it, man! At ease! I'm just taking a tour of the ship. But, I am happy that things are humming along. After all, Blackthorn was a new ship. She had yet to be stressed beyond her initial shake down and outfitting. How does that make you feel, space snipe?" I asked. "It's a heavy responsibility Major. It's on a par with your duties as our skipper, Sir," he said. "Yes. Good point. And speaking of 'maturity'—how are things going with you and Harelip, Allan?" I asked—eyeing him carefully. "I keep my distance from her, Major. Don't get me wrong, Sir; I still like Ms. O'Hara—a lot! But, I guess I need to 'man up' to win her attention on a more mature level. We get along now. I guess the boundaries of our behavior have been re-defined and I for one am not going to violate them, Sir." I nodded my head upon hearing that. It seems that my 'talk' had the desired effect on this man. Since my venting session with the crew Jamison's attitude seemed to have moderated. What made me feel better was that this space snipe had addressed Harelip as 'Ms. O'Hara.' "At any rate, Sir, I'd like to think that I have learned something that will translate into a better working environment onboard Blackthorn," Jamison voiced earnestly. I nodded my head in understanding then left him to return to his duties. *** October 18, 2777—0230 hours: We are now drifting one point five-four parsecs from 'the horn' of the Apus Quadrant. The crew sang folk songs together at midnight rations. The upbeat mood reflected their closeness as the end of our mission grew near. Leaving the gathering I returned to the bridge to converse with Mr. McIntyre. He was listening to his collection of ancient Frank Sinatra compact disc re-mastered recordings. "You really like that twentieth century shit, don't you?" I asked. "Major, old music can be a soothing diversion, Sir. The lyrics and tones that take you back to a simpler place in time," said Mr. McIntyre. "Well, whatever floats your boat, Mac. Go get some chow, then turn in for some sleep," I ordered. Putting away his equipment he was making plans to depart his seat when we heard—'the transmission.' We both froze. A flash of dèjá vu entered my mind. The language we both heard was alien, plaintive, chilling and desperate. I instinctively reached out to punch the universal translator panel on my console, and then the 'incident record' button. The instantly translated verbiage flowed out of our speakers: "(Click) under attack! Repeat: We are under attack in (intense static) at Gamma Apodis (squealing and popping sounds) our shielding is—Transmission too garbled and distorted to translate," said a mechanical voice "Computer: Angle and distance within the Apus Quadrant that signal originated!" said Mac. "Working!" said the mechanical voice, "Spatial triangulation complete. This signal's location was two parsecs to starboard, 4.058 AU (astronomical units) from the super-giant star known as 'Gamma Apodis.'" "What do we know of that sector of space? Any enemy forces lurking in that neighborhood?" I asked. "There are no adversarial forces operating within this zone," said the mechanical voice. "Mac! Put this ship into a slow circle. All hands! Muster on the bridge," I announced. Immediately, the sounds of heavy boots thundered across the deck plates. *** The recorded message was played again for all hands. Not a sound was uttered as they took in every translated word. It was only after a long silence had ensured that I addressed them: "Now understand. We are not authorized to enter that region of space or deviate from our mission's flight plan. I want to make that point perfectly clear. You all heard that transmission. I am asking you for your feelings on the 'urgency' of that denizen's request," I said as I scanned their features. However, before a single voice could be heard from I had began to develop dull pains in my temples as yet another call for assistance came over the speakers—only this time the highly accented verbal plea came through in the clear: "I say again: Our force shielding has collapsed! Two Federation ships have attached themselves to the upper and equatorial sections of our sphere. They are attempting to burn their way through our hull! The thirty of us onboard were now arming ourselves to repel boarders!" said a frantic female's voice. Then the voice seemed to be addressing another personage: "Oh, this could be the end for us, Mistress Karina. There were no responses to our hails! We've boosted our transmission output to maximum," said a highly distraught feminine voice. Then, a melodic, soothing voice could be heard over the frequency: "Then this might be the end of us all. Now that those ships have attached themselves to the hull we've lost all propulsion. Have the survivors stand by to defend their areas of responsibility to the last. They will not have their way with our bodies," said this 'Mistress Karina.' "Oh geez—could she be talking rape?" asked Miss Orwell as she also held a hand to her temple. "Sir! From this position at level twenty-five IS drive we can be in that area, render assistance then be out of that space inside of fourteen hours," said Mac. "Sir! I can disengage our limiting governors temporarily to increase our velocity by twenty-six percent if needed, Major," said Petty Officer Jamison. "Sir! I'm keen to render what ever aid I can," said Space Corpsman First Class Anderson who was also softly rubbing at his forehead. Glancing towards the flight deck I sought out the eyes of Mac: "It's your call, Sir," said the navigator— his hands edging towards the IS drive lever. I agonized over sending the Blackthorn into harm's way. We carried the firepower, yet neither of us possessed any space combat experience. Confused thoughts flashed through my fevered brain: "Should I inform Puyallup center of this matter? Should Sector Command on Proxima Andros by apprised of this situation?" Then, at 0310 hours, over the still open frequency, we heard the sounds of more concussive detonations and loud, shrill screaming. We all listened to the distant conflict as the sounds of rhythmic, melodic vocal intonations could also be discerned. It seemed to be coming from at least two female voices. They appeared to be saying something over the fragmented, static filled frequency at a rapid pace: "Me Oh Kio—Me Oh Kio—Me Oh Kio." Slamming my clenched fist harshly against my console I shouted a command: "Battle Stations! All hands man your battle stations!" Immediately boots thundered out of the bridge, scampered down ladders. Over the all space comm system I passed the following orders: "All hands! I intend to set course for the Alpha Apodis system. We are firing off into harm's way. Report when all stations are manned," I said. "Engineering manned and ready! IS door has been opened and purged, IP engines secured," said Jamison. "Weapons console manned and ready," said Harelip. "Medical manned and ready," boomed Needles. "Mr. McIntyre!" I said. "Sir!" said the navigator. "Reset our trajectory parameters! Adjust our powered heading for the Gamma Apodis star system in the Apus Quadrant at maximum IS drive," I ordered. "Parameters. Adjusting heading. Max IS drive set. Underway!" shouted Mr. McIntyre as the star field flattened out the space around us turned an iridescent green. We were firing forward at the faster-than-light velocity of IS factor twenty-plus. Then a thought flashed within my skull: "What if this were just an alien trick designed to draw us in?" That thought was quickly followed by another: "Why would I think that?" Quickly dismissing these transient thoughts I focused on our heading. In two hours, forty-nine minutes and nine seconds we would be within passive long range sensor range of our objective. "O'Hara: Eyes 360! Shields up. Passive scans only! Log every Byte of data as per Confederation Standard Operating Procedures," I ordered. "Passive Scans. Shields. Logging. Reports to the bridge every ten minutes as per CSOP, aye Major," said Ms. O'Hara. "Engineering: Report plant performance parameters every ten minutes as per Confederation Standard Engineering Operating Procedures!" I relayed to my space snipe. "Engineering aye! As per the CSEOP performance reports every ten minutes, aye Major! At level 25.59 IS drive at this time—all systems functioning within nominal limits," yelled Petty Officer Jamison. "Needles! Prepare for medical protocol 'Charlie,'" I shouted. "Prepare sick bay for 'ship-to-ship combat,' aye Major!" said Petty Officer Anderson. *** On the bridge Warrant Officer McIntyre was stoic. We both listened to the escalating conflagration occurring ahead of us. I turned to look at his sweating features; he turned to look upon my worried features. Then, I asked the question that was chewing at my guts: "Mac. Did I do the right thing? Had I screwed up pursuing this reckless course of action?" I asked plaintively. Shaking his head in the negative, navigator McIntyre gave his assessment of the situation: "Major, if you hadn't had given that order I would have 'accidently' shoved this pig into max IS drive," he said with a calm affect. "The crew was behind you, Sir. No matter what, the call was heard— it's been recorded and we responded. After all, Major, there were no 'words' passed at our pre-departure briefing that we could not render assistance to a 'ship in distress,'" said Mac. Turning his attention to his instruments as the distance between us and our objective narrowed McIntyre made a statement I found chilling: "Blackthorn has just crossed into the Apus Quadrant, Major!" "All hands this is the Major. The Blackthorn has crossed into the Apus Quadrant. Hold shields at maximum until we are within passive sensor range. That is all." *** Mac continued to focus on our time to encounter timer, distance to the target, distance traveled and speed indications. I nervously sat in my seat