Subject: NEW STORY: Fools in Hell: part 1
From: [email-masked] (Dylan Winslow)
Date: 24 Jan 1994 02:17:53 -0700
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative

This is the first part of a new ST-oriented story.  It concerns the
captain of another ship, although the Enterprise crew makes an appearance
in part 2.  This story contains some profanity, if that bothers anyone.

Fools in Hell, part 1:  Emergence.
------------------------------------------------
1
 
	Captain's Log- Stardate 452..um.. oh hell, computer 
just auto-insert the date when I'm done.  We are nearly 
finished with our survey of illegal Cardassian military bases 
and the crew is looking forward to spending time on shore 
leave at Starbase 347.  I think we deserve it after not 
setting foot on a Federation planet for two years and not 
even being in Federation space for over a year and a half.
 
	Overall, it's been a successful mission.  Lt. Cdr. 
Prak is in the process of writing his report which he will 
personally present to Admiral Carstairs when we reach 
Starbase 347.  I think that I share his opinion that when 
faced with the scale of Cardassian military buildup, the 
chief of Cardassian Sector Intelligence will blow a blood 
vessel.  Probably in his cerebellum. Commander Prak is beside 
himself with excitement.
 
	On another note, I have just learned from our latest 
Covert Communications Package that for the dozen or so 
crewmen on board the USS Sigmund Rosenblum that have not been 
paid in the last seven months (of which I am one), we will 
need to submit new SF-502317 forms for each.  If I have the 
chance to meet with the Finance Branch officer in charge of 
pay for this vessel, I will very probably hand him his spleen 
on a plate.
 
***
 
	"We're finished."
 
	Commander Stanton, Captain of the Uss Sigmund Rosenblum, 
looked  up to see Lt. Cdr. Prak standing over him with a self-
satisfied smile on his face.
 
	"Wonderful," said Stanton.  He turned toward the navigator, 
Janess Gomez.  "Plot a course for Starbase 347.  Warp four.  Any 
faster and the Cardassians would probably think that we were in a 
hurry to get somewhere.  Make sure that the sensor dampening field 
is on full."
 
	"Aye, sir,"  
 
	•Commander Prak, you have the con.  I'm going to bed."  He 
tried to stand up and banged his knee on a railing.  Like 
everywhere else on the ship, the bridge was wretchedly small and 
impractical.  He had a bruise on his forehead from banging his 
head on the doorway every time he entered the bridge.   
 
***
 
	The communicator buzzer woke him with a start.  He looked at 
the clock and worked out that he had only been asleep for about 
half an hour.
 
	"Stanton here," he said sleepily.
 
	"Sorry to wake you," said Commander Prak over the 
communicator, "It's just that we've got a Cardassian ship 
following us."
 
	"Just what we need.  I'll be on the bridge in a second.  
Sound the red alert."
 
	He heard the klaxon go off as he put on his robe.  Heading 
out the door, he was almost run over by Lieutenant Gomez on her 
way out of sickbay, still in the process of pulling on a shirt.
 
	After climbing the stairs that led to the bridge, he banged 
his head on the doorway.  
 
	"Ok, what's the situation?"
 
	"Well, it's a Bulldog-class patrol ship.  Give me about five 
more minuets and I'll tell you which one.  I think he just got 
lucky enough to be looking our way while we went by," said Prak.
 
	"Has he tried to contact us?"
 
	"No.  In fact, he hasn't sent out any kind of communication 
at all."
 
	"That's odd.  You'd think he'd want to report the contact."
 
	"He hasn't tried to engage us either.  He's just hanging back 
there at three hundred megametres, following our every move."    
 
	It worried him.  He was glad that the Cardassian hadn't told 
anyone about them, since they were violating about a dozen UFP-
Cardassian agreements by entering Cardassian space.  But it really 
bothered him that this particular Cardassian wasn't being as 
predictable as he should be.
 
	"Prak, there aren't a lot of ships in this area, are there?"
 
	"No.  That's why we chose this route in the first place.  A 
lot of smugglers use this route too.  He might think that we're 
just another smuggler."
 
	"That's true.  We could outrun him, couldn't we?  But a 
smuggler pulling away from him at warp 9 would probably seem a bit 
unusual to him and he'd probably put two and two together and, if 
he's very lucky, come up with four and realize that this is a 
Federation vessel and then we have what is known in the diplomatic 
trade as an incident. 
 
	"We can't let him report back at all.  Which is difficult 
because, if I'm not mistaken, a Bulldog-class ship outguns us by a 
considerable margin, doesn't it?  Have you got the specifics on 
this particular ship yet, Prak?"
 
	"From his engine emission signature, I believe it to be the 
Gradon, assigned to the Cardassian 34th Patrol and Pursuit 
Squadron."  Prak laughed.  "It's known to the people at MilIntCom 
as the Triple-P:  patrol, pursuit and profits.  One of the most 
corrupt collection of starship captains in the galaxy."
 
	Stanton thought about this.  An expression of sudden 
realization crept onto his face.
 
	"Of course!  He's following us just outside what he thinks is 
our sensor range and waiting until we come to the most remote 
section of this virtually unpatrolled area and then he's planning 
on closing, boarding us, stealing our cargo and then vaporizing 
the ship."
 
	"That would explain why he hasn't reported us," Lieutenant 
Gomez interjected.

	Stanton nodded and stared at the schematic of the Cardassian 
ship on the main viewer.
 
***
 
	"What do you think he's carrying?" the Cardassian captain 
asked his first officer.
 
