Star Trek: Grissom-Chapter 8: Errand of Mercy

Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Star Trek: Grissom

Chapter 8: “Errand of Mercy”

Written by: Rick Pike & Seán Paul Teeling Star Trek: Grissom website: http://startrekgrissom.com

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Klingon Bird of Prey Kahless, Bridge Milady Valkris stood on the bridge beside Commander Reshtarc of the Imperial Klingon Vessel Kahless. General Kaarg had entrusted Valkris with a two-fold mission: to remove the renegade Caitian agent M’Pursong, and to secure contact with the Chameloid agent known as ‘The Hand of God,’ who even now was secretly aboard the Federation science vessel U.S.S. Grissom.

A console emitted a proximity alert and the navigator spoke.

“Commander, the sensors detect another warp signature in our vicinity, within 1,000 kilometers of our current position!”

Reshtarc whirled around. “What? Is it the Grissom? We are in her sector.”

The navigator worked frantically at his station. “Unknown, but it is paralleling our own course and speed.”

Valkris spoke. “Is our cloak intact? Are we emitting ionizing vapors?”

The navigator looked amazed that Valkris had spoken over his Commander, but Commander Reshtarc nodded approval, so he replied. “Negative, we are as silent as the monks of Boreth.”

Reshtarc paced the bridge and the navigator spoke again. “Commander, the other ship is still paralleling our own course, shall I raise shields?”

Reshtarc laughed. “And lose our cloak? No. Maintain cloak and course.”

Emergency proximity alarms now rang out.

“Commander, the vessel changes its course again. It is... QI’yaH!!” the navigator expleted.

A Romulan Warbird decloaked directly in front of the Kahless. Little did Reshtarc or Valkris know, but this was the Romulan warbird that had recently fled Quazulu VIII, under the command of Commander Pardek of the Romulan Star Empire.

“Romulans?!” exclaimed Valkris.

Weapons fire detonated on the cloaked Klingon warbird, which took heavy damage quickly with her shields down.

Reshtarc shouted in anger. “Drop the cloak! Activate shields! NOW!’ The shields came online and the Kahless spun around.

Valkris shouted above the battle klaxons. “We must fight, before the Romulans return for another pass!”

Reshtarc swung his arms to hit out at Valkris, pushing her out of his way. “Ignore her! Get us out of here! MAXIMUM warp!”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

The Kahless leapt to warp, and the navigator turned to his captain. “We have escaped, Captain. No pursuit.”

Reshtarc hit the comm panel. “By Kahless’ beard, what are Romulans doing here in Federation space?”

Valkris picked herself up from where she had fallen. “Catching you, as the humans would say, ‘with your trousers down.’ You run from battle, Commander. You dishonor your men, your vessel and your house.

Reshtarc rounded on Valkris “Do not speak to me of honor! If we had stayed there they would have destroyed us, and our mission for the Empire would be over!”

Valkris spat at Reshtarc. “MY mission, Reshtarc! Which you are jeopardizing. Now we have the added complication of the cursed Romulans knowing we are active in Federation space. BIHnuch!”

Reshtarc now stood deathly still. He said, quietly, “I would kill you here and now for that insult, witch, if your importance to General Kaarg did not outweigh my own desire for your punishment. Be careful you do not outlive your usefulness!”

Valkris turned to leave the bridge, but laughed softly to herself. “You wish. Men like you tend to wake up one day and find they are already dead.”

Medical Administrator’s Office, Lycus Central Medical Center, Lycus Moon of the Planet Alcyone The computer voice came over the communications panel in the well-appointed office of Dr. Hashmin Teernig, medical director of the Lycus Central Medical Center on Lycus, the agricultural/mining colony on the moon of the distant planet Alcyone. “Alcyonian High Command with an urgent message for Dr. Hashmin Teernig.”

Hashmin Teernig, a distinguished looking woman in her early 50’s, glanced towards the comm device, which was beeping and repeating the incoming message. “Damn,” she thought. She’d asked not to be disturbed as she went over the various daily activity reports that were part of her administrative responsibilities. The comm announcement repeated itself, and would continue to do so until she answered.

“It’s probably another damned governmental inquiry or request for data from the politicos,” she thought. It wouldn’t stop until acknowledged, so she may as well answer. Annoyed, she took the call.

“This is Dr. Teernig. How can….”

A deep, authoritative voice boomed out of the speaker. “Dr. Teernig, this is Fleet Commander Kaymar Brixtin of the Alcyonian High Command. It’s vital that I immediately know the whereabouts of the 26 crash survivors that were delivered to your medical center yesterday for treatment. Where are they now located?”

Annoyed that this relatively routine inquiry was interrupting her much more important work, Teernig responded to the caller, somewhat snippily. “I have no idea, Fleet Commander. I would assume they are in the medical treatment bays. At least they were earlier this morning. I can get one of my staff to find out for you. Why? What’s so important? We’re rather busy here.”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

The voice of the Fleet Commander took on a wary tone: “Dr. Teernig, are you alone right now? Is this a secure channel?”

Teernig’s ears pricked up at the last question. What was going on here? “Uh, yes, Fleet Commander, I’m in my private office. Why? What’s so urgent?”

The deep voice on the speaker changed slightly, taking on a somewhat more strained and urgent tone as it continued. “Dr. Teernig, we’ve just discovered that your patients are not Krazelians, as they claimed. They’re Tarellian. Tarellians! Their ship is probably one of those plague ships, the ones that escaped from Tarellia after plague killed their entire world more than a decade ago. Do you see why it is VITAL that we locate them and isolate them immediately? And anyone with whom they’ve come into contact. I’ve placed your facility and the entire Lycus moon under military quarantine…“ Teernig was alert and felt her heart racing at this impossible, devastating statement. “Tarellians! Are you sure? How is that possible? After all these years? But… but… they seemed completely healthy except for their crash injuries. They said they were Krazelian! I examined them myself…. oh gods. I can’t believe it…”

“Doctor, it’s conclusive – they’re Tarellian. We’ve identified their ship, and have done recursive analysis of their flight path. It’s one of those cursed plague ships! It’s possible we’ve all been exposed. I’ve sent biocontainment troops to the medical center. They’ll be arriving soon, but you must get those patients and any nursing staff isolated immediately… sigh. It may already be too late…”

There was no response from Teernig.

“Doctor? Doctor! Are you there?” shouted Brixton.

But Dr. Teernig was already running, at top speed, down the busy corridor towards the medical treatment wards, fearing that she was already too late.

Bridge: U.S.S Grissom Captain’s Log, Stardate 8190.22.

Having left the frozen world of Quazulu behind, as well as our Tribble problem, Grissom is once again on course for the Genesis Planet. Despite our unscheduled delay at Quazulu, we now appear to be making up time. Dr. David Marcus and Lt. Saavik are integrating well with the crew and Dr. Marcus is heading up the various research teams. At last, it seems, we are proceeding with our mission and should have...”

A priority alarm on the communications console sounded loudly, interrupting Captain Jonathan Esteban as he recorded his log, and causing concerned looks from other Bridge crew.

“Captain,” signaled Communications Officer Brian Childers, turning towards Esteban. “Incoming emergency channel call to any Federation vessel, sir. From a Federation installation on the planet Alcyone, requesting emergency assistance.”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Esteban sighed, punched the toggle to close his log, and responded to Childers. “Put it up, Childers.”

He then turned to face the viewscreen. “This is Captain Jonathan Esteban, of the Federation Starship Grissom. What’s your emergency, Alcyone?”

There was mostly static on the viewscreen, but a live picture of an attractive, middle-aged human female faded in and out. She was wearing a green medical outfit, and she looked weary. Her voice, however, was clear and strong as it came over the viewscreen speakers. Childers attempted to boost the signal, and the image became clearer and more stable.

“Oh, thank you for responding, Grissom. This is Dr. Laurie Windsor, Federation Diplomatic Corps Medical Analysis Team. I’m actually not on the planet Alcyone. I’m here on the inhabited moon, Lycus, at their primary lunar medical center. There is a serious medical emergency here that the Alcyonians are not able to handle and they are going to require assistance. And Captain… it’s deadly serious. The Alcyonians don’t even know I am contacting you, hence this terrible channel. They’ll have my head on a plate when they find out!

Esteban wrinkled his brow at this news, and responded. “Uh, Dr. Windsor. Exactly what is this medical emergency?”

Windsor replied in a cool, factual manner, her voice a bit shaky. “Three days ago, a small space vessel crashed here on the Lycus moon. When assistance was rendered, the survivors were brought here to the lunar medical center in the main colonial settlement for treatment. 26 crew, plus another 8 that were killed in the crash. Two more have since died from crash-related injuries. All the survivors appear to be in good health.”

Fairly routine facts, but Esteban noted that there was some urgency in her voice.

“Doctor, I sympathize with your situation, but we are not prepared to transport crash survivors at this time. We just happen to be in your sector and picked up this emergency channel call. It sounds to me like the Alcyonians or Lyconians or whatever the moon residents are called have things under control.

There seems to be no necessity for Starfleet involvement.”

The look on Dr. Windsor’s face changed to a pained expression, and her voice became quite shaky now. It seemed she was almost on the point of breaking down. “Captain, it’s a lot more serious than that, actually. The crash survivors were subsequently discovered to be Tarellian, sir.” She paused, and took a deep breath. “Possible plague carriers. They were in open medical wards for almost a full day. It’s possible that the Lycus moon population has been exposed to the Tarellian plague.”

Esteban’s eyes widened. “One moment, Dr. Windsor.” He turned to Childers and quietly told him to get Dr. S’Raazh to the Bridge immediately. He then took a moment to gather his thoughts. Tarellian plague refugees. This was serious business. Deadly serious. What kind of assistance could the Grissom possibly render to these doomed people, other than to comfort them in their death throes.... from a safe distance?

Esteban was conflicted about the possibility of risking his ship or his staff.

In the background, he heard Vindi S’Raazh, Chief Medical Officer of the Grissom, on intercom with Lt. Childers, grumbling about being called to the Bridge in the middle of surgery. Esteban pushed his command chair intercom button to break in on her protests.

“Vindi, I need you up here now. It’s serious,” he said, in a firm, quiet voice. Vindi’s protests stopped, and the intercom went silent. “Very well Captain, I’ll ask Dr. Seipeál to take over this surgery.”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Good, thought Esteban. Vindi and he had recently argued over what Vindi believed were unwarranted allegations about her head Nurse, Seán Murphy. She’d been incensed by his authorization for an interrogation by Security Ops Chief Lars Thorsen over Murphy’s uncanny knowledge about a dead Romulan operative found aboard Grissom during the Cyrano Jones incident at Quazulu VIII. Even though Murphy had proven to be innocent and was released from the brig. Esteban’s Chief Medical Officer (and somewhat secret lover) had not yet completely forgiven him for allowing Murphy’s detention. However, he noted, she was still the consummate professional aboard Grissom.

Esteban swiveled in his command chair to face Childers again. “Get me Star Fleet Command. Relay that communication with Dr. Windsor directly and unedited, and request mission ops guidance. And code it.” He swiveled back to the front, to face Dr. Windsor, who looked nervous on the viewscreen, absently chewing on her bottom lip. “Just a few moments more, Dr. Windsor.” Windsor nodded.

“Mister Jata, put us in high orbit around the Lycus moon.”

“Aye, sir,” responded Bacari Jata, one of Grissom’s navigators. “Sir, it appears their defense fleet has noticed us. I don’t think they’re too happy to see us.”

“Send standard greetings to Alcyone, Mr. Childers. Tell they we are making a routine visit while in transit of the sector. And send my regards to their government leaders.”

“Aye, sir. Transmissions in progress,” responded Childers.

Behind him, Esteban heard the turbolift doors swish open, and felt, rather than saw, Vindi’s presence at his side. He turned to face her. Her pale, blue-tinged face gave nothing away, but he could tell that the Andorian was alert to whatever situation needed her attention. He leaned towards her.

“There’s a serious problem here, Vindi,” said Esteban, in a low voice.