second guessing my actions. It was my first real life and death decision as a skipper. I was positive that I had just committed the biggest blunder of my CAF career. No matter—we were beyond the point of no return; it was time to prepare for an interstellar confrontation. "Weapons consoles, third deck and bridge: Activate your controls—cycle our pulse cannons!" I ordered. "Cycling! All three cannons have been articulated, elevated, rotated and calibrated! Ready for use, Major," announced Ms. O'Hara. "Bridge controls cycled! All three cannon mounts rotated and sighted," said Mr. McIntyre. *** 0912 hours: At the eight hour, two minute mark forward sensors picked up an object. It was large, spherical and silver. From a distance it looked like a small planetoid. At its northern hemisphere was implanted a cigar shaped ship. On its equatorial region was another. The two ships were three times larger than ours! We opted to just listen to the conflict raging within the silver sphere. It appeared that neither of the attached vessels had taken note of our high speed approach— but the ship under siege certainly had: "Mistress! Mistress! A high velocity disturbance had been detected coming our way. Could it be more Morritites forces?" asked a worried female's voice. "Doubtful, Leannetta. Its traveling much too fast to be a Morritite Federation craft. Oh glory! By the Vanguards! It could be a response to our hails! Ship on approach: Can you hear us?" asked Mistress Karina. By now I had developed one hell of a stress headache. All I could do was to immediately hold up my hand to prevent Mac from responding. If we did the enemy attached to their vessel may also pick up that transmission. "Obviously this woman hasn't heard of a 'surprise attack.' Can't commit one if the bad guys know you are En Route. Don't respond to any hails from them. Weapons: Calibrate all three cannons! Target both those ships as we streak past—blast them to pieces!" I ordered. "With pleasure, Major. Range: Four million eighty-five km. Compensating for this sun's enormous gravitational pull. Locking in a firing solution at this time," said Claire O'Hara. Claire chose the multiple, high energy burst setting for all three cannons. The Blackthorn would only get one chance to catch both of them unawares. Our four emergency anti-matter power cells snapped on line to augment the need for energy to power our pulse cannons. "Solution plotted Major," said Claire. "We see it Miss O'Hara. Engineering: Drop us down to impulse plus three in twenty minutes, four seconds—Mark!" I shouted. "Computed and ready, Sir!" said Jamison. *** As the encounter counter ticked down the tension onboard our ship mounted. We had to make this pass count for we had no idea the power of any weapons or strength of the defensive shielding each vessel possessed. Passive sensors indicated that both vessels' force shields were down and their weapons systems were off line. They were totally focused on the invading of their prey. That was good news for us. *** 1204 hours: At the prescribed time the IS drive engines shut down. Blackthorn's distance from our objective was now one-hundred and twelve thousand kilometers. Instead of slowing down we maintained our forward velocity augmented by the IP drive engines. "Prepare to drop shields in eight seconds!" I ordered. "Drop shields, aye! We are at impulse plus three, Major," said Petty Officer Jamison "My finger is on the trigger," said Claire. "Dropping shields at this time," said Mac. "Very well! Energize the pulse cannons," I ordered. "Energized! Eighteen thousand kilometers," said Claire. "No sign of sensor probes or microwave emanations from either of the invaders, Major," said Mac. Then, from inside the sphere excited voices filled the frequency as our ship was recognized: "Oh, Mistress. It's a Terran warship— just as foretold in your dreams, Mistress. We are saved!" yelled 'Leannetta.' "We are? Then why aren't they slowing down?" asked Mistress Karina. She didn't have long to await a response: "Within the firing envelope, Sir. Five-thousand km, Starboard approach vector with a + 024.05 relative angle of deflection. Engaging both targets," said O'Hara. The computerized fire control system locked on to each vessel and began the computer controlled assault; firing precision pulses of coherent energy at maximum levels. Immediately one vessel split into three fragments and fell away from the sphere then exploded. The second vessel was struck, the after and mid portion of it fell away; the forward portion of it remained tightly attached to the hull! "Hard about! Re-acquire the target—quickly," I ordered. The navigator immediately initiated the maneuver, now we were approaching our target from the vessel's port side. "Target re-acquired. Eight-thousand km—firing!" said Claire. That ship was struck and it also fell away from the hull in two sections, drifting toward the pull of that enormous sun and venting vapors into the ether of interstellar space! It was then that Mac hailed the spherical ship: "Ship under duress we are the CSS Blackthorn, S-1010 of the Terran Confederation operating out of the Puyallup colony's deep space monitoring station. Are you in need of further assistance?" "I am Mistress Karina of the Sophistry. We were a crew of thirty. Taking a head count of our survivors at this time. Our shields are down—our propulsion as well. There is no one onboard that has the skills needed to effect such in depth and urgently needed repairs." "What the current situation with those forces invading on your ship?" I asked. "There were approximately eighteen onboard—nine invaders from both ships! The remaining crews perished when their ships were masterfully dislodged from our hull! A handful of invaders are still onboard. They have been secured and isolated in the upper section of our craft at this time," said Mistress Karina. "Alien vessel I am Wittenistra, Ship's Security Force. That was some incredible flying! Such well placed and accurate weapons fire! Oh, Terran vessel, we sorely need assistance regaining our propulsion and our force shielding abilities. Can you help us?" "We are pulling alongside at this time. Are their any other enemy vessels in the area?" I asked. "Approximately six of them. We have no idea where they are at this time. They have been pursuing us since we departed our home world in –" But Wittenistra ceased speaking and whispered conversations could be heard in the background. Then Mistress Karina resumed speaking: "In a location very far from our current position. However, we do need assistance with repairs to our force shielding and propulsion. Can you assist us?" asked Mistress Karina. Again, I felt that annoying pressure at my temples. I was very reluctant to do anything further. "Mistress Karina. I am opening the central landing port. They may enter through it at this time," said the voice of 'Leannetta' as we watched a large section of the sphere spread open. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I held my position at five thousand. Mac looked at me with his eyes wide open. Mac removed his hands from his console, I stood fast as well. "Mr. McIntyre. I am not advancing another meter closer to that ship. We saved them from an attack. Mission accomplished in my book! I think it's time for us to return to our patrol area – ASAP," I ordered. "Agreed, Major. We're done here!" said the nervous navigator. However, as I began to give Mac the high sign to maneuver us away from the spherical ship an intense flash of light filled our cockpit.   Ch.3 When I came to my senses I found myself seated at my controls; the Blackthorn appeared to be staged in the center of what appeared to be a large hanger. From the bridge we took note from the view of our aft sensor that a large hatchway had just closed behind us! I realized that our ship had been literally dragged inside this spherical ship by some sort of tractor beam. But what had happened to us? We had been somehow become incapacitated. "All hands: Report your status!" I yelled over our comm system. "Sir, I – I blacked out. My board lights are showing neutral settings," Ms. O'Hara announced. "Same here, Sir! The impulse engines have been secured! I have no recollection of securing or lining up these systems," said Petty Officer Jamison. "Major! What happened? I seem to have lost track of over twenty minutes of time," said Petty Officer Anderson from sick bay. "Prepare to repel boarders!" I ordered. Our shields automatically snapped to on. We were now inside this spherical vessel, but no one would be able to approach us. "Computer! Has Blackthorn been compromised?" demanded Warrant Officer McIntyre. "Negative! External attempts had been made to do so, but the interior defense protocols prevented computer assisted entry," said the mechanical voice. "Computer! Status of Blackthorn: How did we become powered down?" I asked. "Current system status was initiated by the crew, Major. No outside forces interfered with the operation of this vessel," said the synthesized voice. "That's a fact, Major. All contingency interlocks automatically engaged once we were ensnared! Without your authorization codes and verbal authorization the automatic security protocols were initiated," said Mac. "They are still in effect. None of the outer hatches would respond to attempts to open them manually or by input from inputs from any of the crew members. Three attempts had been initiated. They were all countermanded," said Claire. "Alien vessel this is Major McClintock, the commanding officer of the Blackthorn! I don't know how we ended up in this current situation. Be advised: I am warning you that you have engendered our anger and –" Equilibrium at Gamma Apodis But before I could finish the voice of a male came over our speakers: "Sincere apologies, Major. I am Master Rochambeau of the