	"Drugs, probably.  This particular route is favored by drug 
smugglers.  We can probably get a good profit selling it on one of 
the border worlds."
 
	"Good.  Good."  He turned to the operations officer.  "Can we 
scan the interior of the ship yet?"
 
	"Negative, sir," said the Ops officer.  "The interference is 
probably caused by a defective shield system.  These smugglers are 
always using inferior equipment.  I suspect that it's nothing to 
worry about."
 
***
 
	"We can't risk having to actually fight him.  We'll have to 
kill him with the first shot.  Prak, on our present course, when 
will we pass through the most unpatrolled, remote area in this 
section of space?"
 
	Prak examined a chart for a second.  "In about an hour."
 
	"Good.  Mr. Yakevicz, bring the SDF down to eighty-percent in 
the area of the warp coil."
 
	The tactical officer looked at Stanton with a quizzical 
expression.  "Excuse me, sir."
 
	"Trust me."
 
	"Yes, sir," the warrant-officer said as he made the 
adjustment.
 
	"And bring it down to twenty-five percent over the next 45 
minuets.  Helm, drop speed to warp one starting in about 15 
minuets.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.  
I'll be back in a moment.  Call me if anything weird happens."
 
	With that, Stanton stood up and left the bridge.
 
***
 
	"Sir, I believe I am detecting the smuggler's warp coil."
 
	"Indeed?" said the captain.  "How?"
 
	"I think that he is over-driving his warp drive.  If he 
continues at this rate, he will have to completely shut down his 
warp drive very soon."
 
	The captain smiled.  "And then we'll have him."
 
*** 
 
	"All right, helm, start decelerating now."
 
	Stanton watched as the speed indicator slowly went from four 
down to one.  
 
	"Good.  Has he started closing yet?"  Stanton asked Prak.
 
	"Yes.  He should be on top of us in about ten minuets."
 
	Stanton marveled at the predictability of the Cardassian 
commander.  He tapped his communicator.  "Torpedo room, prepare to 
fire a three-round burst on my order."
 
***
  
	"We could probably just transport through that shield of his, 
couldn't we?"
 
	"Probably, but it would be safer to knock the shield out with a
minimal weapons charge.  The electromagnetic interference might cause
trouble with the transporter."
 
	"That's true," said the Cardassian captain.  "Very well, as 
soon as he goes to impulse, close to transporting range and fire."
 
*** 
 
	"OK, go to full impulse.  Shields up."
 
	"Cardassian ship at 500 kilometers and closing," said Prak.  
"He hasn't even bothered to raise his shields."
 
	"Ready torpedoes."
 
	"150 Kilometers."
 
	You poor avaricious fool, Stanton thought.
 
	"Fire."
 
*** 
 
	The Cardassian captain grinned.  "Fire main..."
 
	The operations officer interrupted him.  "Sir!  Torpedoes!"
 
	"What?"  Smugglers never carry torpedoes, he thought.
 
	The floor exploded underneath him.
 
***
 
	"Damage report on the Cardassian ship,"  said Stanton.
 
	"The bridge is destroyed.  Most of the ship's atmosphere 
seems to be leaking out into space.  One of the torpedoes seems to 
have hit a warp engine.  Their containment field seems to be 
failing.  In about an hour you won't be able to tell that there 
was a starship here.  I wouldn't recommend hanging about," said 
Prak.
 
	"I agree.  Helm, original course, warp four," said Stanton.  
"I'm going back to bed."

This is a repost of part 2 of Fools in Hell.  Some people apparrently had
trouble w/ the formatting on the last posting.  This story contains profanity.
Send comments/questions/flames to [email-masked] or
[email-masked].

---------------------------------------------------
2
 
Lieutenant Vass looked up, startled, from the screen listing 
the contents of the CCP that they had received overnight.
 
"Sir, there's an eyes-only communique here for you," she 
said.
 
Stanton raised an eyebrow.  "That's strange.  From MilIntCom?"
 
"No.  From FleetCom."
 
"That really is strange.  I wonder what I've done to get 
their attention.  Let me see it."
 
She handed him a PADD and he signed for the receipt of the 
communique.  He read the contents page.
 
UFP-STARFLEET
FLEETCOM
 
COMMUNIQUE TO:  ROBERT G. STANTON, CDR., 517-23-2355
FOR YOUR EYES ONLY    
    
CONTENTS:
     
	1.  MEMORANDUM TO:  CDR, USS SIGMUND ROSENBLUM NCC-		
       	                    38375
                  FROM:  CDR, FLEET COMMAND
     
	2.  ORDERS 334987-3406
               
	3.  ORDERS 334987-3407
     
Stanton always hated reading memos from Star Fleet Command.  
He thought that their habit of typing in all capitals gave one the 
impression of being shouted at.  He hit "1" on the selection 
window and read the memo.
 
UFP-STARFLEET
FLEETCOM
SAN FRANCISCO, EARTH
STARDATE 45302
     
     MEMORANDUM TO:  CDR, USS SIGMUND ROSENBLUM NCC-
		     38375
     
              FROM:  CDR, FLEET COMMAND
     
           SUBJECT:  OPERATION FALCON'S NEST
     
1.  THIS IS TO NOTIFY YOU THAT YOU ARE BEING ASSIGNED AS A 
SUPPORT VESSEL FOR THE USS ENTERPRISE NCC-1701-D, TO 		
PARTICIPATE IN OPERATION FALCON'S NEST.  ORDERS    			
ENCLOSED.
     