Vindi leaned forward and asked, in a stage whisper that everyone on the Bridge heard, but pretended that they hadn’t, “How serious, Captain? And why are we whispering?”

Esteban sat up quickly in his seat, aware that other eyes on the Bridge were on him and the doctor.

He cleared his throat and said, now in a regular voice, “There is a possibility that this inhabited moon colony has been exposed to a virulent infectious disease.”

“And do we know what this virulent infectious disease is?” asked Vindi, deadpan.

“They may have been exposed to Tarellian Plague, Vindi” said Esteban.

Esteban thought he saw some of the blue color drain out of Dr. S’Raazh face upon hearing this information.

At that moment there was a flurry of sound and activity on the viewscreen as Dr. Windsor recognized the Andorian and jumped up to come closer to the viewer. She cried out, “VINDI! Is that you? It’s me, Laurie Windsor, from Star Fleet Medical. We had several rotations together, years ago. Do you remember me?”

Vindi nodded at the viewscreen and smiled. “Of course, Laurie. Those are good memories. But tell me, what’s going on down there?”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Windsor explained the background to Vindi, whose facial expressions grew more troubled as the story of the Tarellian crash and transport to the medical center on Lycus unfolded. “… so I was doing medical survey and analysis work following up on Alcyone’s conditional admittance into the Federation when this incident occurred. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But please, can you help us with medicines, vaccines, or even a conclusive determination of whether these Tarellians are infected or not?”

“Doesn’t the Alcyonian medical staff know that already, Laurie?”

“No, they don’t. All testing on them is inconclusive. But the records show that in its early stages, the mutated plague organism is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to identify. And it’s even harder to detect in true carriers of the disease. And no one who’s been exposed has lived long enough to do conclusive diagnostic research on it.” Windsor grew quiet. “Oh. I guess that group includes me now, too…”

Dr. Windsor’s face showed the intense strain she’d been under the past several days. She tried to hide it, but it wasn’t possible. She put up a brave front, and Vindi felt so very sorry for her colleague from years past.

“Vindi, the biomedical technology here is pretty rudimentary. They are not going to be able to do anything more than what they have already done. Please, we need to find out if these crash survivors are plague carriers and if we’ve... I’ve... been exposed. I’m not trained in advanced clinical virology and differential diagnoses for infectious diseases like this. But we’ve got to do something. They’ve quarantined the moon here. I can’t leave. But I wouldn’t leave even if I could, until I know for sure. Vindi we need Federation help. NOW.” Windsor was beginning to lose it, Vindi sensed. And understandably so.

“Laurie, I promise you, we will do all we can to help. I’ll talk to the Captain and see if we can assist you and the moon’s inhabitants somehow. Don’t give up hope.” Vindi’s words had a reassuring effect on Windsor. She smiled weakly. “We’ll be back in touch. In the meantime, I want you and the staff there to make up an inventory of the clinical and research items you think you might need. I’ll be back in contact soon, okay?”

Windsor nodded, looking somewhat more hopeful, and logged out. The viewscreen went dark. Vindi turned to face Esteban, who sat looking at her, with a dour look upon his face.

“What next, Doctor?” he asked.

“Actually, I haven’t got a clue,” replied Vindi, sadly.

“Captain, incoming subspace message from Star Fleet Command. “ “Put it through, Mr. Childers,” said Esteban. Why not, he thought? Everyone on the Bridge had already heard about this possible plague anyway.

“Grissom. This is Dr. Christine Chapel, at Star Fleet Medical. Operations confirms U.S.S. Grissom is authorized to provide medical equipment, supplies, and technical assistance, as feasible and is to relay biomedical information through appropriate channels on the circumstances and spread of the disease. The nature of this emergency is such that delay of your primary mission is authorized, at Captain’s discretion.”

“Acknowledged, Dr. Chapel,” said Vindi and Capt. Esteban, at the same time.

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Chapel nodded at Dr. S’Raazh. “Ah, Vindi, it’s good to know you’re aboard Grissom, I’d forgotten. I know this situation is in capable hands.” She then turned her head towards Esteban. “Captain, keep communications to a minimum. This is within the charge of Starfleet Medical and as such falls under my command. I want confirmation that this is actually the Tarellian plague as soon as possible. And Captain, be very careful with this. Star Fleet out.”

Esteban signaled to end the transmission, and then sat back in his chair, deep in thought. Yet another delay, and this time, Esteban admitted to himself, it had him quite worried. He was no medical expert, but even he knew of the deadly consequences involved with the Tarellian plague. Several colonies and worlds in this sector were now forbidden, dead worlds; victims to the early escaping Tarellian refugee ships which unwittingly spreading the disease across the region. Could this be happening now, here at Alcyone? And did he want to risk his ship and its primary mission to the Genesis Planet to help them?

Esteban sighed wearily at the thought of an extended humanitarian aid mission. He needed to contact Admiral Morrow to discuss this turn of events and its implications on the Genesis mission. And he needed to think further about how much of his ship and his crew he was willing to risk in dealing with the deadly disease that could already be spreading out of control on Alcyone’s moon.

Esteban sighed, stood up, and addressed the Bridge crew. “Childers, get me Admiral Morrow on secure channel, and pipe it into my ready room. Lt. Saavik, you have the Bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” both acknowledged.

Esteban glanced around the Bridge. ”Folks, let’s not discuss what we’ve just learned with the general crew yet. No need for people to be alarmed until we know what’s going on here. Childers, alert senior officers to the situation and have them meet me in the Briefing Room in 2 hours. I think we need to form a plan for addressing this. Vindi, can you alert Saunders and Liebmann to join us for that meeting.

“Yes, Captain,” Vindi replied. The edge was gone to her tone; the seriousness of the situation that confronted them put their personal issues to the back burner.

“Thanks,” said Esteban, looking her in the eye, and nodding, as if to let her know he appreciated her being there, and acknowledging the upcoming medical team response to this crisis.

Esteban turned and left the Bridge, still deep in thought about how he was going to handle the overall situation with the Alcyonians.

Captain’s Ready Room, U.S.S. Grissom “It appears I cannot get Grissom from A to B without a million diversions in between. Whatever gods you believe in, Jonathan, you must have really done something to annoy them!” exclaimed the image of Admiral Harry Morrow on J.T. Esteban’s view screen.

“This is indeed a very serious situation. By rights, I should tell you to get underway and ignore this, but Starfleet is not a purely military organization. We are duty bound to help out. Of course, this all depends on confirmation of two things: that the these people are actually Tarellians; and that they are carriers of the plague.”

Esteban sighed, as he did often of late. “Admiral, is there no other vessel you can assign to this mess?”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Harry Morrow looked thoughtful. “Confidentially, I have assigned the Hathaway indirectly, via Admiral Stoneridge, to offer any assistance required to Dr. Carol Marcus at the Regula One Space Lab, but the Hathaway has yet to depart. Enterprise is on her way back here to Earth, too late to turn around.”

Morrow sighed now. “No Jonathan, I’m afraid you are on your own on this one.” ”Again,” muttered Esteban.

Morrow looked at his console. “Captain Frazer and the U.S.S. Tempest are about to depart Starbase 67. I’ll direct them your way, but it will be a day or two until they reach you.” Morrow looked at Esteban, whom he personally thought was looking weary. “Look, Jonathan. I’ll be frank, there are more things afoot here than this situation. The destruction of Cinera Base as reported by Dr. Carol Marcus to us is most suspicious. I can’t say much more, even on an encoded channel, but I am working on getting help your way.

The Hathaway is my easiest method to put a support vessel your way, without actually doing so.” ”Ah,” said Esteban, “they’d be helping Dr. Carol Marcus out, but right in the vicinity if we need back up. It’ll be good to have Jeff Pierce watching our backs. Get him out here soon, Harry.”

Morrow nodded. “Stoneridge is working on it, my friend, and we’ll stay in constant touch.” He moved uneasily in his chair, the vista of the Golden Gate Bridge visible behind him on Esteban’s viewscreen. “And I’ll divert the Tempest to Cinera Base immediately. Morrow out.”

Esteban rose from his chair in the Ready Room, straightened his uniform jacket, and made his way back to the Bridge.

Klingon Bird of Prey Kahless, Bridge Valkris strode onto the Bridge again, having performed a battle meditation and composed herself.

“Commander Reshtarc, by my own estimate we should have reached the coordinates I gave your navigator by now.”

Reshtarc spun in his command chair, similarly mollified since their last meeting. “Indeed we have, Milady. But it is a waste of time, for there is NOTHING out there.”

Valkris knew what was to come, but merely spoke slowly and deliberately. “Then you have nothing to fear, have you? Decloak the Kahless, it is time.”

Reshtarc looked puzzled. “It is time? Time for what? I tire of your constant rhetoric and games. And I tire of you!”

Valkris moved quickly to the defense console and deactivated the cloak herself, pushing the warrior manning the console aside. The warrior grabbed her and pinned her arms together, but the Kahless decloaked.

Before Reshtarc could react, the navigator spoke. “Commander! There is another Bird of Prey here!

We’re hailed.”

Reshtarc growled. “Grrrr... answer the hail!”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

The image of the feared Klingon Commander Kruge appeared on screen, the sound of his pet targ bellowing out from somewhere behind him. Kruge, whom Reshtarc had fought under. Kruge, the mighty.

Kruge, the valiant. And Kruge, the feared.

Reshtarc was stunned, but spoke. “Commander Kruge.”

Valkris bowed her head. “My Lord.”

Kruge sat in his command chair and laughed heartily. “Ah, Valkris. Beauty. And Reshtarc, my old comrade in arms. I bring you good news.”

Reshtarc stood and approached the viewscreen. “It is good to see you, Commander Kruge. With you working for us, the new Federation weapon will be ours.”

Kruge roared with laughter. “Oh, I don’t think so. I will not be working for you, but you will be working for ME.” Reshtarc was incredulous. He heard Valkris laugh behind him. “What?? But General Kaarg gave this mission to ME.” Valkris moved forward. “Silence, Reshtarc. Commander Kruge has been made Mission Commander for the entire Genesis weapon program. The High Council has removed General Kaarg.”

Reshtarc was shocked, and could not hide it. “Removed General Kaarg?”

Kruge’s voice came over the comm. “Permanently removed. Kaarg’s progress was found to be lacking. Severely. But no matter. If you care for his well being, you can pray to his soul in Sto-Vo-Kor.” Reshtarc was silent, then spoke deliberately and calmly. “Success, my lord.”

Kruge now stood and looked deadly serious. “Confirm for me, my dear Reshtarc. Is the tracking beacon implanted in ‘The Hand of God,’ our Chameloid agent, still broadcasting?“ Reshtarc grinned. “Confirmed, sir. We know exactly where the Starship Grissom will be at any given time.”

Kruge continued. “And Milady Valkris, you now know the location of this M’Pursong?”

Valkris bowed to her master and lover. “I believe so. There is a smuggler named Vego Maali who will know her whereabouts. They are partners in crime.”

Kruge spoke with authority. “Then here is how we will proceed. You, Valkris, will accompany Reshtarc and find this Vego Maali. Secure M’Pursong and retrieve the Genesis data for me. My own Bird of Prey will pursue the Grissom at a distance until you bring me the data.”

Valkris nodded and looked at Reshtarc. “As you wish, my lord Kruge. We will transmit the frequency for the tracking beacon implanted in the Chameloid agent ‘The Hand of God.’. You will be able to shadow Grissom easily.”

Kruge sat back in his command chair. “Excellent. Do not fail me, either of you.”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Bridge, U.S.S. Grissom “Captain, I have your call to the Alcyonian leadership ready. You’ll be speaking with Fleet Commander Kaymar Brixtin, of the Alcyonian High Command. He is the official in charge of their response to the Tarellian ‘incident.’ It’s a secure channel, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Childers. Go ahead and put him on screen.”

The image of a mature man with piercing green eyes and close-cropped grey hair appeared on the viewscreen. His crisply tailored deep orange uniform adorned with numerous colorful pins and ornaments reinforced his image as a career military leader. He spoke with a commanding, authoritative voice.