Sophistry. We felt that we had no alternative. We have urgent need of your assistance in regaining our force shielding ability and propulsion. Without them we would be targets for the other ships of the Morritite Federation Fleet that we are certain will soon enter this realm." I sat seething at the predicament I had maneuvered us into. It brought a thought to my mind that I heard uttered during officers training at Space Command Training at Joint Base Lackland, San Antonio, Texas: "NGD/GU: No good deed goes unpunished." "Major McClintock? Major?" asked Master Rochambeau. I gave a non-verbal cue for Mac to cut all communication frequencies. "All hands muster on the mess deck," I ordered over the all space comm system. *** I had to inform them that we have become the uninvited guests of these denizens. They had to know what I had on my mind—and that their input would be solicited. In fact, their comments would be needed. With the situation detailed the crew was of one mind: Self-destruct. There was no way these denizens would ever take control of this ship. Just as Lt. Col. Stimmente, the commanding officer of the former CSS Donald Bates, performed when his Sinclair-class survey ship became ensnared by three fleeing Al Suhailli Dakkarosi ships over two hundred years earlier. We would follow his sterling example: We would be the instrument of those denizens' destruction. If their bent was to hold us as some sort of bargaining ploy to force us to assist them that gambit would fail—catastrophically. The situation was outlined. The vote was unanimous: Initiate self-destruct sequence. With that detail settled the five of us proceeded to the bridge. McIntyre and I removed our key lanyards from our necks and inserted them into opposite sides of the main console. "It doesn't matter where we post, the results will be the same," I said as the entire crew massed on the bridge. I looked at my navigator and gave the order: "Insert keys on three. One. Two. Three." Both keys were inserted. I looked into the faces of each crewmember. They were frosty. They were prepared to give up their all to show these denizens that they have made a grave mistake. "It's been a pleasure serving with you all. Mr. McIntyre, turn you key on five: One. Two. Three. Four—" "Stop! Stop! Please! We mean you no harm. Please don't execute your procedure," said a strident, penetrating female voice. We stood fast. Sweat was pouring down my arm and soaking my key lanyard. My crew were hugging themselves in a combination of fear and relief. Through our forward view port appeared an observation window. Standing in it were six individuals. Once again that voice penetrated our hull: "We knew that you would attempt to take your lives. We were not prepared that you would attempt your action so quickly. You are in no danger from us. We need your assistance in performing repairs to our ship." With that said I looked towards Mac and nodded my head—following my lead he removed his hand from his inserted key and held it over his head. It appeared that we would be having our 'first contact' with these denizens after all.   Ch.4 Opening the super secured hatch on the third deck Mac, Jamison and I exited the Blackthorn with weapons drawn, but on stun. We still were not comfortable and were not keen on meeting our captors. Call it: Getting off on the wrong foot on their part. It was decided that we would wear our one piece orange flight suits. Our name tags and unit identifiers were not worn. Only the black spacing patches on the front, side and back were visible. That was by design. Embedded within its triple stitched Kevlar structure were synthetic video sensors that would transmit what we viewed to a separate onboard recording device in real time. First impressions during any "first encounter" situation are important. What this situation had showed us was that we were dealing with a very agitated, self-centered bunch of denizens—so a great deal of caution should be exercised on our part. "Secure the hatch, Needles!" I ordered. It immediately slammed shut. It was this 'Master Rochambeau' personage who approached us first: "Major McClintock! Welcome onboard the Nth Degree! Again, we are very sorry to have left you with a negative impression of our civilization. Please consider this a formal request: Will you please assist us in conducting repairs to our systems?" Looking at the others I put my weapon away—they followed my lead. I held out my hand. The stately gentleman grasped it with amazing strength. Then I shook the hands of the others in attendance within the hanger bay. "It's great to be onboard, Sir. Please direct us to your control center," I requested. With tool kits in hand space snipe Jamison and Mr. McIntyre followed me as I trailed Master Rochambeau. Just off the hanger bay through three sets of hatches we came to a very spread out, heavily damaged control center. "This space contains the main control for the Nth Degree. We have a smaller, secondary control center located in the upper hemisphere of our vessel. Allow me to introduce you to one of their operators. Over here stands Kentia. She's the operator of our jump generators. She will show you the schematics of our system. I hope they will make sense to you," said Master Rochambeau. Mac held his hand out to shake the females' delicate, un-calloused palm. Her alabaster features were framed by extremely dark hair with bushy eyebrows. Her smile was to die for. "Good tidings, Sir!" Kentia chimed as she shook my navigator's hand forcefully. Mac even rubbed it after she released it. "Eh-h-h, same here" said the navigator. The two walked off to review the charts and some console readings. Petty Officer Jamison and I followed Master Rochambeau to a deeper section of the vessel. In this area we could smell the unmistakable odor of ozone and overheated electrical systems. There were rows of what looked like generation coils and other pieces of non-functioning equipment. Within this section were three females. "These are our propulsion operators, Donatella, Genni and Paar. Crew mates! Meet Major McClintock and Petty Officer Jamison of the Confederation ship the Blackthorn. They are here to assist us in regaining propulsion," he said. The three females giggled. They seemed to fixate upon the perplexed features of Petty Officer Jamison. "Hey! Where's Rochambeau going? How do we get out of here?" asked Mac. "Please. Do not worry. We had been tasked with escorting you to the various zones that comprise our propulsion suites. I am Donatella. These are Genni—" "Good tidings, Sir!" she said, her dishwater blonde hair framing her features as she advanced to stand near Donatella who continued with introductions: "—and Paar!" "Good tidings, Gentlemen!" said the perky Paar. She had scars upon her arms and the left side of her face. Her short cut hair was like a bronze skull cap. "We are the remaining propulsion operators. Unfortunately, we lack the skills to troubleshoot or repair any of the systems we operated. Those more qualified operators were killed repelling their attempt to board us," said Paar. "Well. I'll leave Petty Officer Jamison with you ladies. Who can show me the line ups here for the power distribution and force field energy couplings?" I asked. It was Paar who raised her hand: "I am familiar with the power distribution of our systems, Major!" "Then lead on Paar! Let's examine them," I requested and she immediately departed the space with me in near hot pursuit. "Hey, no need to run. Walking is fine— hey!" I shouted as she vanished from view. When I caught sight of her she was standing in front of a large screen that seemed to be the representation of the entire ship's power routing that radiated from this space throughout the entire vessel. It was like a multicolored filament of pulsating, incandescent fibers and living tracings. Every space of the vessel was indicated. Every conduit the routings interfaced were being shown. Some of the areas were darkened. Others trails were flickering on and off. "We seem to have intermittent groundings of energy in this section as well as the upper hemisphere of our vessel," said Paar. She reached out to touch a spot on the screen. This caused the entire area to enlarge, disclosing a multiple connection junction block. This one had five circuits routed through it. It appeared to be normal. Then she touched another. It enlarged. This one disclosed areas of concern: Two of its power interfaces were darkened. "What does this mean, Paar?" I asked. "That there is a disruption in the flow of power from upstream. In some, such as this one have disruptions from ancillary areas that interconnect from other sections within the vessel – like the power routings from the upper control section that link with systems in our main control section as well as in this region of our ship," she explained. It was then that I touched my wrist communicator and called out to Mac and Jamison: "Gentlemen! Can you gain access to a view screen to take a peek at this ship's power routing schematics? I'm looking at the one in engineering. I am going to need your eyes to make sense of it," I requested. "Sir, I am looking at such a dynamic diagram as I speak. It's very impressive," said Petty Officer Jamison. "Major. I am in main control. I am also looking at such a diagram. What is it you desire?" asked Mac. It was then that I requested that a certain section of the field be enlarged and examined. I wanted them to follow along with me as I reviewed these areas of power outages to a central point. With each of us tracing out each junction these instances presented themselves we soon found one of the problem areas: The loss of force field integrity. "Major. It appears that in the upper section of the ship, within their secondary control center, five areas show unpowered connections coming from within each