2.  YOU WILL RENDEZVOUS WITH THE USS ENTERPRISE IN THE		
REVLOX IV SYSTEM NO LATER THAN STARDATE 45305.
     
3.  YOUR CLEARANCE FOR STARBASE 347 IS CANCELLED. ORDERS 	
ENCLOSED. 
     
4.  THIS INFORMATION IS TO BE DISTRIBUTED TO PERSONNEL WITH 
A SECURITY CLEARANCE OF 3 OR HIGHER ON A NEED TO KNOW BASIS 
ONLY. 
 
FOR THE COMMANDER:
     
                          J. KEITH HAWS
                          CPT, GS
                          ADJUTANT
     
2 ENCLS.
         
CF:  CDR, GALACTIC EXPLORATION COMMAND
     CDR, MILITARY INTELLIGENCE COMMAND
     CDR, USS ENTERPRISE NCC-1701-D
     
Stanton flipped to the other two pages.  They were exactly 
what the memo said they were:  Orders assigning them to Enterprise 
and cancelling their leave at Starbase 347.
 
"Lieutenant Gomez," he said to the Navigator, "plot a course 
for Revlox IV."
 
She was visibly stunned.  "What?  Aren't we going to Starbase 
347?"
 
"Doesn't look like it, does it?" he said quickly.  "Vass, 
call up Prak and have him meet me in my quarters."
 
Stanton stood up to leave.  Walking off the bridge, he banged 
his head on the doorway.
 
***
 
Stanton watched Prak read the memorandum from FleetCom.  As 
he finished, Prak's expression turned dark and he let out an 
exasperated sigh.
 
"A couple questions," said Stanton.  "First and foremost, 
what is it?  Second, how do we tell the crew that their shore 
leave has been cancelled without getting lynched?"
 
Prak raised an eyebrow.  "What do you mean 'we'?"
 
"Very funny."
 
"Sorry.  As far as your first question goes, I really can't 
think of anything helpful.  The Enterprise, as far as I know, has 
an exploratory mission.  If 'Operation Falcon's Nest' is a 
scientific mission, I think that they're going to find us woefully 
ill-equipped, ill-manned and, let's face it, ill-tempered to 
participate.  On the other hand, the security classification 
suggests that it's something along the lines of a covert 
intelligence mission, and having the Enterprise doing something 
like that would have to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard.  
Good luck trying to convince somebody that a Galaxy-class ship is 
just a freighter that's gone off course."
 
"Good point.  And from the wording, it does seem that 
Enterprise is going to be doing most of the work on this one.  
We're supporting them."
 
"Overall, I'd say I have no idea."
 
"OK.  So how do I tell the crew and still keep my life?"
 
"Can't help you there, either, I'm afraid."
 
"Great."
 
***
 
"Estimated time of arrival at Revlox IV, Lieutenant Gomez?" 
asked Stanton.
 
"2.3 days, sir."  Her voice was cold.  He'd noticed that the 
crew in general had adopted a somewhat surly demeanor since he'd 
announced the news of the ship's diversion of course earlier in 
the morning.
 
Announcing it to the crew would probably be considered a 
breach of regulations and probably specific orders, but they would 
have to find out eventually, and he suspected that the security 
classification was just Starfleet being over-dramatic, anyway.
 
"Prak, can you detect the Enterprise at Revlox IV?"
 
Prak studied the long-distance scanner display for a moment.  	
"Yes.  There's a ship there and it's definitely the 
Enterprise.  She's got an engine-emission signature so high you 
could read by it."
 
"Thanks.  Oh, by the way, could I see MilIntCom's file on the 
Enterprise?"  Stanton didn't personally know much about the 
Enterprise, except that its captain was probably SFC's favorite 
person in the known universe.  It was said that Captain Picard's 
buttocks had more high-ranking lipstick marks than any other 
starship commander in Starfleet. 
 
"The standard service file?" asked Prak.
 
"No, the 'smut and innuendo' file, I think."
 
"It'll take me a few minuets to dig it up."
 
"Thanks."
 
***   
 
"Welcome to the Enterprise, Admiral," said Captain Picard as 
he extended his hand to Admiral Carstairs.  He, Commander Riker 
and Lieutenant Worf displayed only a minimal amount of anxiety as 
the Admiral stepped out of the shuttle.  They had received notice 
of their new assignment only a few hours previously.  
 
"Thank you, Jean-Luc," the Admiral said as he descended the 
steps from his shuttle.  "It's good to be back."   
 
"I think that you have met my first officer, Will Riker?"
 
"Yes," said the Admiral.  "I believe we met at a dining-in on 
Betazed, if I'm not mistaken."
 
"I and my crew are most anxious to find out about this new 
assignment, Admiral.  When would be a good time to brief my 
staff?" said Picard.
 
The Admiral watched as three enlisted men carried his luggage 
from the shuttle bay.  He turned to follow them and the other 
three officers walked along with him.  
 
"Some time early tomorrow, I should think.  I'll have my aide 
schedule a meeting.  I think that you'll like this mission, Jean-
Luc.  It'll probably get you another Star Fleet Medal for Valor," 
said Admiral Carstairs.    
 
"None of us are in this for the decorations, Admiral," said 
Picard.
 
"Of course," said Admiral Carstairs as they arrived at his 
quarters.
 
***
 
Stanford closed the file on the command crew of the 
Enterprise.  He couldn't believe how boring these people's lives 
were.  They didn't seem to have a sin between them.
 
The intercom buzzed.  "Sir, this is Prak.  We're two hours 
away from the rendezvous."
 
"Thanks.  I'll be right up."
 
He left his quarters and immediately collided with Doctor 
Kennedy.  
 