“Captain Esteban. On behalf of the Unified Leadership, I welcome you to Alcyone. I’m Fleet Commander Kaymar Brixtin. How may we be of assistance to Star Fleet?”

Esteban smiled inwardly at the underlying notion that he needed assistance from Alcyone or its planetary government. He reminded himself not to react to Brixtin’s arrogance.

“Fleet Commander. Thank you. The Grissom is a science and exploration vessel in Star Fleet. As such, we are offering assistance to your government to assist in the, umm... medical incident now going on up on your Lycus moon.”

Brixtin’s eyes and eyebrows arched involuntarily as he listened to Esteban, which did not escape Esteban’s notice. Brixtin and his command staff had suspected that the Grissom’s unplanned call at Alcyone was related to the Tarellian refugees at the Lycus Medical Center. However, it was clear that Esteban knew a bit more about the escalating problem there. He squared his shoulders.

“Captain Esteban. The Alcyonian High Command has put me in charge of this relatively minor medical contamination problem up on the Lycus moon. We appreciate your concern, but I believe we have things under control at the moment.”

Esteban chose his next words carefully. “Fleet Commander. Let me speak frankly. Star Fleet is aware of the entire scope of the problem you may be facing on your Lycus moon, and it’s no secret that this medical crisis is outside the range of Alcyonian biomedical research technology to deal with. It’s also possible that it is outside of our abilities, as well. But sir, let us help. We can replicate biomedical research equipment that may aid your scientists and medical teams in diagnosing the ‘problem’ and containing it. I also have extremely bright and well-trained science teams standing by aboard Grissom who can provide remote assistance, analysis and scientific guidance to you.”

Brixtin’s jaw worked silently, grinding his teeth together as he digested Esteban’s words. To Esteban, it was clear that Brixtin was torn between his need to keep the Tarellian incident under tight wraps, and his knowledge that he needed all the high-level assistance that Star Fleet and the Grissom could offer. Although it made him uneasy to let go of total control of the problem management, Brixtin knew Esteban was correct. Star Fleet did have significantly better research equipment and scientists than Alcyone could muster.

“Captain Esteban, I accept your offer of medical research assistance on this. And it is appreciated.

We both know the implications about the potential of an outbreak here, and what it means to the population of the Lycus moon, Alcyone, and even Star Fleet and the Federation. I hope you will also appreciate that we wish to keep this information contained to avoid unnecessary panic and transmission of anything beyond - 11 -

Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

the Lycus moon.”

Esteban noted that Brixtin looked somewhat relieved to have Grissom’s assistance on this. “Fleet Commander, both Star Fleet and I understand the need to keep this quiet and contained. My teams will be instructed accordingly. I will put you and your staff in contact with my chief medical officer, Dr. Vindi S’Raazh.”

“Thank you, Captain. My staff will be in touch directly. Brixtin out.” The screen went blank.

Esteban glanced around the Bridge and noticed all his crew were uncharacteristically silent.

Everyone present recognized that the Grissom was now involved in yet another very serious deadly mission, with the lives of millions at stake, including the crew of Grissom.

And so it begins, thought Esteban.

Briefing Room, U.S.S. Grissom Jonathan Esteban strode into the Briefing Room. He glanced around and saw his senior officers and several others at the conference table. Commander Stephanie Ottair, Lt. Lars ‘Thor’ Thorsen, Lt. Juan Casas, Vindi, and Lt. Saavik were there, with an anxious looking Dr. Windsor on the triangular tabletop viewscreen by remote relay. All side conversations ceased as he walked to his chair and sat down.

“Thanks everyone. Let’s get started. Dr. Windsor, can you hear us?”

“Yes, Captain Esteban. Go ahead. I have you all on monitor.”

“There’s a lot going on here, and I want to hear background and recommendations. I want to do what’s best for the workers there on the Lycus moon, and for us. And also, let’s not forget, for those Tarellian crash survivors, if we can. But, to be frank, Dr. Windsor, we’re currently on another mission, of higher priority, and we’ve already been delayed several times.” He paused; wondering if that had been the best thing to say right now. Done is done, he thought.

“Commander Ottair, can you provide everyone with a summary of how this mess all happened?”

Ottair stood up, and addressed the staff. “Three days ago, an unidentified ship crashed on Lycus, one of the moons of Alcyone. It appears the ship was having significant engine failure and was attempting to make a clandestine landing on the farside without being detected. Instead, they crashed. An automated distress beacon was picked up by the Alcyone Space Fleet, and a rescue team went in and transported 26 crash survivors and 8 dead to medical treatment on Lycus…. ” At that moment, the briefing room doors opened, and Michael Liebmann and Clive Saunders entered the room noisily, arguing about something. When they saw the meeting in progress, they both grew quiet.

Esteban glared at them. “Gentlemen. You’re late. Take a seat.” The pair sheepishly took seats at the table.

Esteban turned to the image of Dr. Windsor on the conference table viewscreen. “Dr. Windsor, I’ve also asked Drs. Liebmann and Saunders to be brought in on this because of their expertise in xenobiology and biological research methodologies, and especially Dr. Saunders' earlier work in genome analytics. “ Liebmann acknowledged Windsor briefly. Saunders, however, took time to admire the form of Dr. Windsor on the viewscreen, and gave her a brief tip of a non-existent hat and flashed her a cocky grin, which - 12 -

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she simply ignored.

Esteban turned again to Stephanie Ottair. “Commander, can you give us an overview of the determination of their origins.”

“Yes sir," she began. “The survivors initially indicated that they were a Krazelian merchant trading vessel, from a colony world in the Krazelia sector. They were put into an open medical ward at the Lycus Central Medical Center. Less than one day after the survivors were rescued, the Alcyone Space Fleet team investigating the crash determined that the ship was of an obscure Tarellian design, and their Tarellian status was verified by analysis of their flight path, computer configuration, and other methodology. They’d taken great pains to hide all links of their Tarellian origin, and there are virtually no biomedical differences between Krazelians and Tarellians because of their colonial origins. The crash survivors were immediately isolated, along with all medical and Space Fleet personnel that had come into contact with them. Over 375 people, including the Tarellians are currently being held in a large converted storage area in the Lycus Central Medical Facility... ” At the mention of the word “Tarellian” Michael Liebmann had sat bolt upright in his seat. He looked around the room, and observed the other people assembled. “Tarellian!?!” he thought. No one seemed to be concerned. These people are either ignorant about the deadly risk, or didn’t seem to care about it. They are fools, he though.

“Captain!” interrupted Liebmann, in a slightly high pitched voice on the edge of panic. “These people are Tarellian plague carriers? Why are we even getting involved in this? I for one didn’t sign on here to be nursemaid to some illegal disease-ridden refugees from a death ship. No way. Just quarantine everything, let the disease take its course, and be done with it.”

Clive Saunders glared at Liebmann in disgust and shook his head. Liebmann ignored Saunders, as he usually did. That idealistic fool Saunders will want to rush in there and try to save the day just to get his name in the news, thought Liebmann. And he’ll get us all infected and killed for trying.

“I note your opinion, Dr. Liebmann,” said Esteban dryly. He then quickly dismissed what he’d come to regard as Liebmann’s usual ‘me-first’ reaction to anything.

Esteban looked over to Lt. Saavik, his new Vulcan Science Officer. “Mr. Saavik, bring us up to speed on this giant moon colony.”

Lt. Saavik stood, tugged on her uniform, and began her report, in a very cool, neutral, straightforward voice. “The Lycus moon is the largest, by far, of Alcyones’ three moons. It is Class L/M, supports humanoid life within minimally pressurized underground settlements. It has been colonized by the Alcyonians for over 145 years, and supports a population of almost 60,000 permanent and 2,000 transient workers. The Lycus mining stations provide rare metals and minerals needed for Alcyone’s technologies.

The Lycus moon possesses a marginal atmosphere with slightly elevated carbon dioxide levels and abundant sunlight that makes it well suited as the primary agricultural colony for Alcyone, which has a much more clouded atmosphere.” She looked around, nodded, and then sat back down.

Esteban looked over to Lt. Juan Casas, his new security chief and Lt. Lars ‘Thor’ Thorsen, his trusted security operations chief. Casas was glancing rapidly back and forth at an information padd, scanning it for items. Thor was sitting calmly, as he usually did, simply listening attentively to the information being presented. Esteban chuckled to himself. He had no doubt that Thor was also acutely aware of every single action going on in the room. And probably already knew everything that was being presented.

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Because Esteban wanted to assess Lt. Casas’ abilities, he turned to him first.

“Lt. Casas, what can you tell us about the background on these people, their ships and the risks?”

Casas looked up from his data padd, flashed a quick smile, and then stood and delivered his report.

Only Thor noticed the sweat bead that trickled down Casas’ temple.

“Approximately 20 years ago, the warp capable, but non-Federation affiliated society on Tarellia IV erupted into a bloody and disastrous civil war. It divided along cultural and political lines, and became so intense that it rapidly escalated to the level of weapons of mass destruction, nuclear weapons, and bioweapons. Fifteen years ago, a bio-weapon was unleashed by one of the three political factions involved.

During the course of the next year, millions died. And then, the engineered bio-weapon mutated into a lethal plague that, over the course of the next two years or so, wiped out almost every single Tarellian on their world. The few remaining Tarellians, carriers of the plague itself, but immune to its effects, banded together and escaped from Tarellia in spaceships. They began showing up in Federation space 11 years ago. The first ships were welcomed as refugees, but on each planet and colony world where they settled, they brought the plague, which seems to affect all humanoid species. As word spread, they were denied access to all Federation worlds, and once their true status became known, they were uh... detained. Officially. In reality, it means that their ships are hunted down and destroyed upon sight. Unofficially.”

Esteban nodded. “Yes, tragic. For all involved. Thank you, Mr. Casas.” Esteban wondered aloud, “Can there be more of these plague ships still out there? It’s been more than 10 years.”

Casas glanced down at his padd once again, looked up and said, “Sir, it’s not clear from any data if there are any other plague ships. We just don’t know.”

“But what do YOU think, Mr. Casas?” asked Esteban, arching an eyebrow, and scrutinizing his new Security Chief.

“Uh, unknown, sir. There’s just no data. No way to know.”

“Okay, thank you. Lt. Thorsen, anything to add?”

The tall blond security ops chief rose silently from his chair with a grace unexpected for someone his size. He folded his arms behind his back and responded to the Captain’s question.

“This ship, the one that crashed on the Lycus moon, is probably not the last, in my opinion.

Tarellians, from what we knew about them prior to their civil war, had a lifespan of approximately 175 standard years. That’s one of the longest of any of the humanoid species. So it is indeed likely that other Tarellian refugees may yet be out there, fleeing and hiding in ships. And still very much alive. And probably carriers of the Tarellian plague. In my opinion, sir.”

Esteban nodded. “Thanks, Thor.” He noticed Lt. Casas looked annoyed, probably because Thorsen had analyzed and synthesized facts he hadn’t found. How does he do that?, wondered Casas, partly annoyed, but partly in admiration of the man. But both Casas and Esteban were thinking the same thing: Thor’s probably right.

Esteban turned to Dr. S’Raazh beside him. “Vindi, now the hard part. What are we possibly dealing with here? And how do we stop it if it is the Tarellian plague?”

The sleek Andorian didn’t rise to present her report, as the others had done. Instead, she leaned - 14 -

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back, in thought, and gave her report to no one in particular. Her casual manner belied the seriousness that she gave to the subject. It was just her style.

“Well, unfortunately, there’s not much to tell. The mechanism of the Tarellian plague is still unknown, even with modern analysis. It appears to be highly contagious, from tissue, bodily fluids, aerial dispersion, and other means. Once exposed and symptoms manifest, it is 100% lethal and 100% contagious to all known humanoid races. The course of the disease varies amongst the races and even among individuals of the same race. Even using strict containment protocols, early off world researchers were often infected. Only parasitic Regulan bloodworms are more feared by modern medicine.” The mention of the parasites sent shivers through those assembled.