one of them; with one intermittent source of power entering then exiting each of them! The entire zone was compromised. That could be a point of departure we could go eyeball," said Mac. "Make that your priority, navigator! Take Kentia with you. Check out that section!" I ordered. "Yes Sir!" said McIntyre, following Kentia's shapely form. *** It was approximately thirty minutes later that Mac came back on line with his report: "In the mid-section of this area is the secondary control room. It would appear that the invaders had targeted at least five routing boxes and two panels on the port side and the center most consoles with disrupter fire. The conduit interfaces were completely shattered! They knew where to direct their fire, Major." The routing showed that the power outages radiated from this section of the ship downward. These systems were obviously interconnected. No doubt they had attempted to do the same amount of damage to this level as well – but then we had arrived just in time to put a stop to that. *** Returning my attention to areas upon the large iridescent screen I came across the same power deficiencies at this level. There were two other areas that stood out: One in the equatorial section as well as in the upper section of this massive ship. A cluster of outages were noted in the area that those ships had attached themselves. I tasked Petty Officer Jamison and Donatella to investigate the routings in the affected areas of this section of the ship. "Donatella! What are these two areas here?" I asked. She enlarged the sections. I was surprised at what I saw: "Major. These are the circuit interfaces for the two outer hull hatches that were violated by the Morritite Federation forces. It appears that the destruction of these hatchways had damaged vital links to the 'go/no go' interlocks that comprise our jump computer interfaces. They verified that all our hatches were secured and ready for jumps," said Donatella. Then as she examined the area Donatella voiced another thought: "I had been told that if the jump computer and propulsion systems disclosed an 'anomaly' the engines would not engage. If that is the case then I am afraid that this system had been badly compromised at these two points," as she pointed out where the two ships had attached themselves. Now, that vast area of darkened power routings and conduits had been reviewed and evaluated the task at restoring power became more daunting: This effort was not going to be as easy as I had hoped. It would involve a massive reworking of a system that was as totally alien to us. Enlarging the areas I got an idea of how much damage was done. The equatorial hatchway entrance had nine routings passing through an air lock. The eight meter by four meter outer hatch had been completely blown away. Two junction routings inside that airlock were trashed. The time conveyance ship's hull was not damaged. That was a break for us. Only the intact inner airlock hatch prevented the atmosphere from that deck from venting into space. It was the same situation for the airlock located in the upper section of the sphere. That six by four meter hatchway had three of its nine junction routings inside its airlock destroyed. I ordered Mac and my space snipe to document the damage sighted so that I could submit a detailed outline of the damage to Mistress Karina and Master Rochambeau. Climbing into a set of soft space suits obtained from one of the Blackthorn's damage control lockers the two of them braved the vacuum of space to accomplish that feat. That effort took up most of the day. By 2200 hours we had a report ready to submit to the leadership of the Nth Degree. ***   Ch. 5 It was now 2330 hours. As tired as we all were the three of us, sweat drenched and fatigued, made our reports to Mistress Karina, Master Rochambeau and Marricious. At their insistence the survivors of the assault were also allowed to sit in. There were a total of twenty-one total survivors from the original thirty that consisted of control room operators Wittenistra, Leannetta and Kentia; the bay mistresses Della, Piiper, Marshallah, Darlleeni and, Rennettea. A female named Althea. That female, along with Kaallannis and Flynouboutra, were survivors of the sphere's skeleton security forces. Their engineering contingent consisted of Donatella, Genni, and Paar. Wittenistra, Tonnay-Anistastia, Allanis and Jou-Anne who were part of the vessels skeleton damage control team. Attention of the surviving crew members were focused upon our presentation. It was stark. It filled their hearts with dread. From the body language being displayed it was a certainty that not a single one of these individuals had a clue as to the total amount of dysfunction and systems failures that now exist within this vessel until this moment. "Does this ship have any repair parts stores that can be used to effect corrective actions to the areas of power disruptions we have disclosed and outlined Master Rochambeau?" I asked. "We do have a quantity of repair items in our lower holds and repair stores. However, we have no skilled technicians to even begin to attack a problem on a scale such as this, Major," he voiced, his head bowed in defeat. However, what Petty Officer Jamison expounded brought light into the eyes of the Nth Degree crewmembers: "Well, from what the major, Mac and I have determined we can energize the force field first! Their levels of disruption in comparison to the propulsion systems are minor! ETR: Five hours, or less depending on the level of junction circuit disruptions we encounter!" he said in encouraging tones. It was the beaming Mistress Karina who spoke up: "Great! Exhilarating news for us to hear! It's the most important system to bring back on line! It will hold our position in space against the pull of the massive star Gamma Apodis. Even at minimum functionality it can weather an all out assault by all six Morritite Federation vessels for forty-nine Solaans!" she said. "Um-m-m. Very well! We will re-enter our ship, get some rest. Gather all the necessary tools to attack this aspect in ten hours time! With your permission this effort will be placed into motion," I said – with authority. "You have it, Major McClintock," said Master Rochambeau. With that the meeting adjourned as the five of us proceeded to the hanger bay. Upon our return to the ship we were challenged by the crew members standing watch. This made my heart feel light as it showed that they had finally grasped the importance of confirming identities in situations such as this. "Name of the Terran Confederation vessel that self-destructed after being captured by three Al Suhailli Dakkarosi ships and boarded," asked Miss O'Hara. "The CSS Donald Brooks," said Warrant Officer McIntyre. Then another interrogative was floated: "Current president of the Terran Confederation," asked Needles. "Mr. Taylor Winston-Southerland from New Caledonia," I said. The hatch way opened. We were met at the hatch by Miss O'Hara with a primed Colt pulse pistol in her hands pointed directly at all of us. Once Mac and Jamison entered the hatch immediately closed. Once the force field had been energized I trudged up the ladders to my quarters. *** October 21, 2777; 1000 hours: The first phase of our repair effort was undertaken. The hatchway on the equatorial area of the Nth Degree had been surveyed. A plan of repair for the blown away outer hatch had been formulated by the crew. While we endeavored to forge a plan to perform the necessary repairs Ms. O'Hara had discovered – quite by accident; that she could keep that Morritite Federation fleet at bay by simply sending out high energy pulses of targeting signals in their general directions. This tended to fool their sensors into thinking that the entire fleet was in the process of being targeted for destruction. However, that was not the case. The fact that pulses of targeting energies were being beaming from the Nth Degree and in their direction may have confused them – so they pulled back to a distance of eight-thousand kilometers. These six vessels seemed patient to wait and evaluate the increasing level of tracking energies flowing at irregular intervals from within the Nth Degree. A close eye on their maneuvers was being automatically engaged by Harelip's tracking computer. *** It was at 1210 hours that work began in earnest on this vessel. With the assistance of three females wearing soft pressure suits (Tonnay-Anistastia, Allanis, and Piiper) repairs were being directed by Petty Officer Jamison on the equatorial section's blown outer hatch. Using material measured and cut from bulkheads deep inside their vessel's storage spaces two sections of their ship's metallurgy that matched the dimensions of the two destroyed outer hatches were cut out, their edges ground smooth then shaped to snugly fit against the openings they were to be welded. Once edge tongues and centering handholds were tack welded upon each fabricated hatch patches they could be manhandled into position to be welded over the smoothly ground and beveled edges of the two hatch combings. It was determined that the outer skin's hatchways had to be in intimate contact with the Nth Degree's hull—that the inner airlock hatchways had to be secured tightly to complete a circuit that would enable the jump computers to perform their pre-light off function; after which their propulsion/jump engine system would power up. Welding those two fitted sections of plating into place would be the first step in accomplishing that connection. Work on the damaged electrical systems within each airlock would have to wait until the welding task had accomplished. Equilibrium at Gamma Apodis *** Now we turned our attention to restoring power to their ravaged force field routings. Once that first hatch repair task was accomplished on the equatorial level the