She eyed his forehead.  "Didn't I take care of that bruise 
already this week?"
 
"Yes, Doctor, you did.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to be 
on the bridge."  He didn't get along well with Dr. Kennedy and 
didn't care to discuss his habitual clumsiness with her.
 
As he walked onto the bridge he noticed a large schematic of 
a Galaxy-class starship filling the right half of the main viewer 
and a visual of what was presumably the Enterprise filling the 
left.
 
"I thought you'd want a look," said Prak.
 
Stanton nodded.  "Look at that monstrosity.  Do you realize 
that they have over a hundred square feet per person on that ship?  
A hundred square feet!  And that's just the living quarters!  I'll 
bet that Captain Picard doesn't have a coolant duct running 
through the middle of his quarters."  The coolant duct in question 
had bothered him ever since he had first taken residence on board 
the Rosenblum, and he constantly woke from nightmares of being 
flooded by hundreds of litres of the toxic drive coolant fluid.
 
"And have you seen the size of their bridge?" he continued.  
"It's huge.  You could play a polo match on that thing."   
 
"I understand that Admiral Carstairs is very fond of Polo," 
added Prak.
 
"That's what I hear," said Stanton.  "All right.  Send out a 
hail to the Enterprise.  Let them know we're here."
 
Lieutenant Vass sent out a standard greeting from her control 
panel.  She appeared to listen for a moment, then looked up.  	
 
"They say that we should stand by for a few minuets.  Admiral 
Carstairs wants to speak to us."
 
They waited.  In a moment, the main viewer displayed the 
bridge of the Enterprise.  Standing at the center of the screen 
was Admiral Carstairs, with Captain Picard on his left.  Both were 
wearing riding outfits and Captain Picard was holding a helmet and 
mallet.
 
Prak raised an eyebrow.  Lieutenant Gomez put her head down 
on her control panel to conceal her giggling.  Stanton had to 
pinch himself hard on the wrist to keep from laughing.
 
The Admiral spoke.  "Good afternoon, Captain Stanton.  I 
apologize for my appearance, but Captain Picard and I were on the 
holodeck when you contacted us.  I expect that you'll be wanting 
to know what your mission is."
 
"Yes, as a matter of fact," said Stanton, "we were."
 
"Good," said the Admiral.  "We'll be having a complete 
briefing tonight after the change-of-command ceremony and the 
banquet."
 
"Change-of-command?" said Stanton, shocked.
 
"Just a formality.  Putting the Rosenblum under the indirect 
command of the Captain of the Enterprise."
 
"I see," said Stanton, slightly insulted.
 
"I will have my yeoman transmit all the details to you.  I'll 
see you at nineteen-hundred hours.  Good day."
 
The screen went blank.
 
The bridge was silent for a moment.  "What the hell time is 
it?" Stanton said.  Over the past months, time had come to mean 
increasingly little to him.  He looked in vain at the bridge 
clock.  The clock had been broken for about three months and it 
simply flashed "12:00:00" constantly.  Nobody seemed to be able to 
fix it, least of all, the ship's engineer who, when asked to 
repair any piece of equipment, argued that, whatever it was, it 
was somebody else's problem and had nothing to do with his job at 
all.
 
***
 
Section Leader Pyrris started as she heard the communicator 
chime.  She hit a switch and a man's face appeared on the viewer.  
 
"Section Leader," he greeted her.  "This is Trosus, in 
command of Surveillance Team 12."
 
"Yes?" she said, impassively.
 
"We are conducting a routine surveillance of a Ministry of 
Communication clerk named Drin Misek this week."
 
"I am aware of that, Team Leader."
 
"Yes, of course," said Trosus, betraying a hint of nervous- 
ness.  "We had just completed the background check and were going 
to clear him after the Daily Movements check was complete, but..."  
He paused.
 
"Yes?" said Pyrris, wondering what could be so important that 
it required her attention.
 
"He attempted to evade us."
 
"Indeed!" she said, her interest suddenly aroused.
 
"Yes.  He was not actually out of sight for a moment, though, 
and I do not believe that he knew that he was being followed.  Or 
rather, I do not believe that he detected our surveillance team.  
He may have reason to think that he is being followed."
 
"Have you begun a full-scale investigation yet?"
 
"As soon as I learned of it.  And full time surveillance.  I 
would like your approval for interrogation when we find 
something."
 
"You shall have it.  Let me know when it happens.  I should 
like to be present.  The Federation manages to sway so few of our 
people, it would be a unique experience to interrogate a 
Federation spy."
 
***  
 
The change of command ceremony had gone badly.  Most of the 
people from the Rosenblum, mainly Commander Stanton, resented it 
and were angry that they were still being kept in the dark.  The 
officers of the Enterprise didn't seem to be bothered by it at 
all, which made Stanton even more angry.  
 
In addition to this, Lieutenant Miles, the commander of the 
Rosenblum's small Marine contingent, had taken the Admiral at his 
word when, in his instructions, he had ordered "full dress 
uniform" for the attendees.  Accordingly, he and Sergeant First 
Class Kosigan had dressed in their antiquated dress-black 
uniforms, similar to the ones that Starfleet had abandoned twenty 
years earlier.  The uniform included, in the case of Sergeant 
Kosigan, several dozen medals, ribbons and badges worn on his left 
breast, a custom that Starfleet had long ago abandoned.
 
This had caused quite a stir as the arrived on the 
Enterprise.  The crew's reactions ranged from badly disguised 
distaste on the part of the Captain and his counselor to a young 
crew member who, in apparent ignorance, asked Lieutenant Miles 
what planetary government he was from.
 