“The progression of the diseases is this: exposure, a latency/dormant phase, then mild symptoms including fever and odd blood chemistry changes such as increased iron and copper levels in humans, although those symptoms are not specific to Tarellian plague. It then progresses to aches, cramping, nausea, coma, and then massive hemorrhaging of all the capillaries in the body. Followed by death.” Vindi paused.

“And, umm, after death, there is a rather gruesome final event...”

Liebmann, who had been listening with wide eyes and open mouth to the previous reports, could no longer contain himself upon hearing Dr. S’Raazh’s last statement. “Did you say even more gruesome than what you just described? I doubt it!” he exclaimed.

Vindi turned to Liebmann, and almost smirked, as she described to him what she had meant.

“Dr. Liebmann, immediately after death, the cellular destruction in the Tarellian plague victim’s body accelerates. Approximately 30 minutes after death, the body begins to rapidly produce organic decomposition gases, which collect in the body tissues and cavities, under the skin, as well as in the brain tissues. After several hours, this causes the corpse to literally explode. Violently. Contaminated blood, tissue, bodily fluids, and airborne pathogens are spewed everywhere, further spreading the disease.”

Liebmann sat back, looking horrified and almost deflated. “Ugggh, that’s disgusting!! And Captain, you’re even CONSIDERING us staying here? Or even helping these... these... lepers?”

Clive Saunders snorted in derision at Liebmann’s lack of compassion and scientific curiosity.

“That’s quite enough, Dr. Liebmann!” snapped Esteban.

“Dr. S’Raazh,” began Saunders, “perhaps we could do some analysis of the Tarellians, see if we can identify anything in their genetic structure that would allow us to conclusively determine if they are indeed carrying the plague. And if we do that, perhaps we could come up with some sort of vaccine or at least something to slow it down.”

“I started off in my xenobiology career analyzing genetic code and differences amongst the humanoid races in this quadrant. With the equipment that’s now available, we should be able to peer into their genetic structure and perhaps find a way to diagnose and prevent this disease.”

Liebmann jumped to his feet, his eyes wide with fear and emotion. “No, Captain Esteban! No! Absolutely not! No! I wish to register my most serious objection and grave concerns about this matter. Why am I even being brought into this? I’m not a medical doctor or infectious disease specialist. This is way above anything we are prepared to deal with here. You want my advice… Avoid it. Like the plague! Okay, not funny, but I mean it. Pretty soon, this Lycus moon and maybe even Alcyone is going to be just like every other planet those infectious Tarellians have gone to. And by that I mean a dead world. It’s just crazy for us - 15 -

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to get involved. Crazy!”

During Liebmann’s tirade, Thor had stood up and walked behind him. He put a hand on Liebmann’s shoulder, as a silent gesture to Liebmann that he needed to calm himself down. Liebmann looked up at Thor, opened his mouth to say more, saw the look on Thor’s face, then thought better of it. Thor nodded silently at Liebmann, then went back to his seat and quietly sat back down.

The voice of Dr. Windsor came from the speakers. In all the ruckus, the Grissom officers had almost forgotten she was there via viewer. “Captain Esteban, Dr. S’Raazh. These Tarellians claim that they’ve never been exposed to the Tarellian plague. They told us during their debriefing that they were off-world when the bio-weapons were unleashed upon the population during the Tarellian Civil War, and had no direct contact during the subsequent years. I don’t know if it’s true or not. They claim that they aren’t carriers of the disease, but it is such a difficult infection to diagnose in the early stages… until it becomes fully active in the body… and by then, as you know, it’s too late.”

Clive Saunders looked to the viewscreen and said, “If it’s true, that they’ve been exposed to it for the past 15 years, it would have probably manifested itself amongst them already, I would think.”

Windsor replied, “They say that none of their crew has ever died of the disease, nor have any of the 5 children born aboard ship since leaving the Tarellia system ever contracted it. “ Saunders thought about that. “So either they are carriers of the disease, or maybe they are all clean and were never exposed in the first place, as they claim. Talk about a medical ethics conundrum!”

Liebmann couldn’t contain himself. “They’re lying, of course! They’d say anything not to be… to be… exiled, or quarantined or incinerated, or whatever you do with people like them.”

Saunders whirled around in his seat to face Liebmann.

“People like WHAT, Libby? They’re people. They may be infected. We don’t know that. If they aren’t, you want to kill the 24 remaining people, maybe the last of their kind, just because you’re frightened and scared of them? And even if they are true carriers, then the population of the Lycus moon has already been exposed. In which case we can try to find something to stop it, or slow it down. Yes, we’d have to be very careful, use the strictest of isolation protocols and techniques. But perhaps we could help determine if they are indeed carriers, or not, and come up with something to prevent it if they are. Because that’s what we do, Libby. We’re scientists. We take on challenges. And we help people.”

Liebmann looked at Saunders as if he were mad. “Just leave them. If they are carriers, Lycus and the rest are dead already. We don’t need to risk ourselves or the ship!”

Saunders regarded Liebmann with a sad look. “You would rather run away, save yourself, and hide?

You're not a scientist, Libby, you're a coward. There's a chance --a chance-- even a small one, that we could save these people from death, or a witchhunt, or come up with some vaccine, but instead you've already given up-- because you're afraid! Libby, I've had quite enough of you already. Either help us save these people, or shut up and stay locked away, curled up in a trembling ball in your cabin. But DO NOT try to stop me from helping these people, and the Lycus moon colony, you poxy bastard!”

“Gentlemen!!” Esteban shouted. “Calm down, this is not helping the situation.”

Stephanie Ottair, who’d remained quiet during much of the discussion and the argument between Liebmann and Saunders, turned to Esteban. “Captain, one thing more. If they are indeed infected, then it - 16 -

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becomes our duty to inform Star Fleet Medical and the Federation immediately, and to keep it from spreading beyond Lycus and Alcyone. At all costs. Sir.“ She glanced toward Thor as she said the last words.

Thor caught her look, understanding her meaning.

Esteban groaned at the implications of Ottair’s statement.

Lt. Saavik cleared her throat, stood up and addressed the group.

“Alcyone is a Class J, Level 6 society, with several newly established interplanetary space trading routes. No ships have left the system in the past six days. Currently, all travel to and from the Lycus moon is embargoed until this situation is resolved. And for scale, the current population of the Lycus moon is approximately 62,134. Current population of Alcyone is…. 2.3 billion. News of the Tarellian… umm... incident… has not become public. Yet. The government will certainly try to contain that information as long as possible.”

Liebmann once again interrupted. “We have duties elsewhere, Captain! I don’t need to remind you that our ‘other’ mission is a top priority one. Let some other Star Fleet team handle this. That’s their job, not ours!”

Saunders, who was now red-faced with anger and contempt at Liebmann’s lack of compassion or mercy, exploded once more.

“Libby, you have the compassion of a Klingon dung worm and the morals and ethics to match.” He turned toward Vindi. “Dr. S’Raazh, don’t you agree we need to do some bioresearch NOW to try and see if we can determine if these people are indeed carrying the disease? If they are, we might be able to use all this Starfleet technology to identify something that might control it before it does get into the general population.”

Esteban glared at Liebmann and Saunders for a moment, and then spoke. “If you two cannot contain your personal animosity and prevent it from interfering with your professional opinion, which is ALL I want to hear, then leave! Now!” Saunders and Liebmann quit their arguing at Esteban’s sharp words. Both remained quiet, but glared at each other. They nodded in silent agreement to Esteban’s order.

Vindi S’Raazh wanted to do what she could to identify the disease and help these people. She glanced to the viewscreen and saw Laurie Windsor, who’d been observing all the back and forth arguing in silence.

She looked defeated already. In all the discussion the assembled had forgotten that Dr. Windsor had been exposed and was most likely infected by the plague. Vindi was going to do it for her friend, Laurie.

Esteban spoke again. “As I see it, we have several options and duties here. First, we WILL deliver medical equipment and supplies to Dr. Windsor on Lycus to help their staff analyze the problem. And Dr. Windsor, none of us here have forgotten your own personal concerns in this.”

Windsor reacted with emotion. “Thank you… Captain Esteban. I’ll let the Alcyonian High Command and the Lycus medical staff know. ” Esteban turned to the table and continued, “And Dr. Liebmann, as much as I hate to agree with you… you’re right. Our ‘other’ mission does take top priority.”

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Liebmann turned his head to Saunders and gave him a smug look. Saunders turned away, but said nothing.

“But Jonathan!!!” exclaimed Vindi.

“Vindi, let me finish. I am proposing that we allow you and your medical team, along with Dr. Saunders, to consult with Dr. Windsor remotely to help her in her research analysis to see if she can confirm whether the Tarellians are infected carriers or not. I have already been in contact with Starfleet to dispatch another vessel here ASAP. We can at least get a start on the research – especially when time is so precious here.”

“Thank you, Capt. Esteban,” exclaimed Windsor, visibly relieved at the outcome of this contentious briefing. “Even though the Alcyonians have early warp flight technology, as I mentioned, their medical and biotechnology skills are significantly lagging behind Federation standards. Any research assistance you can provide would be extremely important. And greatly appreciated. Especially if Dr. Saunders and Dr. S’Raazh can at least begin the genomic variance analyses.”

Saunders glanced towards Vindi. “We’ll need tissue samples up here, aboard Grissom, for that. Using total stasis and complete medical isolation field protocols, of course.”

Thor glanced quickly over to Cmdr. Ottair, who sat listening carefully, taking it all in. Ottair caught Thor’s glance, and discretely lifted her chin to signal to Thor her reluctant acceptance of the plan being developed. Thor turned his attention back to the briefing table, but remained seriously concerned about the risks to the Grissom’s crew, and his ability to protect them.

Vindi acknowledged Saunders’ request. “Yes, that’s true. But we can use the Exobiology Isolation Lab on Deck 8 with full containment fields and protocols to manage the Tarellian tissue samples. The risk of any infection is reduced to zero.”

Thor spoke. “You can never reduce the risks to zero in any situation, Dr. S’Raazh. I’ll want to work closely with your medical team to oversee the containment security and safety precautions.”

Vindi glared. Following the Murphy interrogation incident, she was not a big fan of Lt. Thorsen right now. However, what comes around goes around, she thought.

“You’re right, Thor, we can’t eliminate all risk, but we can make it as safe as possible. As this is a medical situation however, it is under my jurisdiction. I’ll assign Nurse Seán Murphy to monitor the containment situation, and you can answer directly to him.” Thor grimaced at Vindi’s suggestion, but understood her intention. This was her way of repaying him for his recent rather thorough interrogation of Murphy. “Yes, Doctor,” he acknowledged.

Stephanie Ottair addressed the group. “Then we’re agreed. I want to see each section’s report on my screen in the next 2 hours, max. Coordinate with your other division heads. And let’s keep the fact that this is Tarellian plague we may be dealing with on a ‘need-to-know’ basis – let’s call it an unidentified infectious disease outbreak. Unofficially. Strictest isolation practices, people. Dr. S’Raazh, Dr. Saunders, you’ll report your progress directly to me every 30 minutes, is that clear?”

Esteban sat back, with his fingertips templed at his mouth, watching his senior officers fall into action. He smiled to himself, proud of his team and how they’d reached a workable solution to an almost impossible, disastrous situation. He worried about what they might find.

- 18 -

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U.S.S. Grissom, in Orbit around the Lycus Moon of Alcyone Lt. Christopher Chattman finished reviewing his inventory checklist, and signaled to the crewman manning the cargo transporter station. “Transhipment 6-B, to Lycus. Go ahead. Energize.”

The massive cargo transporters whined into life and the pallet of medical goods and research equipment fizzled into transparency and was gone. Another shipment was completed.

“I’m reduced to being a cargo jockey,” thought Chattman.

Since the arrival of Lt. Saavik recently, he’d been assigned to various positions as needed. He had been demoted to Lieutenant as punishment, following the revelation that he’d smuggled a Tribble aboard Grissom, nearly causing a major shipwide operational disaster. With the recent crew injuries from the Tholian encounter, Lt. Graav needed all the help he could get in the Support Division. Hence, Chattman’s less-than-glamorous duties supervising the cargo bay and transporter support operations. He was a scientist, not a delivery man. But there was nothing he could do about it. Except regain the trust of his captain by performing his new duties well.