three females performed the same repairs to the upper section hatchway without our supervision or oversight! I had to say one thing for these Nth Degree females: Once you showed them how to perform a task they just took off. Their attention to detail was outstanding! This left me and Jamison to work on re-routing the damaged power and sensor routings – or in the case of this ship; the thin strip-like electrical connections that were literally imbedded into its hull. From an examination of some of the collected shredded conduit it appeared to have the consistency of thin aviation grade aluminum foil tape. For denizens like us whom were used to dealing with coaxial, fiber optic cable and copper/aluminum wires this proved to be quite a challenge – but we persevered. *** This material had to be in intimate contact with the hull plates. We felt we had come upon a solution: Temporary hull repair epoxy and our supply of hyper-sticky metal foil tape. Using a solvent to remove the sealant from the strips of ultra-thin metal would allow full 'foil to metal' contact with the mounting surfaces. We followed the schematics—carefully measuring lengths of the foil tape for the re-routing the damaged circuits routings to their boxes. The metal surfaces for the placement of the repaired routing strips had to be ground down to bare metal. The new strips were fastened down with hold down clips inside each damaged conduit box. With the assistance of Mac from within their main control space a pulsed signal had been transmitted along the inactive lines leading to that area of the ship. Once we re-established a connection we ran a jumper lead to the point into the conduit box within that section. Once the new connections had been made the newly manufactured strips were covered in fast curing space epoxy. The repairs were a slow process, but proved to be effective. Within five hours three of the five dead circuits were energized. *** We worked this way down the ship to each of the dead route boxes in at least twelve compartments. We did a lot of back and forth double checking circuits between a total of nineteen compartments in all. At the end of eleven hours of work an indicator within the main control console illuminated. "Major McClintock. We have indications of force field re-generation! Readings are stable at forty–three percent, much higher than when we were first fired upon. We are so happy," said Mistress Karina. Cheers could be heard from the men and the other females over the open communications link. "We are not out of the woods yet, kids! Twelve more circuits to trace out and energize. This was only one small step," I said. "You are correct, Major McClintock—but we appreciate your efforts and that of your crew none-the-less!" said an exuberant Master Rochambeau. "You are welcome, Sir. Hello, Piiper! How goes the welding of that equatorial outer hatchway? I have a feeling once that outer airlock hatch is solidly welded into place and the inner airlock's inner hatch is securely sealed that things will literally vault ahead! Repair status report?" I asked. Over the Nth Degree's internal speakers came her excited response: "Mistress Karina! Master Rochambeau! Hatch plate replacement is complete. We are working without our suits. Better to work like this, Major McClintock!" said the focused Piiper. *** October 23, 2777: Time 0030 hours: A check of the status boards in main control and engineering sections confirmed that the air tight integrity of the two decks had been re-established. The damaged connections had been repaired—now the energy readings were stabilizing ship wide. The intermittent signals and power drop out indications had diminished. A check of the diagram showed that only two such indications were detailed: One in the console of the upper control room and one from that zone into a series of spaces located below what was described as their engineering section. The sounds of once dormant auxiliary machinery could now be heard humming throughout the ship. Only five power routing lines remained darkened. Three were centered from an area from lower levels and two leaving that damaged upper control center's console which snaked into a number power leads and junction boxes that branched into the secured decks below the engineering level. *** By 0100 hours the following report was issued: "Major, all inner airlock hatches have been secured! According to Wittenistra the force shielding strength now reads sixty percent, the strongest it has been in a long while!" said Paar. The Nth Degree was now totally immune from disrupter fire from the combined power of the Morritite fleet. She was now holding at a stationary distance of 2.74 AU from Gamma Apodis. "Here! Here!" said Petty Officer Jamison, "Now, if we can just figure out how to route power to the rest of this bag of chopped liver things would be just fine!" "Well, we have that time now! The Morritites can't disturb things onboard even if they tried! We've done all we can for now. I strongly suggest we knock off and get some real sleep!" I said to all hands. "Agreed, Major! We'll hit the ground running after we get some rest! That will give Madame Donatella, Genni and Paar an opportunity to check their systems out in engineering to insure our re-routing of power in the affected areas is correct," said Jamison. "With the epoxy slathered over those trimmed aluminum strips curing solidly against the hull that should help it hold up under the intense heat flow this ship's energy system generates; as well as shield it from the air stream," said Mac. "We will check and calibrate our systems down here, Major! Mistress Karina. If we could get Allanis, Piiper and Jou-Anne to assist us that would speed things up immensely!" said Genni. "I'll send them to you once they have finished cleaning up that second repaired hatch work site and insure that the inner hatch can be tightly secured," said Mistress Karina over the ship's intercom system. With that Mac and Petty Officer Jamison gathered up their gear and returned to the Blackthorn. *** I had been invited to spend the night onboard the Nth Degree. Mac would take charge of things onboard the Blackthorn in my absence. I ordered him to have the two keys removed from the self-destruct panel on the bridge and locked away. *** October 23, 2777, 0900 hours: Sleep came easy for me. I was aroused by Donatella. She knocked harshly against my hatch way and then entered without a care. She was carrying a tray filled with what looked like small sliced melons, some citrus-like fruits and what looked like grapes. "Mistress Karina wished to offer you Soofra meal—our first meal of a new day, Major!" she cheerfully announced. She entered my space to set the tray at a round table at the far side of my space. I watched her every move. My flight suit was situated on a chair like item near the table facing my bed. The black patches on its chest were facing my bed just as I had arranged it. "Please let Mistress Karina know that I really appreciate her concern. Thank you," I said. But the tall, buxom woman just stood by the table. She was not making any effort to leave the space. "Umm-m-m. You can leave now, Donatella," I urged her. Only then did Donatella smile. She eased towards the hatch then abruptly pivoted, taking a path towards my bed and then sat upon its mattress; coming intimately face to face with me. "Major. I never thought I would say this to an alien, but you impress me! I am also impressed with how your crew responds to you," she said as she lightly touched my blanket covered thigh. I could now see her ample, unsupported cleavage—a view that excited me to no end. Concentrating upon the 'disturbance' her touches had promoted under that thin blanket Donatella grasped it firmly; blushed brightly—then squealed loudly before fleeing the space. Insuring that she was gone I got up to lock my door. Examining the space I was amazed to see that these denizens had sonic showers onboard this ship. Taking advantage of that luxury I took a very long, stimulating shower. Climbing into my orange jumpsuit I attacked my breakfast. Once I have finished I left the tray in place and made a call my crew: "Good morning shipmates! What are your intentions this morning?" It was space snipe Jamison who responded first: "Fine, Major. I think we should take a look at that damage in the upper control area. It appears that the damage in the mid section mirrored the severe trashing that other area took. All routings in that area of the Nth Degree had been dealt with. The damage to the upper control section has not! We should jump on that and, in my humble opinion; this ship should be good to go!" "I agree with that guy! We've been up since 0550 hours waiting to hear from you, Major! Can we come over now?" asked Mr. McIntyre. "Check with the Nth Degree's crew. Let them Contact Mistress Karina. Then, it's show time," I replied. *** By 1030 hours the three of us, in the company of Wittenistra, Marricious, Flynouboutra and Donatella proceeded to the totally trashed secondary control section. The damaged junction boxes were examined in minute detail. The central console was looked at and the damage to its circuit routings assessed. The first priority was to determine of we had spare junction boxes onboard. Marricious and Flynouboutra accessed their supply inventory computer to check into that detail. Warrant Officer McIntyre had brought fifty-six micro-electrical impulse generators with him. McIntyre and the Nth Degree crew within engineering would hook some of them into the dead leads from that section to the damaged upper section. We took the rest up to the secondary control center. Once he had set theirs off McIntyre would call us. *** At 1100 hours that call came: "Sir! All eleven impulse generators are on line at this time!" he announced. With that, Petty Officer Jamison