Claws 22

Ronnie

"What the hell are they smoking, down in stellar cartography?" I demand.
  
"My observations match theirs," Saval replies imperturbably. "The planet is not missing - we have been transported, to an indeterminate location in space. I have no navigation beacons on scan, and am unable to locate any of the standard stellar markers... I am attempting to resolve known extra-galactic features now, but as yet I cannot be certain, even, that we are still in the Milky Way galaxy."

"Oh, well, isn't that just peachy? Leo. Get me a line to the Klinks. Maybe they've got some ideas."

"On it, sir." And, very shortly, the green face of R'j Bl'k' appears on my viewer. She looks unhappy. As well she might.

"I suppose," she rasps, "we should consider ourselves fortunate still to be alive. Did you, by any chance, say or do something - ?"

"Oh, don't blame me for everything. You're as bad as the Tiazans and their damn book of prophecy. Listen. Do you have any matches on any star charts for this location?"

"None whatsoever. We are coordinating with the Anar, whose science libraries are more extensive, but I have no especial hopes there."

I sigh. "Leo. Patch us in to the Goroke's data feeds, will you, and set us up to share stellar cartography data? We're going to need as big a picture as we can manage, and the hell with military security."

"I agree," says R'j. "Whatever issues divide us in general - in this particular situation, we must work together."

*/*collective enterprise is always preferable to individual efforts---
eliminate personal conflicts and pool information for the benefit of all---*/*

Frankly, it's almost a relief to hear Two of Twelve sounding so normal. "Setting up channels now, sir," Leo reports. On the screen, R'j turns away, no doubt to rasp her own equivalent of "you, face-ache, on comms, make it happen." I switch off, and gaze moodily at the unknown stars.

No. Moody gazing isn't going to get me anywhere. "Saval. See if you can reconstruct what happened when that gravimetric shear hit us. Surely we can, I dunno, reverse engineer it, or something? If we know what happened -"

"We have sensor logs," Saval says, "and I will review them. Sir, even if it is possible to establish how we were brought - here - it remains possible that we will not have sufficient power or other resources to reverse the process ourselves."

"You're probably right," I say, "but we won't know unless we try, right?"

*/*futile endeavours characteristic of individuals in stress situations---
collective enterprise means individual termination is not to be considered---
the individual ends but the collective continues---*/*

Heard that one before, Two of Twelve, so put a sock in it, will you?

*/*belt up yourself*/*

Oh, God. To distract myself, I turn to Tallasa and ask, "Have we got any information yet on this Oschmann character who's running Buxton's ship?"

"A Cynthia Carlotta Oschmann was demoted after a Prime Directive violation on the planet Sidoneus Zeta," Tallasa replies, "and resigned the service in protest. Age and physical description fits - we don't have detailed records of the incident or the court martial. Normally, I'd request them from central Starfleet files, but -" She glances expressively at the viewscreen.

"Try it anyway. Maybe we'll get a subspace ping back from Starfleet Command. Maybe this whole scene is just a - a holo-emitter image or something like that...."

"Regrettably, sir, no," says Saval in an abstracted sort of way.

"Incoming signal from King Estmere, sir," says Leo.

"OK, put 'em through." The screen changes again, to show the blue face of Tylha's exec. "Commander, umm, Vihl. What's up?"

"Status is nominal, sir. We are linked with your data feeds for analysis of stellar cartography data. But, sir -" Vihl's antennae are waving like flags in the wind. "Sir - we'd like some assurances - that everything possible will be done to recover Vice Admiral Shohl."

"Tylha? Tylha's not the one who's lost. We are. As far as we know, Tylha is sitting there nice and safe on Tiaza Zephora, wherever that is, now."

"Not exactly safe, sir," says Vihl. I look at her, hard, for a moment or two.

"We're going to work out what's happened," I tell her, "we're going to fix it, and we're going to go and get our people back. Now, don't ask me how, right now, because I don't know, but that's what we're going to do. Anything else is not an option. All right?"

"Yes, sir. King Estmere will stand ready to support you.... Thank you, sir." And she cuts the link. I stare at those stars again. Now, what was that about, exactly?

"We still have the standard Starfleet personnel references on file, right?" I ask Tallasa.

"Yes, sir." The ship's database contains millions upon millions of kiloquads of information, most of it stuff no person in their right mind would ever use. Or me, come to think of it. I mutter to myself, more to drown out Two of Twelve's low-volume chuntering than anything else, as I stab commands into my chair's console.

I read for a while, then I think for a while. Then I catch Tallasa's eye, and say, "Conference, Mary Beth."

"Sir?"

"Want a quiet chat," I explain. "In my ready room." I look around. "I do have a ready room, right?"

Tallasa stands up. "Over here, sir."

---

"I should use this place more often," I mutter, settling down behind the desk. "Screen on the console is bigger in here. Personnel records, personnel records...."

"You're worried about this Commander Oschmann?" Tallasa asks.

"No. Well, yes, but no. If you see what I mean. Yes, I'm worried, but not right now. About Oschmann."