Thank God I got them to leave the sabers back on the ship, 
thought Stanton.
 
Now, the banquet was beginning to look like an equal 
disaster.  The conversation was hellishly uncomfortable.  
Commander Riker was flirting endlessly with Lieutenant Gomez, even 
in the face of what was an extremely cold reception on her part.  
Doctor Kennedy looked like she wanted to poison him.  Lt. Cdr. 
Troi droned on for about ten minuets on the benefits of having a 
ship's counselor.
 
There was an uncomfortable lull in the conversation.  Admiral 
Carstairs looked around to see if anyone was about to fill the 
void.  Seeing no likely candidates, he decided to fill it himself.  
 
"You know, Captain Stanton performed an excellent bit of 
maneuvering against a Cardassian patrol ship on his way here.  
Actually beat them in combat."
 
Stanton let out an exasperated sigh and began to rub his eyes 
as if they had dust in them.  Prak leaned over to him.
 
"Why the fuck don't we go right the hell ahead and broadcast 
it on the Trans-Federation News?" he whispered, smiling.  Stanton 
wished to God that they hadn't given Carstairs their report 
immediately upon arrival.  
 
"Indeed?" said Picard. "Those ships outgun yours 
substantively, don't they?"
 
"Well, yes," said Stanton.  The SDF was still, more or less 
top secret and he didn't want to be up on charges when somebody at 
MilIntCom inevitably listened to a recording of this conversation. 
 
"So how did you do it?" asked Riker.
 
Asshole, thought Stanton.  "You just have to know how the 
average Cardassian captain thinks."
 
"How does the average Cardassian captain think?" said the 
android, Data.
 
"He doesn't," said Stanton with all the finality he could put 
into the statement.  Nobody seemed to want to pursue the matter.       
 
***
 
Dinner ended and Admiral Carstairs asked Stanton to stay for 
the briefing.  Picard and Riker stayed as well.  Now we™re getting 
somewhere,  thought Stanton.
 
•I expect that you™ll be rather anxious to find out about the 
mission,¢ said the Admiral.
 
•That™s what we™d had in mind,¢ said Stanton calmly.
 
The Admiral seemed to pause for dramatic effect.  He hit a 
button and a star chart appeared on the screen behind him.  •This, 
as you no doubt know, is the Romulan Empire.¢
 
Yes, thought Stanton impatiently, get on with it.
 
•The Romulan flag-ship... • the Admiral began.  He paused and 
consulted his notes.  •The Romulan flag-ship Bright Talon.¢  He 
paused again and made a face at his notes as if there was a 
mistake with the name.  •Carrying the Imperial Star Navy Chief of 
Staff Admiral Voran,¢ he continued, •left the starbase at 
Quintillas V for the Egrexis system on stardate 45112.  Their 
schedule had it as a five-day journey.  However the Bright Talon  
arrived at Egrexis III seven days later.  The ship was a full two 
days late!¢
 
Stanton wondered if this was some kind of elaborate practical 
joke.  Surely they had better things to be doing than watching the 
punctuality of the Romulan Imperial High Command.
 
•Upon its arrival,¢continued the Admiral •Admiral Voran 
placed a seal on the ships log for that period, making it 
impossible for our source in the Empire to get access to it.  Even 
though we do not know what is in the log, it does suggest that 
something very important happened along the way. 
 
•Our source did have access to information that the ship had 
been by several checkpoints along the way, so we have narrowed 
down the critical area of space.¢
 
Stanton thought that this was beginning to sound ominous.
 
•It is almost certain that the ship spent those two days at 	
this system here,¢ said the Admiral, indicating a point on the 
chart.  •Ryzh Nomen.¢
 
•Where?¢ said Prak.	
 
***
 
The room was silent for a long time.
 
•So you can see, since we haven™t any agents in the field who 
can check it out for us, and since it is potentially such an 
important target, we really have no choice but to send a ship to 
investigate.¢
 
Stanton couldn™t believe what he was hearing.  •My ship?¢
 
•Yes,¢ said the Admiral.
 
•Doesn™t this all seem a little dubious to anyone else?¢ Said 
Stanton.  •I mean, I™ve never heard of this place.  Has anyone?¢
 
•We have an old Romulan survey report of the system from 
about thirty years ago that indicates that the system is of no 
value,¢ the Admiral said.  •Of course, we believe it to be 
disinformation.¢
 
Stanton realized that it was futile to try to dissuade the 
Admiral.  The decision had probably been made weeks ago.
 
•Okay,¢ he said, exasperated.  •So what is the Enterprise  
going to be doing in all of this.¢
 
Admiral Carstairs looked over at Captain Picard and Commander 
Riker uncomfortably.  •Cover,¢ he said.
 
•Cover?¢ said Prak, obviously dumbfounded.
 
•Yes,¢ said Admiral Carstairs.  •We have reclassified the 
Rosenblum  as NCS-3:  a logistical support vessel under the 
command of the Enterprise.   It is suspected that the Romulans 
have been gaining access to our ship registry on a fairly 
consistent basis.  We need for them to not know your true 
mission.¢
 
•This is the stupidest thing I™ve ever heard,¢ Prak hissed 
into Stanton™s ear.
 
***
 
After the briefing, Stanton wandered down to the ship™s 
lounge.  He needed a drink.  Badly.  
 
As he sat at the bar, he saw Yakevicz come up to him.
 
•Hello, sir.¢
 
•Hello,¢ said Stanton mirthlessly.
 