and I began the tedious search for signals transmitted over the dead circuits and the lines from the shattered boxes. In no time nine separate signals had been detected and logged. After tags had been placed we moved to locate other dead circuits their— signals were detected and logged. Then, the lines from and to the shattered center console were checked. *** By 1400 hours all of the dead circuits and severed lines had been identified and logged. Now, new circuit boxes had to be found and installed, the damaged routings painstakingly re-established just as the others had. *** 1423 hours: Ten new boxes had been found and brought to the upper control area by Tonnay-Anistastia, Allanis; Piiper and Jou-Anne. "We found hundreds of new boxes and covers! We even found some strip type replacement conduit as well," said Marricious. "Excellent, Sir! Now comes the hard part: Re-installing these shattered units," I said. The women knew what needed to be done. They had worked together so well repairing the damaged hatch interlocks. They used a set of damage control grinders to strip away the damaged leads and removed the preservative layer on the Nth Degree's metal surfaces until they shined mirror bright. Then they moved on to prepare the next area as we moved in behind them to re-install the damaged power leads, and then coat the strips of aluminum metal tape with epoxy. It was Petty Officer Jamison that replaced the damaged conduit boxes and carefully reattached the new feed lines. Once that was done the five conduit connections were fastened into place. "We have a strong power indication on eight circuits from that one replaced coupling," said Genni. This volley of successes cascaded as the replaced conduit boxes began to perform as if nothing had happened. The repaired interfaces began to shunt power to other devices along the route of their connection within other compartments. Now, the intermittent indications came to an end with the exception of a zone in the upper control space. More inactive systems began to click on line. Now that the damage to the center panel wiring had been dealt with they would have the ability to jump once again—then, in theory; their propulsion systems would come on line. *** By 1657 hours we were all sharing jokes, swapping tall tales. Now, there were only four circuits left unpowered. Now, it was time to tackle the bag of worms that was the damaged upper control center console. Marricious took point on this aspect of the repair since he had the most familiarity with the circuits within the center console as well as the ones within main control. He checked the inside of the shattered console. The Nth Degree's navigator made it a point to carefully handle the sheets of suspended wiring: "Besides the exterior damage I see a section of pulled out runners. No torn circuit routings. These leads can be easily pressed back into place. I am surprised that not too much real harm befell these circuits in spite of all this blaster damage!" said Marricious. That assessment made us all breathe a sigh of relief until we saw Marricious freeze as if someone had grabbed him harshly by his family jewels: "Marricious. What is the matter? What do you see?" asked Flynouboutra. "Marricious! What is it that you are observing?" asked Master Rochambeau. "My Liege! Mistress Karina! An 'infernal device' had been placed into our system. This was how we had been tracked so effectively through time. If we tried to forcefully disengage it could detonate with great force!" he said. "How long has it been in place?" asked Mistress Karina. "At least a Cycle—maybe two, Mistress," said Marricious in a voice filled with dread. The mechanism was held in place by a magnetically fixed base. No doubt it had a triggering device at that point and an active conduit routing. Marricious slowly removed his hand from the device then slowly backed away from the console with the sweat flowing from his features. Once his hand cleared the shattered console he literally collapsed to the deck in a display of unrestrained fear. "I think it's time to stop work. Let's have a conference. Can we have a Conference? Please schedule one," I said. Mac and Petty Officer Jamison packed their tools and dejectedly followed me back to our vessel.   Ch. 6 It was now 1812 hours. Filled with disappointment I had the Blackthorn crew muster on its mess deck. The entire crew was to be briefed on what was disclosed within the Nth Degree's secondary control room. To say that hearts jumped into throats at that news would be too mild. It was my intention to tap into their energies to bolster a nagging thought I harbored within my mind. As tired as we all were there was something about this entire situation began to personally gnaw at me. *** We began our review of how we became enmeshed in the seemingly simple act of performing a rescue of a ship in distress that has now degraded into a conspiracy of multidimensional proportions; with life or death implications that literally affected lives in this region of space and within countless realms of time. We played the entire encounter log from the initiation of this situation to the present. It was what we heard, or did not hear that shocked us. I quickly secured the replay button and stared at the console in disbelief. "Major McClintock! I could have sworn I heard 'Terran English' being vocalized during the course of this situation! But, upon all the recorded bridge logs, even on the UT recordings there are no discernable Terran vocal patterns," said Claire. "Yeah! This sounds like a bunch of chainsaws being revved up!" said Petty Officer Anderson. "Run all of this through the translator again—let's hear what we really have here," I said. Mac immediately addressed the vessel's main frame's intuitive software. Sure enough, the messages had indeed been translated into what we had heard—Terran English; or what we perceived we had heard, that had spurred us into action: The screaming. The strident pleas for our assistance; easily discerned were the weapons fire and those horrific explosive concussions. However, unlike what we had 'heard' on the bridge—in the clear with our own ears, none of it had been translated or recorded into Terran English! We all just sat in stunned silence. What we had heard, or though we had heard left us speechless. I wanted to document my crew's reactions to this situation for the record: "Computer! Transcribe this interaction!" I ordered. "Begin transcription!" said the mechanical voice. Silence ensured initially. Finally, it was Claire O'Hara who ventured a comment: "Shipmates. It seems to me that we all heard what we wanted to hear; that this Nth Degree vessel was being set upon by 'superior forces' bent on its destruction. But, I can't speak for you but I developed a splitting headache about that time." "Same here," I voiced—and so did the others. "Sir! It appears as if we had been cognitively manipulated! Some form of 'mental influence' had been directed at us. A very powerful inducement for us to immediately render aid to this ship that was being assaulted by a relentless foe in this Quadrant of space," said Petty Officer Anderson. "I am in total agreement on that point. Needles! I want to pick your brain on a point we discussed. You stated that you served on 'larger commands' within the CAF. Just where did you serve and the crew level of that ship?" I asked of him. "Well, I served onboard the Bombardment Ark 'Tenacious;" a one-thousand person crewed siege barge in the Orion Quadrant for three years. That command was considered very arduous duty," he said. "So, the stress levels would have been very high during the course of a cruise on those commands. Question: Can you recall what the crew's demeanor was like? How well did they respond to stressful situations?" I asked. "Major, even those who believed that they possessed great coping skills suffered a breakdown in their abilities to adjust to the monotonous routines. We didn't have that many port-of-calls during our deployments. A percentage developed bouts of anxiety coupled with withdrawal from reality. Some had self-isolated to such a degree they were medically treated for depression," said Petty Officer Anderson. "Go on. This information was good to know, Needles. Continue please," I said. "Still others stooped to sabotaging vital gear in order to force our unit commander to make unscheduled repair stops to affect depot-level corrective repairs. This involved damaging or completely destroying vital facets of the vessel's guidance, navigation, propulsion and weapons; integrated systems vital for our defense," said Anderson. I took note that the rest of the crew was as focused on his detailing of events as I was. "Very good. Anyone else have anything to add?" I asked, giving each of them the eye. "I do, Sir," said Petty Officer Jamison. "Well let's hear it, space snipe!" I said. "Major. Sir. Now that we are going over this have any of you come to realize that we had been tasked with working with truly 'alien technology' that none of us had seen in our lives?" said Jamison. "Yeah. And your point is?" I asked. "We managed to figure out the routing of all those embedded power lines; their intimate locations within all those alien compartments, as well as the deciphering of all of that alien data flashed upon their screens," said Jamison. Jamison's question had merit. And he was correct in his stating of how fast he, Mac and I had come together, in disparate sections of that huge ship; using 'their technology' to trace defects in 'their system;' a system that by all rights we should have never had been able to be decipher. I felt a tightness grip my bowels. I ordered the computer to stop transcribing then looked into the faces of each member of my crew. Equilibrium at Gamma Apodis The Sophistry leadership stated that they had been 