"Then what, sir?" Tallasa has her I will humour her patiently and punch something later face on. I find the file on the console.

"Vihl. That's who's bothering me. Listen. You read all that romantic slush about Andorian love pentangles and what-not, right?" Tallasa's antennae twitch alarmingly. "OK, let me try this from another angle. What sex is Commander Vihl?"

"Zhen," Tallasa answers promptly.

"Right, right. And this is obvious to you guys, isn't it? I mean, you wouldn't mix up a chan and a zhen, right?"

"Neither would you. The chan sex is one that corresponds to a male in humans. Yes, the gender roles are, well, pretty clear. We have our share of intersex and transgendered individuals, of course, just like most other species. What's this all about, sir?"

"Take a look at our Commander Anthi Vihl," I say. "Service record." Tallasa leans across the desk and peers at the screen. "So?" she says, after a while.

"Imperial Guard family, military tradition going way back. Joins Starfleet, nothing unusual there... assigned to the frigate USS Hammersmith - hang on." Something just hits me. "Wasn't the Hammersmith the ship D'Kalius blew up with his isolytic beam at Andoria?"

"Yes, it was," says Tallasa.

"Funny Tylha never said anything to me. It was her first command, see? Took over during that big dust-up at Vega Colony. I was there, too... I think half Starfleet was."

"So?"

"So, Anthi Vihl has been Tylha's right-hand... zhen, ever since. Followed her from ship to ship like they were joined at the hip."

"I'm not seeing where this is going, sir," says Tallasa. "Vice Admiral Shohl has a loyal first officer. So what?"

"So nothing," I say, "except look at this. Table of organization for Task Group Hipparchus."

"What?" Tallasa frowns.

"The raid that Tylha led to take back her home planet from the Nausicaans. Gimel Vessaris. She ran the show from her Charal escort, the Spirits of Earth. But look at the other ships in the group. Indra, commanded by Kophil Phohr... Sita, Shrin Izini - whole lot of you guys, right? And there's King Estmere, commanded by Dyssa D'Jheph. So where's Commander Anthi Vihl in all this?"

"Acting as Vice Admiral Shohl's exec, as usual."

"Why? The natural place for her would have been on King Estmere. Makes sense, doesn't it? Have your strongest tactical asset commanded by your most reliable tactical officer, someone who knows the ship inside out? And what Imperial Guard-style military traditionalist would turn down centre seat on a ship like that, on a combat assignment? Unless she had some stronger motivator."

"Wait a moment," says Tallasa. "Are you trying to suggest that Vice Admiral Shohl and Commander Vihl have some sort of - of relationship going on? Besides the professional one?"

"You're the expert in Andorian relationships," I say, "but no, I'm not suggesting that at all. What I am thinking is that Anthi Vihl would very much like there to be one. Tylha's married to her job, and I'd guess she doesn't think of herself in, umm, romantic terms anyway. What with her face being messed up." Tallasa is looking at me very, very coldly now.

"That is undoubtedly one of the most ludicrous ideas you have ever come up with. Sir. If there is any sort of attraction between Vice Admiral Shohl and Commander Vihl, they are both intelligent, sensible people, and they would work it out between them. If there is. And it would be none of your business, sir, one way or the other. Besides, there are any number of reasons an executive officer might stay loyal to her commanding officer."

"Yeah,"I mutter, "yeah, I guess... I've often wondered why you put up with me, in fact."

Tallasa's antennae are thrashing around like anything. She draws herself up to her full height. I didn't think anyone did that outside nineteenth-century novels. "You took me and Jhemyl in," she says, "when everyone else distrusted or despised us. I owe you for that... and, exasperating as you are, sir, you do always try to do the right thing. Both tactically, and ethically. And - well, frankly, sir, you need someone sensible to look after you. Someone who can disabuse you of any crazy notions you might get," she adds tartly.

"Um," I say. Well, I suppose I asked for it. I can't think of anything else to say except. "Yeah, well... fair point."

Tallasa turns around and walks out. At the doorway, she turns back for a moment to say, "Just for the record, though, sir, I absolutely do not want you as the mother of my children." And with that Parthian shot, she leaves.

Motherhood. Between the ravages of time and the ravages of the Borg, that seems about as likely as fatherhood, now. Never mind.

I sit at the desk for a moment, collecting my thoughts. She's the one who knows Andorians, fair enough... but my gut instinct is telling me that Anthi Vihl is in the grip of a strong emotion. Strong enough to affect her judgment, maybe.

I sigh. Good judgment is going to be in short supply around here, what with me being me, and Vihl being in a romantic ferment, and Oschmann being an unknown but dangerous quantity, and R'j being, well, she strikes me as some sort of fanatic, on the whole....

… and we are lost in unknown space, and for all we know there is another horde of hungry Klingon demons coming for us, and Two of Twelve is rattling her chains.

It's at times like this that I start to wonder if the situation can get any worse....

And, right on cue, there is a sharp hissing sound and a brilliant flash of light.

"Well, hello there, Veronika," says Q.