•Have you been to the holodeck they have on this ship?¢ said 
Yakevicz.
 
•No, I haven™t¢
 
•You™ve got to try it, sir,¢ said Yakevicz, grinning.  •It™s 
almost like the real thing.¢
 
•I don™t have to.¢ said Stanton.  •I™ve just had the real 
thing.¢
 
•No shit, sir?¢ said Yakevicz, visibly impressed.
 
•Yes.  In fact, you, me and everybody else on the Rosenblum have 
been screwed by Admiral Carstairs.¢

This is the 3rd part of the aforementioned story.  This story contains
some profanity, if anyone cares.  Send comments/questions/flames to:

	[email-masked]
	[email-masked]

Fools in Hell, part 3:  Departure
---------------------------------
3
 
Stanton put his feet up on the wood-veneer desk, secretly 
hoping that his boots would visibly damage the surface.  The 
temporary office that he had been given on board the 
Enterprise  was big and comfortable enough, but over the past 
two weeks the excessively clean and orderly environment on 
the ship had gone well past the point of getting on his 
nerves.
 
The doorbell chimed.  •Come in,¢ he said.
 
Yeoman Graves poked his head in.  •Sir, the Counselor for the 
Enterprise  is here to see you.  Also, I have some things for 
you to sign.¢
 
•Show her in, Yeoman.  I™ll get to the paperwork in a minute.¢
 
Counselor Troi walked in and sat in the chair nearest his 
desk.  He put his feet back on the floor.
 
•Captain Picard and Admiral Carstairs are somewhat concerned 
about the psychological status of your crew,¢ she said.
 
Stanton snorted.  •No doubt.¢
 
•Yes,¢ she continued.  •And I think that the fight yesterday 
between two of your marines and our security people-¢
 
•And how is your Lieutenant Worf doing?¢ Stanton interrupted, 
trying to conceal a smirk.
 
•He™s much better, thank you.  I think that the fight 
yesterday between two of your marines and our security people 
shows that we need to address the emotional health of your 
crew.¢
 
Stanton smiled.  •I don™t think that there™s anything wrong 
that three months of extended shore-leave couldn™t fix.¢
 
•Yes, well,¢ she said, •I™m afraid that™s not an option at 
the moment.  But I was thinking that in the next week, before 
you leave, I could meet with some of your crew.¢
 
Stanton shrugged.  •Of course, whoever of my people wishes to 
see you can go ahead.  You™ll forgive me if I remain 
skeptical about the utility of trying to talk people into 
liking the fact that they™ve been screwed.¢
 
Troi sighed.  •That™s something else that I need to talk 
about with you.  Captain Picard feels that you™re feeling 
angry about the mission.  I have to say that I agree with 
him.  I think you need to talk about this.¢
 
Stanton stared at her for a moment, then smiled.  •Angry?  
Me?¢  He was interrupted by the door chime.
 
•Yes?¢ said Stanton.
 
Yeoman Graves stepped in.  •Sir,¢ he said, •the Admiral just 
called and said he wants these things an hour ago.¢
 
Stanton sighed heavily.  •Counselor,¢ he said to Troi, •this 
will only take a minute.   All right Mr. Graves, lets have 
it.¢
 
Graves gave him the first form.  •This is the list of 
officers eligible for promotion.¢
 
Stanton looked it over cursorily and signed it.  •Okay.  
Next.¢
 
•This is the work order for the new reactor power couplings.¢
 
•What?¢ said Stanton.  •Didn™t the Admiral get the engineer™s 
note on that?  Tell the Admiral that the emissions index is 
too high in the upper wavelengths.  While we™re in the 
Neutral Zone we might as well be firing off a flare every 
three minutes.  I™m not authorizing it.¢
 
The Yeoman spoke.  •Um, sir?¢ he said uncomfortably.  •I, ah, 
also  have a memorandum here from the Captain Picard...¢  He 
paused for a moment.  •Telling you not to cancel any more 
work orders,¢ he finished quickly.
 
Stanton™s teeth clenched.  He tightened his fist around his 
pen so hard that it made an audible crack.  He gave the 
Yeoman a cold, hard stare and then shot a malicious glance at 
Troi.  
 
•All right, damn it,¢ he said through clenched teeth as he 
furiously signed his name to the document.  •Next!¢ he said, 
nearly shouting.
 
The Yeoman handed him the next one.  •This is for some 
modifications to the computer due to the ship™s official 
change in status.  Automatic safety stuff, I guess.¢
 
Stanton glanced at it a moment and signed.  •Anything else?¢
 
•Nothing to sign, sir,¢ he said.  •Doctor Kennedy and 
Lieutenant Gomez wanted to know if you could perform a short wedding
service for them, since they won™t have the 
opportunity to have it done at Starbase 347.¢
 
Stanton leaned back in his chair and seemed to relax for a 
moment.  He glanced a Troi for a second and smiled.  •Owing 
to his greater rank, position and experience,¢ he said, •why 
doesn™t Captain Picard do the fucking wedding?¢
 
***
 
Pyrris walked into the room where the prisoner was being 
held.  She looked at him.  The past week had not been kind to 
Drin Misek.  He sat limply on the chair in the center of the 
room.  He had a tired, despairing expression as he stared in 
no particular direction.
 
Ah well, she thought.  It™ll all be over for him shortly.
 
•Misek,¢ she said to him.  •We have concluded your case.   I 
am about to make my report.  I wanted to find out if there 
was anything you would like to add to your statement before I 
enter it into the official record.¢
 
Drin Misek shook his head, still staring at an indeterminate 
point on the floor.  
 