He checked over his cargo manifests. That was it. All delivered to the various research facilities on Alcyone and Lycus.

“Cargo Transporter Bay to Ottair.”

“Ottair here, go ahead.”

“Lt. Chattman reporting all transhipments have been successfully received by the planet and the Lycus moon facilities.”

“Acknowledged, Lt. Chattman.”

“Anything need to be done on the research project down on Deck 8? I’m available, you know.”

“Umm… I don’t think so, Chattman. But if things come up, I’ll make sure you get a shot at it,” said Ottair.

Despite the Tribble incident, she felt sorry for the guy, but they were keeping personnel to a minimum in the Exobiology Lab. Plus, Chattman had pushed the limits of the Captain’s patience recently, and he could do with some time away from Esteban.

“Oh. Alright then,” said Chattman, somewhat dejectedly. “Chattman out.”

I guess that means I’m stuck down here doing grunt work, he thought. He picked up the data padd and headed out of the cargo transport bay. “May as well hit the rec room,” he said, to no one in particular.

He left the cargo bay and made his way down the corridor in the direction of the rec room. But then he changed his mind. He retraced his steps and made his way towards the quarters he shared with Aabin and Sharon DeLonghi. No, not DeLonghi, he remembered. He felt a stab of pain. Sharon was dead, killed by the Tholians, and here he was whining about his problems.

He came to their quarters and entered. The lighting in the bunkroom was low, very low, and Aabin, - 19 -

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freshly discharged from ICU, lay resting upon his bunk. Chattman looked at DeLonghi’s empty bunk, and at her kit, neatly assembled on top of it by Yeoman Fernando for dispatch to her family on Earth whenever this mission was over. He sighed.

He looked at Aabin sleeping. Aabin stirred and looked at Chattman, yawning and stretching.

“Christopher,” he said, smiling up at Chattman. “I thought you were going to the rec room after your shift?”

He sat up slightly. Chattman sat beside Aabin on the bunk. “I was, but then I got to thinking about you.”

Aabin smiled, and touched Chattman’s face. ‘That’s nice to know.”

Chattman felt the now familiar surge of pheromones, but did not fight them, and relaxed into it at Aabin’s touch. Chattman whispered now, even though they were alone. “I think about you a lot. All the time now actually.”

Aabin leaned in to kiss Chattman chastely on the lips. He kissed him and then leaned back. “I think about you always, my Christopher.”

Chattman stood and began to undress. “I think that it’s time, Aabin, to take this ‘thing’ of ours to the next level.”

Aabin looked frightened. “Christopher, I want to, more than anything, but I’m afraid I might hurt you.

I don’t want to harm you, but I might overwhelm you.”

Chattman’s uniform fell to the floor. “Then overwhelm me, Aabin. Because right now, I’m more afraid of losing you than anything else.”

Aabin lay back, and as Chattman took him in his arms, they exploded in a kaleidoscope of passion and emotion.

U.S.S. Grissom, Exobiology Isolation Laboratory, Deck 8 Nurse Seán Murphy stood with his back to the wall inside the Exobiology Isolation Lab on Deck 8. He looked down at the field tricorder readings being displayed, and shook his head in frustration. The lab’s isolation fields were not aligning properly. Each time he calibrated one, the others moved out of the precise resonance pattern required for the energy fields to work together to produce the containment and stasis fields required for the safe handling of infectious materials. “And when we’re dealing with Tarellian plague samples... there isn’t any room for error,” he thought to himself.

Murphy scratched his short, sandy hair in frustration, and then decided he needed to get the big guns in Engineering involved in the matter. Even though he had qualified in biomedical engineering prior to working in clinical care, he knew he needed some assistance at this point. “Not going to risk the researchers or the entire ship becoming exposed,” he thought. He punched a toggle on the communications panel.

“Deck 8 Exobiology Isolation Lab to Engineering. This is Murphy. What’s going on with the medical isolation field generators in here?”

“Engineering here. This is Cadet Charteris. Hold on, Murphy, let me see if Chief Ottair is aware of the problem,” came the reply from the speaker console.

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“Thanks, Charteris. I know you’re busy down there, too, but this is priority,” said Murphy. “Ask the Chief to check the emitters – I think there could be an issue with the collumnator array – the isolation resonation patterns are off by -3.27 units. Could be that the resonation granularity hasn’t been hard locked by her engineering crew. That’s my guess, anyway.”

“I thought you were a nurse, Murphy? You sound more like an engineer there,” said Cadet Charteris, playfully.

“I’m more than a pretty face, darling. Someone’s got to make it all work, don’t you know. Have the Chief get back to me as soon as she can, okay? Murphy out.”

Seán turned to check his tricorder, and was startled to see the tall, hulking form of Lars Thorsen standing next to him, watching him silently.

“Jaysus, Thor, you startled me!” said Murphy. “How did you creep up on me like that? For someone so big, you move like a cat!”

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment,” replied Thor, dryly. “Dr. S’Raazh has asked me to report to you.”

Murphy nodded, focusing on his work. “That’s correct,” he said, his lips forming into a slight grin. He continued working, focused on the tricorder readout and ignored Thor.

Thor coughed. “There seems to be a need to clear the air, Murphy.”

“Is there indeed?” said Murphy, sarcastically.

“Look, you somehow knew there was a dead Romulan on board our ship when nobody else did, and claimed some mysterious Ensign told you about it. Can you blame me for being suspicious? I was just doing my job.”

Murphy turned to Thorsen. “I don’t blame you for anything, Lieutenant. Sure. You did your job.

Pretty thoroughly. Now, I just want to do my job; do my work; date MY girlfriend...

Thor's eyes widened at that.

“Yes, Thor, Monica Gerber, MY girlfriend,” continued Murphy; enjoying the small, but sharp reaction he was getting out of Thorsen. “So Thor, I basically want to ignore you to the best of my ability in matters not related to work. ¿Comprende, amigo?”

“Completely,” said Thor, quietly. He refused to let Murphy see how his words had stung him. Thor straightened up, and, changing the subject, focused on the work at hand.

“The containment field situation needs to be analyzed carefully.”

Murphy acknowledged Thor’s statement with a nod, and returned his attention to the field emitter and tricorder.

Thorsen watched Murphy continue to work on the complex circuitry of the medical containment field equipment and emitters. He knew Murphy was smart, and from the conversation with Engineering he’d - 21 -

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just overheard, Murphy was also well trained in both the medical and engineering fields. Thorsen was well trained in tactical strategy, yet he was having problems coming to terms with the complicated mess that the silly competition for the attention of Ensign Garber had become.

Thor considered the matter from a strategic viewpoint. Murphy was definitely intelligent. But so was he. So that was a wash. Thorsen also knew that Murphy was handsome and attractive, but not more so than Lars knew he himself was. Actually, Lars thought, Murphy’s lean, trim form could use a bit more of a rigorous workout and muscular development, but then, some women liked them scrawny, he supposed.

Still, it frustrated him that most women in general, and the lovely Lt. Gerber in particular, never seemed to follow simple analytical facts. Most women other than Stephanie Ottair, he corrected himself.

Although there was nothing romantic between himself and Lt. Ottair, Thor admired her greatly.

Thor admitted to himself that Murphy was much more social and outgoing that he was, which was something Thor would never be (although he sometimes wished he could be). But he also felt many women prefer a calmer, more stable and thoughtful type, like himself, rather than the always on, constantly performing personality of Murphy.

Thorsen had never had a problem attracting women (or men, for that matter). Yet Lars was perplexed about Ensign Gerber’s refusal to see this clearly. Tactically, he had the upper hand over Murphy in most of these qualities, and yet Monica Gerber was still flirting with both men, or maybe was indeed now in a formal relationship with Murphy. It just wasn’t logical… he definitely had the better qualities that should make her desire him over Murphy. And why did it anger him so much that Murphy was with her? What seemed so straightforward in tactical exercises and strategic games just didn’t seem to work for him when it came to women. They made no sense to him sometimes. And yet…

Across the worktable, Seán Murphy noticed that Thor seemed distracted for a moment. He waited a few seconds, and then asked, “Did you need something, Thor?”

“Uh, I was just checking on the status of the setup of the isolation and quarantine areas here,” said Thor, kicking himself for being caught off-guard by Murphy and by something as trivial as the testosteronefuelled competition for the attention of the delightful Lt. Gerber.

Murphy eyed him questioningly, and then nodded. “Okay, everything is ready to go here, Thor, except for the final resonance alignment of the medical containment fields. I’m working with Engineering on that, and hope to have it resolved very shortly. Once that happens, we can transport the tissue samples directly into the analysis chamber, with concurrent generation of the security field, stasis generator, and medical containment field systems. And the samples will be isolated using all Level One biocontainment protocols. All procedures will be done remotely, with no direct exposure to the Tarellian tissue and body fluids samples,” said Murphy. Thor nodded.

“Oh, and please make sure to note all this on the data padd, Thorsen,” said Murphy, enjoying his chance to repay Thorsen for the recent unpleasant interrogation session. Thor shot Murphy an annoyed look, but said nothing.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Lieutenant, but you are supposed to be reporting to me in this instance, right?”

Thorsen looked at Murphy for a moment before responding. “Yes, sir,” said Thorsen, quietly, holding back from his voice any emotion he was feeling. He began entering data onto his padd.

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Murphy observed Thorsen as the security man entered the report. What did Monica Gerber find so interesting about this man, he wondered? Sure, he was a tall, handsome, well-built muscular man, but he always seemed so cold and analytical about everything. Murphy knew from working with Thorsen that he was sharp, intelligent, and brave. But Murphy also knew women wanted men who appreciated them, made them feel like they were the center of attention, and men who were funny, warm, and responsive. Seán knew that he was certainly all that, and Thorsen was not. And yet... it was obvious that Monica was still interested in flirting with Thorsen. Although he had exaggerated the extent of his relationship with her to Thorsen, in order to make him angry, he had no doubt that Monica Gerber would soon be his exclusive girlfriend.

Murphy was frankly puzzled by it, because usually he could charm just about anyone with his personality, wit, and blarney. And he definitely wanted to make lovely, sexy Monica only interested in him.

When all this Tarellian stuff was over, that was going to be his next challenge, to make Monica forget all about Thorsen and any other man onboard Grissom, except himself.

“Murphy? Murphy!” said Thorsen, looking at him with an odd look. “I said, what’s the completion time for the final field testing?” Murphy focused on Thorsen and realized the man was speaking to him. Now it was his turn to be a bit flustered.

“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about the... um... calibration variances. Let’s see, these should be done within the next 20-30 minutes.”

“Excellent. I’ll note that in our technical notes. Finish up, then we’ll report to Dr. S’Raazh, Commander Ottair, and the Captain that we’re ready to proceed with the isolated tissue transfer.”

Bridge: U.S.S. Grissom Lt. Childers was coding a personal log entry, something he should not be doing while on duty, when he noticed that there was an incoming message from the Alcyonian government that needed his attention.

He quickly closed his personal log and acknowledged the message, wondering how long it had been in the queue.

“Captain, incoming message from Alcyonian High Command.”

Esteban looked up and signaled for him to put it through.

“This is Fleet Commander Kaymar Brixtin, Alcyonian High Command staff,” said Brixtin, very formally.

“Ah, Fleet Commander. Good to hear from you again. I was about to contact your government and tell them that we’ve completed our transhipment of equipment and supplies to Lycus.”

Brixtin flinched somewhat on screen, which surprised Esteban. However, Brixtin’s next words clearly explained why his face was under stress.

“Captain Esteban. By order of the Alcyonian High Command and the Unified Government of Alcyone, I am placing your vessel and crew under medical quarantine, and placing you and your ship under our command. Alcyone is now a Federation world, and I believe it is your obligation to obey our quarantine order. You will maintain your orbital position unless you receive permission from Alcyone flight operations to alter it.”

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Esteban cursed under his breath, then took a deep breath, stood up, and addressed the viewscreen.