'shifting through time' – but could not leave this area of space. That they may have been shifting between dimensions 'multiple times' before their systems finally collapsed from the strain of their non-stop jumps. "Had we become 'involved' with them before?" was the thought I mulled over in my mind. "Folks. I hate to say this, but I feel as if we had been in this 'situation' before! Not in a déjà vu sense, but in a real sense: That we may have encountered these denizens before and not just this one situation—do you all feel me?" I asked them. Then Mac tossed his thoughts into the conversation: "Now, as we neared completion of these repairs their navigator disclosed that a 'tracking/explosive device' had been planted onboard their vessel. That this device carried the potential of destroying the hull integrity of the Nth Degree; leaving them vulnerable to boarding and destruction at the hands of an enemy forces that—" "Are currently surrounding us like a pack of wolves! Sir, the Morritites knew that this device was in play! That they are just waiting for it to detonate. Then, they could advance and overwhelm this crew," said Ms. O'Hara. It was as if a light bulb had illuminated in my mind. It was as if we had come to the same conclusion: This entire situation did have the 'feel' of the re-living of a prior event—or events. Yes, there was a strong possibility that we had all could have been ensnared in this situation before—multiple times before. Only now, the parameters of this encounter had changed. I made a request to the computer to show us the first view we had of the Sophistry denizens from our sensors of the crew of the Nth Degree as they observed us in their hanger bay. "I want you all to concentrate on the features of the denizens we will see in this view of the forward sensors from October 18th. Share with me what you notice. Here it comes," I said as the video of that encounter played out. "Now freeze it! Check out the reaction of the observers! Take note of how each of them individually reacted to the disclosure that they were just seconds away from total obliteration," I said. To a person each of them took note of the reaction of three of the six individuals; reactions that the others standing in that observation window did not come close to approximating. It was as if those two may had experienced this drama before and in spite of the surprised reactions of the others they did not seem impressed at all. "Remember their faces! I have a feeling that they knew just what the hell was happening onboard the Nth Degree. In my gut I believe they knew more than they disclosed. Be careful in their presence," I said as the features of each individual were enlarged. "This may not have been our 'first encounter' with these denizens. Each time they seemed to have learned something new from them. Each time they learned something new about us as a species!" I cautioned my crew. Something we observed in those previous 'interactions' may had remained engrained within our sub-consciousness. Finally, it all came together during this moment. I had an ideal—but I wanted to put it to a test. "I want Petty Officer Anderson to accompany Jamison, Mac and I to attend this "Conference" I want to have with the Nth Degree's crew," I said. "Sir! I'd like to come along if I could!" requested Claire. "For what reason, O'Hara?" asked Needles. "I want to observe how the females respond to your questions, their body language as well as the concerns that their ship may have been sabotaged by personnel within their grouping," said Claire. I looked at her. She was dead set on attending. I could not say no to her request. "Very well. We will all go – as a crew. Computer! Set the internal security protocols to 'cipher lock out,' all hands access required for re-entry!" I ordered. To regain entry all five of us had to encode their genome into the entry controls. It's all of us, or none of us! Failure to satisfy that requirement would initiate 'Sierra Delta.' "Encode that into the main frame – now," I ordered. "Order received. Voice intonation: Major Stewart McClintock, commanding officer, CSS Blackthorn. Order is now in effect: 'Cipher lock out.' All crew members must encode facets of their personal Genome or no hatches will open. Self-destruct will initiate upon crew egress," said the mechanical response. Now, once we depart the Blackthorn will shift to 'Sierra Delta.' If any of us were killed, or held against our wills – or any attempt to gain entry to our vessel by one person alone attempted it would trigger the immediate detonation of our two five megaton Plutonium scuttling charges. With that action accomplished the crew turned in. Tomorrow would prove to be a very interesting day. ***   Ch.7 October 24, 2777: It is now 0900 hours. We have departed the Blackthorn to meet with the surviving members of the Nth Degree in their leadership's spacious meeting quarters. All twenty-one members, two males and nineteen females, were seated along the port side of the space. My crew and I were facing them from the starboard. Just as I had done with my crew I briefed the entire gathering in great detail. I did not even hint that this situation may have occurred before between our now combined crews. During this face off I stuck to the points that bothered me. "Master Rochambeau. What was the composition of the deceased members of your crew?" I asked of him. "Nine of our valiant crew met their end fighting back the invasion of our vessel. We lost seven males and two females. The males were from guidance and engineering. The two females were from our personal security forces," said Master Rochambeau. "The main control center: Was that console been examined, Sir?" I asked. "Yes. No other device was found. However, on the body of one of the invading forces that had penetrated our center pieces of such a device had been recovered. It was jettisoned into space with the bodies," said Marricious. "What's the explosive potential of that device in the upper section?" asked Hairlip. "Powerful enough to blow a sizable hole through the hull of the Nth Degree. Such a detonation would shred the delicate interconnections and power routings that link both sections of our ship. We would be helpless in space, Major," said Master Rochambeau. "Could I have a diagram of that device so that my space snipe and a group of selected representatives from your crew can examine it—with the hope of being able to devise a way to disarm it?" I asked. "Yes, you may Major McClintock! I will delegate Genni and Allanis to work with him," said Mistress Karina. "They may depart this meeting and perform that task now! Take their chosen representative to supply vault ten," she said. My space snipe glanced at me with pleading eyes. Once I nodded my head Petty Officer Jamison rose to his feet; then assumed the position of rock rigid attention. Alanis and Genni also rose gazing at his ramrod straight form with wide eyed admiration. Not all of the females in attendance responded favorably to this show of respect. Some of the female attendees leaned forward and seemed to take an interest in the events—six did not. The two males sat quietly. Only one of them leaned fully back into his padded chair – all seven of those Sophistry crewmembers displayed an obvious indifference to the proceedings. Allanis and Genni came giddily to our side of the table. They whispered briefly amongst themselves then Genni tapped Jamison lightly upon his shoulder before exiting the space. The blushing petty officer performed an about face, then followed them. Then, attention returned to our summary of events. Now the four of us were watching the body language of the remaining Nth Degree crew members as our conference continued. *** It was 1234 hours when all five of us mustered back onboard Blackthorn. Petty Officer Jamison had acquired detailed drawings of the device. The notes that were taken during the briefing on the Nth Degree were being discussed. To a person all five of us came to the same conclusion: Body language; may it be Sophistry or Terran, does not lie. "Let's hear about this device, space snipe," I requested. "Sir. It's small but it's powerful! Its dimensions are approximately twenty centimeters in length, eleven in width. It's a charge of explosive that has been hollowed out with a pendulum type striker suspended from its cap into the center of the upper section. There was a metal sleeve inserted through the cored out material. This was part of the triggering mechanism for this device," Jamison explained. Petty Officer Jamison went on to detail the internal workings of this infernal device. A full scale diagram of it was being shown on the mess deck's video screen. It did not appear to be that deadly a device. But big things often come in small packages. The hollowed out internal space the pendulum occupied was approximately five millimeters in circumference. The striker itself was two millimeters wide. There was a power source that was connected to the shell of the device that formed a negative ground. The pendulum itself was wired positive. It was an ingeniously designed device. While in stand-by mode during normal ship's operation, no power was shunted to the device. Thus, the jarring of the vessel or a crew member's bumping into the console would not result in an accidental detonation. However, in jump mode, there would be no grounding of the mechanism's internally mounted striking plate; only the power supplied to the positively energized pendulum that would rapidly strike against that non-grounded internal striking plate— acting as a signaling/tracking device! Interfaced expertly into the Nth Degree's integrated jump/propulsion system an intermittent power pulse would be sent to the device when the jump system was not in use. Again, this was not enough to trigger an accidental detonation. However, if