•Very well,¢ Pyrris said and began to leave.  She paused for 
a moment and turned back to the prisoner.
 
•Is there anything you would like, within reason?¢ she asked.
 
•No,¢ he mumbled.  He was quiet for a moment, then he said:  
•When?¢
 
She was confused for a moment.  •When what?  Oh, I see.  Your 
execution.¢
 
He nodded.
 
•It has been tentatively scheduled for the eighteenth, in ten 
days,¢ she said.
 
He seemed to be slightly relieved at this news.  •How will it 
be?¢ he asked.
 
•Oh, accidental, I expect.¢
 
***
 
Commander Fennka™s door opened and Pyrris walked into his 
office.  A starship commander before entering the Security 
Services, he was still an intimidating sight.  He was missing 
his left eye and the tip of his left ear.  Also missing were 
the small and ring fingers of his right hand, which he would 
explain, when inclined to do so, had been bitten off by 
a Klingon during a fight.
 
As Pyrris stopped about a meter from his desk, he said:  
•Report.¢
 
She handed him the Drin Misek file, glanced at her notes, and 
began to speak.  •Three months ago Drin Misek was obliged to 
obtain medical care for one of his children, due to a 
potentially fatal illness.  Consequently, Misek™s financial 
situation rapidly deteriorated and he was faced with certain 
insurmountable debts.  A month later, he was approached by a 
man calling himself Palrymth.  Misek™s description of the man 
matches that of Palrymth a-Tigar Ten-ly-Ref, also known as 
Palrymth Shakan, also known as Ob Uang, also known as Ped 
Xing Wey, a very minor criminal whom we believe to be 
employed by various Federation intelligence services.  
Palrymth offered to pay Misek™s debts in exchange for 
information to which Misek had access in the Imperial 
Communications office.  A month and a half later, Misek 
provided Palrymth with the information.  Misek was still 
awaiting his money when we caught him during a routine 
check.¢
 
•Has Palrymth been apprehended?¢ Fennka asked.
 
•No.  He is being followed in order to lead us to his 
Federation contact.¢
 
•What information did Misek supply to  Palrymth?¢
 
•Dates and origins of certain scheduled transmissions.  About 
a hundred in all.  None classified higher than “official use 
only™ and most without any official classification at all.¢
 
•To what possible use could the Federation put this 
information?¢ asked Fennka.
 
•We do not know.  We have passed this information on to the 
office of Strategic Reconnaissance to see what they can 
find.¢
 
•Has a date been set for Misek™s death?¢
 
•The eighteenth.  I have recommended it be staged as an 
accident in order to not overly alarm Palrymth.¢
 
•Good,¢ said Fennka.  •I shall be glad to see this affair 
over and done with.  I daresay Misek will too.¢
 
***
 
Stanton groaned as he settled into his chair.  The bridge 
clock still flashed •12:00.¢  He hit the intercom switch on 
the chair. 
 
•Engineering.  Commander Gritch,¢ said a voice from the 
intercom.
 
•Gritch,¢ said Stanton impatiently, •we™ve had three entire 
weeks of repair and resupply.  Why the hell isn™t the damn 
bridge clock working?¢
 
•Hey,¢ said Gritch, •I never got a work order for it.¢
 
•I sent one to you.¢
 
•Well, I never got it.¢
 
Pointless, thought Stanton.  He sighed.  •Okay.  Fine.¢  
 
He switched off the intercom.
 
•Somebody tell me when it™s 1400, okay?¢ he announced.  Gomez 
nodded to him and he settled back in his chair and watched 
one of the secondary monitors, which for some reason was 
showing a late-21st century detective movie.

***
 
•It™s 1400, sir,¢ Lieutenant Gomez said.
 
Stanton tore himself away from the film and looked at the 
communications officer.  •Okay, call up Enterprise  and tell 
them that we™re ready.¢
 
She nodded and Admiral Carstairs and Captain Picard appeared 
on the main viewer.
 
He was dreading this part.  Captain Picard had reminded him 
earlier that it was traditional for captains to say something 
historical and profound upon leaving on a new mission.  The 
Admiral would be expecting it.  Picard had suggested just 
stating his ship™s motto.  As far as Stanton  knew, it didn™t 
have one.  It was now time to leave and he still hadn™t 
thought of anything.
 
•Admiral,¢ Stanton said.    •We are ready to depart.¢
 
•Commander,¢ said the Admiral, •this is a very important and 
dangerous mission upon which you are about to embark.  The 
Federation will be eternally grateful to you.¢
 
Bullshit, thought Stanton, A week from now you™ll be in front 
of a committee swearing blind that you™ve never even heard of 
us.  
 
Picard and Carstairs were looking at him expectantly.
 
He drew a long breath.  •Um, thank you, Admiral.¢  He adopted 
what he thought might pass for a noble demeanor.  •We, uh, do 
this for the safety and, um, peace of mind...¢ God, he 
thought, this sounds terrible.  •Of the United Federation of 
Planets,¢ he continued.  Admiral Carstairs and Captain Picard 
were still looking at him as if he should say something else, 
so he searched his mind for something that would sound good 
and said, finally, •Morde manubrium meum.¢
 
They both looked satisfied at this and the Admiral smiled and 
said: •Good luck.¢  The screen went blank.
 
Stanton sighed.  •Helm,¢ he said, •ahead warp eight.¢
 
***
 
•Two minutes to Neutral Zone,¢ said Prak.
 
Stanton gripped the armrest of the chair.  He had been hoping 
that there would be a last minute call from Carstairs saying, 
•It™s all been a terrible mistake.  Return immediately.¢  But 
the comm board was annoyingly silent.
 