“Fleet Commander, surely you know that you don’t have the jurisdictional authority to quarantine my ship, a Star Fleet vessel. So let’s just end that folly right here and now. We’ve gone above and beyond providing your people with medical and research equipment, supplies, and lab support. We will NOT, however, be subject to your quarantine, nor will we follow your orders as they pertain to this ship or crew.”

Brixtin looked conflicted. Esteban wondered if Brixtin was caught in a government political play. If he was a career military, he might find this political posturing distasteful. “Captain Esteban, I assure you, we appreciate your help and assistance to date, but we cannot allow you to leave. I repeat: the Starship Grissom is now under Alcyonian jurisdiction and is quarantined. Alcyonian High Command will enforce that while you are in our space, whether you like it or not.”

Esteban sighed to himself. He was going to have to play rough now. So be it.

U.S.S. Grissom, Exobiology Isolation Laboratory, Deck 8 The Exobiology Isolation Lab was silent except for the electronic background noises of the various devices and machinery. Seán Murphy involuntarily held his breath as the tissue samples materialized behind three levels of cascading medical isolation fields, and into the analysis chamber they had constructed in the exobiology laboratory. He didn’t know it, but Vindi, Saunders, and Liebmann, who were also in the laboratory, were holding their breaths as well.

“Containment fields functioning with only 0.0001 distortion variance. Well done, Murphy!” exclaimed Saunders, reading data from a tricorder sitting on the workstation. “All samples delivered and contained. We can begin the genomic analyses now.”

Vindi directed the men to their work stations. She glanced over at Liebmann, who looked as if he were about to faint. “Everything alright, Dr. Liebmann?”

“Yes, yes, just peachy keen, Dr. S’Raazh. I just want to get this done and get the hell out of here,” said Liebmann, nervously. “Let’s get on with it.”

Suddenly, a shout came from Saunders. “Oh my god, I just dropped a sample! It in here with us!” he exclaimed, drawing back in mock horror.

“WHAT!?” screeched Liebmann, backing away from the work area in panic, nearly falling over equipment and chairs to get away. He was halfway to the door when he heard Saunders laugh.

“Hehehe, got you, Libby! Relax. Everything is contained. The hard part is over. Just do your work,” said Saunders smugly.

Vindi gave Saunders a sharp disapproving glance, which dissolved into a smirky grin that she kept hidden from Liebmann. Murphy laughed to himself, as well. He was no fan of the annoying, pompous Dr. Liebmann, either.

Vindi went down her listing. “Saunders, prep and initiate the samples for the others, and then begin your genomic sequencing analysis. Murphy, prepare the broad spectrum analysis and cultures we delineated. Liebmann, once you have your tissue samples, go ahead and begin the mitochondrial variation analysis. I’ll supervise the baseline analyses against the Federation medical and physiology databases. And don’t forget, we need to report our progress to Commander Ottair, too.”

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“Let’s get to work.”

Unnoticed by any of the research team as they went about their duties, was a lone figure standing outside the Exobiology Lab, watching them curiously and with great interest through the lab’s wall window.

He was dressed as a crewman, but was not part of the Grissom’s complement. The man was, in fact, the same person who had just recently told Nurse Seán Murphy about the dead Romulan. And, indeed, was the crewman who had appeared aboard the Starliner just prior to the Ch’ramaki incident. This mysterious stranger had a habit of turning up at some of the most challenging and dangerous times for Grissom and its crew. And now, he was focusing his attention squarely on the researchers inside the Exobiology Lab as they prepared to work on the possibly deadly Tarellian tissue samples.

Bridge: U.S.S. Grissom Esteban had been arguing with Fleet Commander Brixtin for nearly 30 minutes over his outrageous demand that the Grissom submit itself to Alcyonian quarantine. “Not bloody likely,” thought Esteban.

“Captain,” said Lt. Sato, who was the Navigator on duty. “I’m seeing approximately 23 Alcyonian vessels beginning to vector into our orbit.” She tried to contain her amusement as she reported. “It’s as if they’re trying to sneak up on us, sir. Ha!” Esteban shook his head, grimly amused. “Esteban to Brixtin. Please inform your ships to back off.

Don’t let this escalate, Fleet Commander. You’ve got enough problems with your medical crisis. You don’t need to make enemies out of us.”

Esteban turned to Childers, and signaled him to cut audio transmission. He then punched his armchair console button. “Bridge to Commander Ottair.”

“Ottair here.”

“Chief, I’m going to need impulse engines and low-level phasers in, oh, two minutes. Just a heads up.”

“Ready when you are, Captain,” said Ottair.

Esteban looked up to address the Bridge crew. “Childers, signal Yellow Alert. Let’s keep alert, folks.”

Lt. Sato reviewed her tactical screens. “Sir, Alcyonian vessels continuing to surround us. They appear to be tightening up formation…. WHOA! They have Class 5 phasers! Where the hell did they get those?”

“Okay, enough of this,” said Esteban. “Childers, open a channel to Brixtin.”

“Go ahead, Captain,” said Childers, after a few moments.

Esteban spoke, now more than a little annoyed, and growing tired of the posturing by the Alcyonian military leader. “This is U.S.S. Grissom to Fleet Commander Brixtin!”

“Brixtin here, Captain Esteban.”

“Fleet Commander, have your ships stand down NOW. I don’t want anyone getting hurt here, and by - 25 -

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that, I mean you and your people.”

“Captain, I think it is YOU who are at a disadvantage. We have you outnumbered and outgunned.

Even though these are older, smaller vessels, I think you’ll find them quite well outfitted, even by Starfleet standards. So it is you who will need to stand down.”

Sato reacted. “Sir, half the vessels are closing to tighter formation. It appears… SIR, THEY’RE FIRING!” At that moment, several heavy phaser blasts impacted hard upon the Grissom’s shield as the Alcyonian Space Fleet vessels concentrated fire upon them from multiple vessels. The ship was rocked violently. The lights on the Bridge flickered briefly, went out momentarily, and then came back on. Several of the Bridge crew were thrown to the floor, and were now scrambling to make their way back to their stations. No one appeared injured, although there were several groans and moans. Several consoles had shorted out, but appeared to be under control. A thin layer of smoke rose toward the ceiling of the Bridge, accompanied by an acrid odor. The loud emergency klaxon blared across the Bridge. Esteban looked around the Bridge quickly, and saw that everyone appeared to be okay.

“Damn!” said Esteban, now thoroughly focused on getting the situation under control. “Go to Red Alert! Conn, evasive maneuvers, half impulse! Weapons, prepare to target and fire upon the Alcyonian ships.

Minimal damage. Target their weapons systems only, if possible. Just show them we can. Fire at will!”

Grissom’s phaser banks discharged multiple times, striking each of the Alcyonian vessels that had fired upon the Grissom. Although they possessed fairly decent phaser upgrades, the Alcyonian shielding was still of lesser capacity, and the precise shots from the Grissom buckled their shields almost instantly. Only Esteban’s order to inflict minimal damage prevented them from being ruptured or destroyed.

“Cease fire,” said Esteban. “Now, get me Fleet Commander Brixtin again.”

Childers worked his console and several seconds later gave the go-ahead to Esteban, who turned to the viewscreen, which now displayed a very flustered Fleet Commander Brixtin. He looked at Esteban, fury and exasperation in his eyes. He knew he’d been beaten.

“Fleet Commander Brixtin. Shall we talk now?”

U.S.S. Grissom, Exobiology Isolation Laboratory, Deck 8 Vindi S’Raazh, Michael Liebmann, and Seán Murphy had been standing silently behind Clive Saunders, their attention directed to a suspended wall monitor. Saunders was directing robotic manipulators and preparing to inject a microsample of Tarellian biological tissue into the genomic sequencer unit. The biomedical containment fields made a slight blurring effect when observed directly, but the image on the overhead monitor was magnified and enhanced and appeared crystal clear for Saunders.

Just as the microforceps were closing around the Tarellian tissue slice, there was a loud explosion and multiple jarring impacts that rocked the laboratory violently, knocking Saunders out of his seat and to the ground. The other members of the research team were thrown across the lab by the impact of multiple phaser impacts on shields. Glass and metal crashed. The lights flickered, went off, and then came back on, first to a dim red as emergency backups, and then full lighting. A klaxon blared overhead.

Murphy was the first to stand up, dazed, and he helped Vindi to her feet. Liebmann slowly rose, - 26 -

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rubbing his forehead, where a small trickle of blood played down his temple. A loud electronic beeping sound came from the isolation chamber. The containment fields were flickering on and off, in a bluish fog.

The team members all looked at it for less than a second, and then Vindi shouted, over the noise of the klaxon, “We need to get out of here, now!” She motioned for them to get over to the laboratory door.

Just as they approached the door, Murphy noticed Saunders wasn’t with them. “Where’s Clive?” he shouted.

Liebmann saw Saunders’ arm sticking out next to the genomic sequencer station. The impact had knocked Saunders from his seat and underneath the workstation. Without thinking, Liebmann turned from the door and ran over to Saunders. He pulled the unconscious Saunders out from the equipment, and half dragged, half carried him out of the laboratory and into the vestibule where the others only now were realizing that both Saunders and Liebmann were missing. The door hissed closed and sealed behind them.

Vindi had barely had time to react to Liebmann’s rush back into the laboratory, and now looked down as Liebmann deposited Saunders on the floor. Both Vindi and Murphy immediately dropped to the floor to assist Saunders. Liebmann, coming down off his adrenaline-fuelled rush, sank slowly to the floor.

He felt nauseous.

Vindi passed one of her many whirring portable diagnostic devices over Saunders’ inert form. She relaxed a bit. “He’ll be okay,” she said.

A few moments later, Saunders’ eyes fluttered as he came back to consciousness with a growl and a bit of moaning about a headache. Looking around, and seeing where he was, he looked confused and asked what had happened.

“I think we were hit,” said Murphy. “We went to Yellow Alert, and then there were those massive jolts, and everything blacked out. Then we went to Red Alert, and I heard the phasers firing. It’s quiet now.”

Saunders looked over to see Vindi staring through the glass window into the Exobiology Isolation Lab. She looked to the group.

“Do we know if the isolation shields held?” she asked Murphy, quietly.

Murphy was already working on it. “I’m checking the data readouts remotely. Hold on,” he said, as he examined an engineering tricorder that displayed complex looking data logs. He viewed the multiple data readings, backed up, and reviewed them several times.

“Well?!” demanded Liebmann, now fully alert. “Yes or no?”

“Um, well,” hedged Murphy. “It appears that there was a brief instant when all three backup fields were not in resonance. But only for 0.121 seconds. So, realistically, I’d say we’re all safe. The chance of exposure was virtually nil.”

Vindi nodded. “Yes, I concur. The normal isolation chamber will have contained any errant pathogens. And if the isolation fields were only down for about 1/10th of a second. I’d agree, Seán.” Still, Vindi looked a bit nervous and shaken at the news.

“Should we take some medicine or something, just in case?” asked Liebmann, somewhat frantically.

“Oh, give it a rest, Libby,” said Saunders dismissively, still looking a bit pale and disoriented.

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Murphy turned to Saunders and said flatly, “Dr. Saunders, perhaps a bit more consideration for Dr. Liebmann is in order.”

Saunders shot a questioning look to Murphy. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Who do you think went back into the lab and pulled you out?” asked Murphy.

Saunders looked like he’d been hit by the proverbial ton of bricks. And for once, he was speechless.

Just down the hallway from the Exobiology Lab, but unobserved by any of the researchers in their excitement and confusion of the past few minutes, stood the mysterious crewman. He observed all the events that took place in the lab during the brief Alcyonian attack, and also keenly watched the aftermath as the crew picked themselves up, exited the lab, and examined their instrument recordings. All was happening as he had foreseen it. All was in accordance with the recorded history of the Grissom. After watching silently for a few minutes more, he simply vanished.

Lycus Moon, Farside On the farside of the Lycus moon, two Alcyonian Space Fleet ships dropped silently down from orbit to cruise over the crash site of the Tarellian spacecraft, far below.