anyone attempted to remove the device physically, or cut the wires leading in or out of it; the device's internal battery power source would come into play: An explosion of great force would be immediately released! Once Petty Officer Jamison finished his presentation the air vented from everyone's lungs. "Sir. In its current configuration it cannot be violently jostled. It cannot be removed! It can be examined. Mild vibrations will not harass it, but the blow of a hard tool or violent movement will! Suggestions?" asked Petty Officer Jamison. No one offered a word of advice or comment. We just didn't know what to say. It was Ms. O'Hara who broke the silence: "Who was the female that gave you these drawings and data?" asked Claire. "Females: Miss Genni and Miss Allanis assisted me. They know a great deal! They're both . . . sort of nice," he whispered. Everyone laughed as he once again began to blush as if something good was about to—or had happened to him. "Sir. Looking at this device the casing that surrounds it is thin. The internal diameter is consistent. Two and one-half millimeters of distance border the suspended pendulum. How does this sound as a neutralizing effort? Let's try this: Use a twelve mm long high speed drill bit; 0.20 mm in circumference," suggested Mac. The plan was to drill two holes into the casing: One at the top, the other one-half the distance of the outer casing. Then, slowly pump in a solution of slowly congealing polymers until it reached the level of the hole upon the casing. Once it reached that level pumping would halt. After two hours even if the wires were cut, and battery power initiated it would not matter: The pendulum would be frozen by the hardened solution. The device could be removed by simply pulling its magnetic surface from the metal console. "What do you all think?" I asked. "It all hinges on how just how sensitive to vibration the swinging mechanism was," said Needles. Animated conversations erupted among the gathered shipmates. Bodies launched themselves from their seats. Fingers reached out to gauge the distances involved between the casing, the explosive inside it and the suspended pendulum. Some voiced concerns over volatility of the constituents. Others had concerns over whether any drilling could produce heat or vibrations that might trigger a detonation. Could holes even be drilled into the cap's metal or the containment casing at all? I listened to the discussions. I had yet to hear any discouraging words voiced against Mac's idea. It was then I called them all to order: "Guys. Mac's plan sounds solid. But, this is an explosive we know nothing about. Even Syntec 704 can be roughly manhandled and pounded upon. Only an electrical charge can cause the substance to detonate. Let's call in the experts," I said to all hands. With that I made my way to the bridge to make that call. *** 1314 hours: Inside of an hour we took note of the arrival of Genni, Allanis and the mature Donatella. They were all dressed so differently than we had first seen them. Instead of the drab, corduroy utility work outfits they each wore opaque, thigh length form-fitting lime green chiffon-type apparel that left nothing to the imagination. The three of them stood at the front of our vessel in formation. They did not move. I ordered O'Hara to open the third deck hatch – with her weapon drawn. Now, we had reason to have suspicions of all the females of this so-called "Sophistry." "Advance towards the opening hatchway," I said using the outside comm system. All three females walked towards the starboard side of our vessel. All three individuals came to a halt when confronted by Claire Orwell. I walked up behind her—gesturing for them to enter. Once they stepped into the hatchway door mechanism closed behind them. "Thank you for responding to our summons," I said. All three women joined us for a meal. We had a profoundly great time dining on our Sym-food replicator servings. Each person was given a glass of real rum, or alcoholic beverage of their choice. Only one glass was authorized for this occasion. The men became smitten by the beauty and charm of these Sophistry females while Claire did not seem overly impressed. Then it was down to business: "Donatella. This device we have on the view screen. How sensitive was the explosive imbedded within it to heat, shock and any other variable?" I asked. Her response was that the explosive component would only 'go critical' when electrical energy had been applied to it. On its own it could be tossed into a roaring fire. It would only burn. Dropped from great heights it would bounce like rubber. The material could be cut, machined and shaped. It had to be milled and pressed in order to be placed within the container it was now situated. "However, once the mechanism was fully assembled and energized it became sensitive to shocks. Great care must be taken to insure that the pendulum was not disturbed once freed from its mechanical confinement. That action energizes the internal battery. The range of motion would be very severe!" said Donatella. Then Genni added her comments as she sat close to Allan Jamison: "Once that action had been accomplished we have never been able to safely deactivate an infernal device! We tried all manner of means. Many lives were lost in the process. In the end, it was easier to just decommission the vessels they were found mounted upon." "That's right, Major. Over forty of our ships have had to be placed in long term storage. We felt that this one was free of such devices! In fact, it had been Marricious, Kaallannis and Flynouboutra who found this vessel for us! I guess they did not check it out well enough," said Donatella. We said nothing disparaging about the man, or that particular group of females. We had to make sure we kept poker faced as some of the names she had voiced were the very characters we held 'strong suspicions' about. *** 1523 hours: Two hours into our discussion we were now positive that these three could keep a confidence. I made a suggestion to Claire. One by one she approached each female, escorting them to the after portion of the third deck. Each of them came back ashen faced and intimidated. Then, it was Donatella's turn. O'Hara grasped her by the arm—but she would not move. Then she looked at me: "If I am to be 'inspected' it will only be by you, Major!" said the indignant Donatella. All hands looked in my direction. Without hesitation I approached the steadfast female and took her by the hand to lead her to the inspection space. I wanted to leave the hatch open – for my own protection, but Donatella demanded that it be closed. "Miss O'Hara! Stand by this hatch," I ordered. "Sir Yes Sir!" she responded with an intoxicated smirk plastered upon her face. Once the hatchway had closed I found myself standing three paces away from a stunningly nude Sophistry female. We just stood there looking directly into each other's . . . eyes. "What was it that you are seeking from me, Major?" asked Donatella. It was then that I directed Donatella to hold her arms over her head, turn about slowly. I was comfortable with her just allowing me to view her exposed dermal surfaces, but she demanded a more 'thorough' search: "You need to inspect and probe my person for 'hidden' weapons or eavesdropping appliances—here, Major," she whispered as she presented her breasts for my intimate inspection. With shaking hands I caressed each of them. There were firm. They warm. They were real. Walking to the port side of the space Donatella positioned her body upon a table, wantonly spreading her thighs apart: "And in here as well, Major," said Donatella as she rubbed at her hirsute Mons. I approached her reclined form, attempting to remain calm in her presence. I donned a set of latex gloves, but again Donatella protested: "Inspect me without the gloves, Major," she said. Raising her thighs and pulling them towards her chest Donatella encouraged me to physically spread her unsullied flesh and to examine her 'intimate recesses'—which I did: "Is that what you wish to 'probe' me with, Major?" she asked as she gazed at my crotch. My mind was screaming: "Run away! Flee this space!"— but my body would not respond. With a smile Donatella reached out and took hold of the situation—literally. *** 1820 hours: Our intense period of deep, intimate 'probing' had been accomplished. As we held each other's sweat-drenched bodies close Donatella addressed me: "See? I had 'nothing' to hide from you, Major." *** It was now 1830 hours. It was only a nude Donatella and I were discussing a method of defusing that device hidden within their ship's upper control space. It appeared that upon our return the aroused Allan Jamison and Dean Anderson quietly left us – each man sought an isolated area of the ship to 'intimately examine' Genni and Allanis. The situation occurring onboard had left me feeling out of control. In fact, the engaged couples have been hammering away at forging an 'accommodation' for the better part of an hour. "What the hell has happened to us?" I asked as I held fast to my perplexed head. With a smile upon her mature features Donatella sat astride my lap and patiently explained it all: It appeared that all Sophistry females possessed the ability to exude a subtle 'Pheromone '— a scent that made members of the opposite sex want to—well, 'get it on.' *** Unbeknownst to me, or the other male crewmembers; having Claire O'Hara oversee the initial 'inspection' of the first two females had inflamed her long repressed Terran needs as well. Claire was discreetly sniffing at her fingers as she paced rapidly back and forth within the third deck. She had been doing this for some time—transiting from frame 34 to frame 180 as Donatella and I worked the problem. If I had not witnessed her actions I would not have thought it possible.