•Sixty seconds.¢
 
•For God™s sake, make sure Gritch has those power couplings 
locked down,¢ said Stanton.  He had images of being vaporized 
by a Romulan plasma weapon seconds after entering the zone.
 
•Thirty seconds.¢
 
This is insane, thought Stanton.  Don™t do it.  Just turn 
around.  Resign your commission.  You™ll be up on charges but 
at least you™ll be alive.
 
•Ten seconds.  Five...four...three...two...one.  We™re-¢
 
Prak was interrupted by a loud, abrasive screeching noise 
followed by the voice of the ship™s computer.
 
•This is to advise you that this ship has passed into the 
area known as the Federation-Romulan Neutral Zone,¢ said the 
computer.  •Entry into this area is prohibited under the 
terms of the Federation-Romulan Treaty of 2261, Article 2 of 
the Federation Code, Starfleet Regulation 10-1 and Article 4 
of the Starfleet Justice Code.  You are hereby ordered to 
reverse course and return to Federation space.¢
 
•Prak,¢ said Stanton, •what the hell was that?¢
 
•I™m checking.¢  
 
A moment later Prak spoke.  •It™s a warning from a piece of 
hardware that all NCS-3 ships - which includes us, now - have 
to have.  From what I can tell, it seems to be a safety 
device meant to keep lower-eschelon commanders from violating 
too many regs.¢
 
Stanton frowned.  •Is it going to be bothering us much more 
on this trip?¢
 
•I can™t tell.  The computer keeps the contents and workings 
of the device secret by Starfleet directive.  Probably to 
prevent tampering.¢
 
•I™m insulted,¢ said Stanton.  •Well, just keep an eye on it.  
And keep an eye on those power couplings.  I have a bad 
feeling about those.  Let me see the map.¢
 
Prak hit a switch and a star-map of the Romulan Empire.  
Since the Federation had so little first-hand information 
about the interior of the Empire, particularly in the field of 
military  installations, the MilIntCom had given what 
information it had to a collection of historians, strategists 
and exopsychologists.  They had come up with this map.
 
•But is it any good?¢ Stanton had asked Prak when they first 
saw it.
 
Prak had simply shrugged.
 
***
 
•Five minutes to Romulan space.¢
 
Stanton was somewhat more relaxed now.  If they were going to 
be spotted by the Romulan monitors, they would have been 
already.  
 
As they crossed into Romulan space, there was a palpable sigh 
of relief from everyone on the bridge.  
 
•Okay, Prak,¢ said Stanton.  •Start your passive scanning.  
Let™s see if we can start confirming that ma-¢
 
Stanton was interrupted by the abrasive screeching noise from 
hours before.
 
•This is to advise you,¢ said the computer, •that you have 
entered an area of space claimed by the Romulan Star Empire.  
This is a violation of Federation-Romulan Treaty of 2261, 
Article 12-2 of the Federation Code, Starfleet Regulation 2-2 
and Article 12 of the Starfleet Justice Code and may be 
considered a provocative act by the Romulan Imperial 
Government.¢
 
•Oh, God,¢ said Stanton.  •Not this again.¢
 
•In order to prevent official entanglement with the Romulan 
Empire, this ship™s position will be broadcast, together with 
a disavowal of any responsibility, if this ship does not 
depart Romulan space within fifteen minutes.¢
 
•Broadcast?¢ said Stanton.  •What the hell does it mean, 
broadcast?¢  He looked at Lieutenant Vass.
 
Lieutenant Vass was panic-stricken as she examined the comm 
board.  •I think...Sir, I think it™s gone and taken control 
of the communications array.  I think it™s going to broadcast 
it from our ship.¢
 
•Oh fuck,¢ said Stanton.  •Prak, any chance you can stop it.¢
 
Prak shook his head.  •The instruction is hard-wired in.  
We™d need hours to remove the module properly.¢
 
•How about improperly?¢
 
•We™d cause damage that would be irreparable and probably 
fatal.  It™s in the same area of the computer that runs the 
life support system.¢
 
Stanton nodded and turned to the navigator.  •Any chance we 
can actually get out in time?¢
 
Gomez shook her head.  •To decelerate, reverse course and get out would
take twenty minutes.¢
 
•Fourteen minutes,¢ the computer announced.
 
•Damn,¢ said Stanton.  •Okay, Prak.  Get one of your computer 
intrusion people up here.¢
 
***
 
As CW1 Brisque walked onto the bridge she looked at Prak then 
at Stanton, apparrently for instructions.
 
•Eleven minutes,¢ announced the computer.
 
Stanton indicated the overhead speaker from which the 
countdown was coming.  •Stop that.¢
 
She nodded and Prak directed her to his bridge station.
 
Within five minutes the countdown stopped.  In another five 
minutes the main viewer went blank for a moment, then filled 
with a screen of scrolling text.
 
Stanton examined the text for a moment, then blushed 
slightly.  •What the hell is this?¢ he said.
 
•I couldn™t stop the computer from executing the 
transmission,¢ Brisque explained, •so I just changed the 
transmitter access address.  It thinks it™s transmitting 
right now.¢
 
•But what is this?¢ Stanton persisted.
 
Prak looked at his monitor.  •It says “File 32168436-a4:  
Kurq™s Encyclopedia of Exoerotica.™¢
 
•Well, see if you can move it to one of the other monitors,¢ 
Stanton said as he settled in his chair.  
 
•This is going to be one long fuck of a trip.  I can tell 
already.¢