“Messengers to Fleet Command. Permission to deliver the goods, Command,” requested the pilot of one of the ships.

“Permission granted for two deliveries, Messengers. Activation codes transmitted. Please confirm.”

“Command, confirming two live packages. Commencing delivery.”

“Acknowledged, Messengers.”

The two ships dropped even lower, and each released one small missile towards the Lycus moon surface, 10 kilometers below. They then rapidly climbed to a higher flight level and streaked away. Less than 10 seconds later, a blinding white light engulfed the crash site on the surface below. Unseen by the pilots, but confirmed by their instrumentation as the harsh light faded and the smoke and debris settled, all that remained of the crash site was a smooth, barren crater more than a kilometer across.

“Messengers to Command, packages delivered and signed for.”

Kaymar Brixtin shook his head sadly and turned away from the tactical ops station. He walked over to his special communicator and punched the special button outlined in magenta.

“Brixtin to Unified Government Communications Center. Orders carried out. Crash site destroyed by two fusion devices.”

Brixtin closed the channel, and glanced up at the monitor now display a close-up satellite view of the bomb site. “That’s one part of this mess taken care of,” he thought, sadly.

Brixtin then turned his attention to ponder a bigger and much nastier problem. How to safely and effectively deal with the Tarellians and the exposed population up on the Lycus moon.

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Lycus Central Medical Center, Quarantine Area Dr. Laurie Windsor and Dr. Hashmin Teernig sat together in a corner of the former medical storage warehouse that had been converted into a locked-down isolation ward. Over 375 medical personnel were being held in quarantine. Nearby, another isolation facility housed the 32 remaining Tarellians. Food, water, and supplies were beamed in and out of the facility. So far, no one had developed any unusual symptoms of the Tarellian plague. But everyone was worried and on edge.

Laurie Windsor sat quietly sipping the Alcyonian equivalent of tea. She was deep in thought. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought about her two children and husband, back home on Mars. She wondered if she would ever see them again. So far, the Alcyonian government was blocking all calls and transmissions, so she couldn’t even talk to them. She had already recorded a farewell message to them, and to her husband. She never thought a simple 2 month boring Federation administrative review would end up being a deadly assignment.

Dr. Teernig looked at Laurie Windsor, sitting on the edge of her cot, and sighed heavily. “I still have over 375 people stuck in here, all on the verge of panic… and I feel so bad for you, dear. Like my staff, you are an innocent player caught up in all this.”

Laurie smiled wanly at Dr. Teernig. The older woman meant well, but it did little to comfort Laurie.

Nearby, a dozen Alcyonian troopers were standing silent guard. One officer was listening intently to his radio unit. He completed his radio communication, then called the others over to him Laurie noticed, and stood up, casually making her way towards the guards, hoping to hear what they were discussing. She pretended to be folding clothes as she inched her way closer, not letting on she was listening in. “… quietly and without panicking them. I’ve sent a bioteam in to gather up the Tarellian possessions and supplies, and shortly another team will go in and rustle them up and assemble them in the beam-out area in Corridor K. When you go in there, make sure you have full containment gear and all filters working.

Afterwards, report to decontamination. No exceptions.”

One of the troopers raised his hand. “Sir, after they get rid of the Tarellians, what are they going to do about the medical people here?”

The officer glanced at the trooper for a few moments, then simply said, “Trooper, just do your job, do what you’re told and don’t ask questions.”

Laurie was shocked. She inched her way back to her cot near Dr. Teernig and sat down. “They’re planning on taking the Tarellians away, Hashmin. Maybe even killing them.”

Hashmin Teernig looked as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “Gods no. I was afraid it might come to this, but I never thought it could.”

Laurie Windsor looked her in the eye. “You know then, of course, that after they get rid of the Tarellians, they are going to have to get rid of us?”

Hashmin held Laurie’s gaze for a moment, and then nodded silently. Yes, she’d known it. She was just hoping it wouldn’t really happen. She sat down slowly on her own cot, unable to deal with it anymore.

She covered her face in her hands and sobbed quietly.

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Laurie got up quietly and went over to the medical instrumentation she had gathered into her area of the quarantine facility. Without drawing attention to herself, she removed the backing of one of the laboratory instruments that had been beamed in by the Grissom earlier in the day. Tucked into a small panel was a Federation communicator. Dr. S’Raazh had placed it there for use in a dire emergency. It emitted a tight-beam, coded signal that would be difficult for the Alcyonians to trace --- for a while.

She smiled a wan smile. With determination and a feeling of regaining some small amount of control in her life, she activated the communicator and attempted to contact Grissom. She needed to tell them exactly what the Alcyonians were planning to do about their “problem.” Someone had to know. And maybe, she thought, just maybe, they can stop it before it’s too late.

U.S.S. Grissom, Briefing Room The Briefing Room was in a state of excited tension – about as close to chaos as it ever got. People were talking animatedly to each other. The Briefing Room doors swished open, and Capt. Esteban entered, followed closely by Lt. Ottair and Dr. S’Raazh. The room went silent, as everyone dove for their chairs.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” said Esteban. “We’ve just learned that the Alcyonians are planning to round up the Tarellians and somehow dispose of them in some half-assed attempt to stop the plague. Doesn’t make sense, I know. Sounds like some politicos are involved now. We’re going to try and monitor what is happening on the Lycus moon, and down at the Alcyonian High Command.”

Saunders spoke first. “Do we know how they plan to do this? Can we beam them here, to Grissom, using some of that isolation shielding that we used for the tissue samples? Maybe we could…”

Esteban jumped in to the conversation, eager to stop that line of thought. “No, Dr. Saunders, we will not be beaming anyone aboard the Grissom. We can’t risk exposing the ship, and we can’t erect and maintain a containment field that large in any case.”

“Sir, perhaps we could use several shuttlecrafts as a temporary isolation area. It’s only 25-some people,” suggested Lt. Casas.

Esteban smiled. Yes, that’s what I want, good ideas. Unfortunately, Casas didn’t know the rest of the story.

“Lt. Casas, that’s good thinking, but sadly, the Alcyonians apparently plan to dispose of not only the Tarellians, but also their own potentially infected medical staff and military personnel as well. We don’t have facilities for 400-plus people. And again, they may indeed be infected with the plague.”

The room erupted in a chorus of angry and horrified comments. Esteban raised his voice. “People! I understand your outrage at this, but we need some constructive ideas. I will be contacting the Alcyonian government in a few minutes to let them know we are on to them, but in the interim, we need to monitor the situation, and come up with ways to delay them until Star Fleet and the Federation can get involved directly.”

Vindi turned to Esteban and spoke. “Jonathan… Captain Esteban. We must stop this. Our tests indicate that these Tarellians are disease free. They are not infected with the plague. Instead of hunting them down and destroying these few remaining people, the Alcyonians and Star Fleet should work with them to study and analyze the plague. And using these healthy Tarellians, perhaps they can develop some - 30 -

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vaccine against it. Perhaps if previous contacts had tried to research the disease first, a vaccine or understanding of the disease might have been found by now. ” Esteban nodded to his Chief Medical Officer. “Those are good points, Vindi. I’ll communicate them to Star Fleet and the Alcyonians. Let’s see if we can get them to listen to us.”

Lycus Central Medical Center, Tarellian Storage Area “Wow, they have a lot of stuff here. Good stuff!” said the voice of one of three troopers assigned to collect the belongings of the Tarellians and bring it to the staging area in the center of the quarantine facility. They were making their way through the unorganized storage area, placing objects into several large carts.

“Just get it loaded, guys. Don’t worry about sorting it. It’s all going to be destroyed anyway,” called out the voice of the trooper in the lead.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Subleader! Sheesh, we always get these crap assignments.” The other two troopers murmured agreement as they worked their way through the storage area, tossing various items into the carts that floated behind them on antigrav skids.

As the trooper bringing up the rear lifted a box of personal possessions to toss it into the cart, a golden tube encrusted with glittering patterns in silver, about half a meter long and as thick as his wrist, fell out from beneath a small box. The trooper’s eyes widened. “Yes!” he thought to himself. “Found me something to make this shit job worthwhile.” Glancing to see that none of his other fellow grunts had seen him, he took the tube and stuffed it into his belt, inside his tunic jacket. He’d open it later, to see what loot it contained. The trooper continued loading the Tarellian personal belongings into the cart, and when it was full, he guided it back to the designated transport area.

“Okay, Trooper, good job. Go on and report to decontamination now, and then get some grub,” said the officer in charge of the Tarellian assembly area to him. He grunted assent and moved towards the decontamination areas that had been set up for the Alcyonian military teams.

However, instead of reporting to the decontamination area immediately, where he was sure his found treasure would be sure to be confiscated (and he’d probably be punished, as well), he instead darted out a side exit of the holding area that opened into the primary medical facility (ignoring all the warning signs and tape indicated that exiting was prohibited). Once into the medical center proper, he slipped into an unoccupied patient room, locked the door, and examined his prize.

It was an ornately decorated tube, which appeared to be sealed with a bead of golden solder. Inside the tube, he could hear and feel items rattling inside. Precious jewels, coins, and other valuable objects, he guessed. With little care to the beautifully decorated exterior of the tube, he banged it against the doorframe until the tube cracked along the seal, and then pried open the golden tube.

Inside, instead of the expected jewels, precious metals and coins, he found, to his disgust, several minor objects: a simple silver ring, a dried up object that looked like someone’s finger, a piece of parchment with something written in an ornate alien script that he couldn’t read, and a lock of hair wrapped in a delicate ribbon. “Arrrrgh!” he yelled in disappointment, tossing the valueless items across the room.

“Worthless! What a waste of time. For this I risked my career?”

He hurried out of the room and slipped back through the side entrance to the containment area, - 31 -

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unseen. He rounded up his gear and returned to the decontamination area before he was missed. Bitter disappointment was all he’d gotten out of that little sidetrack.

Unfortunately, what the trooper didn’t realize is that he had found a Tarellian funerary vault tube. It had been smuggled aboard the now-destroyed Tarellian ship by two of that ships’ crewmembers. Inside were the traditional components of a Tarellian funerary vault tube: rings and other personal jewelry, a lock of the deceased’s hair, a prayer parchment, and the right index finger of the deceased (a traditional and sacred religious practice on Tarellia). These objects held great sentimental value to the two crewmembers.

The tube had been sent to them aboard ship by their son while they were working in deep space aboard the ship just prior to the plague devastation that was to engulf Tarellia and its adjacent worlds. It contained the remains of their only daughter, who’d been killed in a senseless traffic accident. The crewmembers had never opened the sealed tube – it would have been an unthinkable breach of their religious traditions and would have brought dishonor upon their daughter for them to do so. Just having the funerary tube in their quarters aboard ship was comfort enough.

Soon afterwards, the plagues devastated Tarellia, and their ship was forced to flee, hiding from the frightened world governments that demanded that the plague carriers be hunted down and destroyed. But because the crew had been on a long-term mission in space, they’d had no direct contact with any Tarellians. They all were indeed free from the plague, and were not carriers of the disease. No one believed them, of course. They lived a solitary and meager existence during their refugee years. First, searching for a new home, and then, once they realized they’d never be welcomed anywhere that their small ship could reach, they lived in hiding, as refugees from their world, and unwanted visitors to other worlds.

Unbeknownst to them, their daughter who had died in a minor traffic accident on Tarellia was in the very early stages of plague infection. It was still early in the outbreak of the plague, and its virulence was not well known or understood by the Tarellian doctors. So, according to their tradition, their daughter’s jewelry, hair, and right index finger were placed into the funerary tube, the appropriate religious prayers said, and the tube was sealed and shipped to the deceased’s parents aboard ship. Little did the parents or anyone realize, but within the funerary tube was a virulent source of the plague virus. For the past 15 years of their life as unwanted refugees from a ravaged world, the Tarellian plague virus had sat dormant, harbored on the daughter’s hair and remains of her right index finger, safely sealed within the funerary tube.

With his greedy, violent act of looting the possessions of the Tarellians, the Alcyonian trooper had unwittingly released the Tarellian plague virus into the air ventilation system of the Lycus Central Medical Center, and had scattered tissue and disease organism from the desiccated, but still potently virulent finger as he flung it across the room, where it landed near an air intake grate.

Pandora’s Box had been opened upon Lycus.

U.S.S. Grissom, Briefing Room Vindi S’Raazh sat alone in the Briefing Room, next to the small viewscreen on the conference table.

She listened intently as Dr. Laurie Windsor told her about the bustle of activity going on around them in the medical staff quarantine holding area.

“Laurie, I want you to know something,” said Vindi, gently. “Dr. Saunders and our team believe that the Tarellians were clean, uninfected, just as they claimed. You do not have Tarellian plague.”

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Instead of a happy response, Windsor broke down into tears. Vindi was confused. “Didn’t you hear what I said? You don’t have the plague!”

Laurie Windsor looked up, tears filling her eyes. “Yes, Vindi, thanks for letting me know about that.

But since I think they are going to kill us all anyway, it doesn’t really matter much anymore whether we’re infected or not. But thanks. Thanks for at least letting us know. I know you worked hard on this for us.”

“Laurie, the Captain is working on stopping this madness. Don’t give up. It may all work out in the end.”

Windsor wiped her eyes. “I don’t believe that will happen, Doctor. I think it will be much, much simpler for the Alcyonian government to erase their little problem now, before the media and others learn about it. That’s how these things usually go.”

A light flashed on the communications console. “Dr. S’Raazh… Vindi. Would you please see that my family on Mars gets this message from me. I wanted them to know what happened to me, from me, in my own words. And I needed to say goodbye to my husband and children.” She began crying gently again.

Vindi now felt the sadness she felt become overpowering. “Of course… of course, Laurie. I’m still holding out hope that we can stop this, but in any case, your family will get the message. I’m sure that...”

At that moment, there were shouts from behind Dr. Windsor, and the viewscreen picked up the image of a Alcyonian trooper rushing up to the communications device and grabbing it from the table where it was broadcasting. The last image it displayed was the heel of a boot descending upon it. And then the viewscreen went blank.

Vindi sat for a few moments, then relayed Dr. Windsor’s message to her personal mail system for later dispatching. She then quietly rose from her chair, and left the Briefing Room. Vindi didn’t think that she would see her friend Laurie Windsor again.

Headquarters, Alcyonian High Command, Planet Alcyone “Have you assembled all the Tarellians?” asked Fleet Commander Brixtin to the young military officer on the viewscreen, who was the officer in charge down at the Lycus Central Medical Center quarantine area.

“Yes, sir,” came the voice from the officer. “All are present and accounted for, sir. We’ve also assembled their possessions, as ordered sir. Will you be sending in a transport ship for them, sir?”

Brixtin ran his hand through his short grey hair, and steeled himself to answer his officer. “No, there will be no transport ship. Stand by for additional orders momentarily.”

Brixtin signaled to the communications trooper to end the link.

He left the communications control room, and walked down several corridors to the large main cargo transporter room of the Alcyone High Command Headquarters. He entered a big, open room, containing numerous large industrial transport pads and consoles. As he entered, a team of three defense force transporter specialists who’d been chatting casually jumped to attention at the sight of the Fleet Commander.

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“At ease. Gentlemen. Who is the Chief transporter technician here?” he asked them.

“I am, sir,” said the oldest of the three men, stepping forward.

“Here is a coordinate padd, Chief.” Brixtin handed the technician a padd. It contained the coordinates on Lycus of the Tarellian holding area, the decontamination holding area, and the cargo bay where the medical staff were being held in quarantine. In addition, it contained a set of coordinates in the Alcyonian star system located just several hundred kilometers above the surface of the Alcyone star.

The transporter chief looked at the data padd, and then up at Brixtin, puzzled. His eyes flew open as it dawned on him what Brixtin was about to ask him to do.

“Attention!” called out Brixtin, looking them in the eyes. The technicians came to attention. “Man your transporter controls now.” Each man stepped beside one of the three control consoles that lined the walls of the room and were linked to each of the heavy-duty cargo transporters available in the room.

“Chief, please distribute the coordinates I provided.” electronically to each console.

The Chief distributed the coordinates

“Gentlemen, what we now do, we do to protect our families, our children, our planet, and our way of life from death and destruction. May the gods help us and have mercy on us.”

Brixtin then explained, calmly and rationally, that they were each to lock onto all individuals at each of the three locations contained in the coordinates, and transport them to the solar coordinates above the surface of the Alcyonian sun, with a wide dispersal pattern.

The technicians looked upon Brixtin in shock and dismay. Brixtin attempted to not allow them to see that he was also experiencing the same emotions that they were. “You have your orders, gentlemen. Now let’s do it and get this distasteful business over with,” said Brixtin. “We have to do this before it’s too late.” The men, extensively and expertly trained by the Alcyonian military system, nodded, and prepared to carry out Brixtin’s orders.

The transporter Chief went first. “Locking onto 24 Tarellian life forms, 7 Alcyonian military life forms, and 4 tagged cargo pallets at the Tarellian holding facility. Overriding the life form safety settings.

Energizing.” The unseen transporter machinery beneath their feet made a familiar whining sound for a few moments, which then faded. “Transport complete.” The console readouts flashed yellow and red, indicating that buffer patterns and integrity of the shipment had been lost upon transport. As intended, in this case.

They were all gone.

The second technician began programming his console. “Locking onto 379 Alcyonian life forms, 24 Alcyonian military life forms, and 1 Terran life form at the Lycus Central Medical Center quarantine facility.

Energizing.” The machinery emitted their familiar sound, which persisted for several seconds. “Transport completed, sir.” He then stepped back from his console, and looked about solemnly, almost as if he were in shock over what he had just done.

Brixtin turned to the third technician, who was younger than the others, and who was pale as a ghost and trembling slightly. Brixtin spoke gently to him. “Now you, son. Go ahead. This must be done, or we risk billions of lives here on Alcyone. There is no other way.”

The technician bit his lip and nodded. “Locking onto 47 Alcyonian military life forms in the decontamination area on Lycus. Safety overrides set. Transporting, sir.” The transporter units whined as - 34 -

Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

they performed their function. “Transport completed, sir,” he said quietly, sadly, his voice cracking in emotion.

Brixtin looked down at the screen on the main console. It confirmed the grim details that all objects had been reformed on a wide dispersal pattern. At least it was a quick and instantaneous death, thought Brixtin. It made him feel no better. He knew this had to be done. It didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Okay now, let’s finish this by transporting all materials, personal belongings, and objects from those three areas to the same solar coordinates, wide dispersal” ordered Brixtin. The men complied.

“And now gentlemen, one final order for you on this terrible day, and then you can go home to your families and get on with your lives.” Brixtin stepped from behind his console. He handed a data recording to the transporter Chief. “Give this to my wife, Chief.”

Brixtin then stepped up onto the cargo transporter pad nearest the consoles. “Chief, beam me to the same solar coordinates you just used. Wide dispersal, as before.”

“But sir!” protested the transporter chief. “ “You have your orders, Chief. Please.”

A sad, weary look from Brixtin made the Chief understand that this was yet another horrendous order he needed to follow. The Chief stepped to the transporter console and began to initiate the process.

Brixtin nodded and saluted the Chief. The transporter glow surrounded him and he dissolved into the transporter effect. A few seconds later, Brixtin was gone.

“Transport complete,” said the Chief, to no one in particular.

U.S.S. Grissom, in Orbit of the Lycus Moon Jonathan Esteban and the entire Bridge crew sat in stunned silence as the reports from the various stations came in. Multiple transports had emptied the quarantine areas, and their subsequent transport signatures had been detected out in the vicinity of the Alcyonian sun’s ozonosphere. From the signals that were intercepted, it was clear what was happening, and they were powerless to stop it.

“That appears to be it, sir. No additional transport activity,” said Lt. Saavik from her science station.

Vindi S’Raazh slumped against the back of the Captain’s chair, listening to the confirmation of the calculated death and loss of life that Lt. Saavik had just confirmed. She thought of her friend, Laurie Windsor, and how brave she’d been in the face of certain death. Vindi only hoped that she herself would be so brave when her own time came.

Childers sat upright. “Incoming message from the Alcyonian High Command… no, it’s from the Alcyonian Unified Government Chambers. Text only. It appears that the Government officials are distancing themselves from the actions of a rogue military fleet commander. They say they are shocked and saddened by the apparent loss of life that has just occurred. They intend to fully cooperate with Federation officials in any investigation.”

“That’s bullshit, sir,” declared Bacari Jata, from his navigation station.

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

“Yes, Jata, I think it is, too. But I don’t think anyone will be surprised to see them all scrambling for scapegoats and to place blame for what has happened.”

Childers interrupted Esteban’s conversation. “Captain. I’ve just intercepted several broadcasts from the Lycus moon medical center to the Alcyonian government. It appears medical staff are dropping in their tracks and convulsing all over the Lycus Central Medical Center. From outside the quarantine area, sir.”

Esteban wheeled, alarmed. “Vindi, I thought you said the team determined that there was no virus present in the Tarellians?”

“We did. They were clean! I… I don’t understand.” Vindi stared at the viewscreen, which was now monitoring a broadcast showing scenes of sickness occurring in the Lycus Central Medical Center. It didn’t make any sense.

In the far corner of the broadcast screen, just barely in range of the monitoring camera, a mysterious man could be seen, not interfering, but watching as medical staff, military personnel and civilian patients seems to be affected by some illness all at the same time.

“Childers, get me Star Fleet Command, Ops, and Medical on the same channel. They need to know about this turn of events right away.”

Vindi looked into Esteban’s face, seeking some solace. None was there. Esteban was as saddened, concerned, and worried about this as she was. But it seemed, at least, that it was over for the moment.

There was no happy ending to this mission of mercy. And, thought Vindi, there seemed to be very little mercy at all.

U.S.S. Grissom, departing the Alcyone system Captain’s Log, Stardate 8192.14.

The Federation Council has placed the Alcyone system under strict quarantine until further notice. Early reports have confirmed that it is indeed Tarellian plague that is killing the medical staff of the Lycus Central Medical Center. And reports are beginning to come in from the civilian housing areas on Lycus of similar outbreaks.

The Grissom has been ordered to depart the system and return to our primary mission. The U.S.S. Tempest and other Federation vessels are beginning to arrive and will carryout ongoing research and supply, as well as enforce the quarantine zone around Alcyone and Lycus.

We continue on to the Genesis Planet to see what mysteries await us there.

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Star Trek: Grissom - Chapter 8 “Errand of Mercy”

Five Months Later: Federation News Service broadcast Five months after the crash of the Tarellians on the Lycus moon of Alcyone…

FEDERATION NEWS SERVICE Tragic news from the Eta Taurii region. Star Fleet Medical reports that the heavily quarantined moon Lycus, of Federation planet Alcyone, has experienced the long-expected rapid, catastrophic increase in the effects of the Tarellian Plague, following accidental exposure from Tarellian refugees nearly five months ago.

Medical reports indicate this is the final phase of the disease’s progression.

Tarellian plague is 100% fatal, and there is no vaccine or cure to prevent it once exposed. Medical relief pharmaceuticals and humanitarian supplies continue to be remotely drop-shipped to the moon by Federation authorities, but fatalities are now being estimated at nearing 98% levels on Lycus. No ships have been allowed in or out of the area for that entire time, and Federation authorities remain confident that the outbreak has been contained to the moon.

The quarantined moon, Lycus, had a population of approximately 59,632 inhabitants earlier this year, however, current estimate are that less than 1,200 remain alive, and all are in the final terminal stages of the Tarellian plague. There have been no reports of exposure on Alcyone itself, so that world, and other Federation worlds, appear to have escaped exposure to the Tarellian plague. The moon will remain under quarantine indefinitely.

Alcyone and other planets in that sector are widening their search for any other remaining Tarellian plague ships, with orders being given to destroy those ships upon contact.”

You’re tuned to the Federation News Service….”

- END –

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