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From: "Ed Meier" <bmeier@woh.rr.com>
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: Patience and Symmetry, a short story (6,790 words)
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Nightshift in sickbay was exciting in its own way. True, most sickbay action
came from injuries. And injuries happened while the crew was active, which
meant they were awake, Ensign Marcy Kramer thought. That was the simple
truth. And it was probably good that the most experienced staff was resting
during the nightly lull. Most of the nightshift was maintenance, cleaning,
wrapping up the day's reports and preparing supplies for the day shift.
Marcy found she didn't really mind all that much. She just liked to help.
She always had. Being newly assigned to the ship, her first assignment out
of the academy no less, she was just excited to have made it this far. She
was willing to contribute in any capacity at all. She'd heard it was work
the other staff dreaded, but she was ignorant of its drudgery. She was on a
starship!   Besides she was finding the night shift a good antidote to the
hectic pace of the dayshift. The sickbay wasn't "hell with fluorescent
lighting" as one nurse had told her. It was just busy.

Marcy noticed security officer Ensign Joe Greene being treated by Dr.
Kingston. Marcy went over to see what he had done to himself.
"Ensign Greene," she said. They had all just been promoted. The class was
calling each other by rank. The luster hadn't worn off of the thrill of
promotion yet.
"Oh there you are," said Joe, "We were looking for you. No one knew you had
duty."
"Extra shift," said Julie, "so what did you do to yourself this time?" She
gave him a mock serious look.
"I was playing one of Jeff's new games. This one is called Volleyball," he
said.
"What's that?" said Dr. Kingston.
"Jeff finds some obscure games from ancient history and talks everybody into
playing." said Julie.
"Sounds like Jeff could have been a salesman," said Dr. Kingston.
Joe said, "As it turns out, this game is pretty fun. That's why we were
looking for you," he said.
"It is? What it's like?", said Julie.
"You have this ball and this net and two teams. The idea is to keep the ball
off the ground, hit it over the net, and hope the other team drops it."
Marcy thought a minute.
"It sounds silly." she said, "Isn't this just the opposite of that
basketball game. Remember? Instead of keeping the ball off the ground we had
to keep hitting the ground with it. What did he call it?"
"Dribbling," said Joe.
"Isn't that what babies do?" interjected Dr. Kingston just to twist the
conversation.
Marcy smiled.
"No it's not that kind of dribbling," said Joe seriously.
"So," Marcy said, "does this game have any new words?"
"Spiking," said Joe.
"Isn't that what they used to call putting alcohol in their drinks?" said
Marcy following the lead of Dr. Kingston.
"Ensign Greene," said Dr. Kingston assuming a mock-serious tone, "You know
drinking alcoholic beverages is forbidden on all Starfleet vessels. I'm
shocked at you!"
Joe gave them both a hard stare. The women giggled.
"So where are you playing?" asked Marcy.
"We're in shuttle bay 2, right across from Sandy's quarters."
Marcy knew the area well. Everyone from her class at the academy was
quartered in the 'basement' except for herself and a couple of other
med-techs. They were put closer to sickbay.
"I'm through here in 30 minutes," Marcy said, "I'll stop down."
"And you're through too," said Dr. Kingston to Joe, "but no volleyball for
24 hours."
"It's not the volleyball," said Joe making an excuse, "It's just that I
forgot where the posts were. Now I know. I'll be fine."
"If you damage that shoulder again I'm going to take you off duty."
Joe looked. Dr. Kingston stared.
"No volleyball," he conceded.

After a stop in her cabin to change out of her uniform Marcy arrived at the
shuttle bay. She was thrilled to see how many of her friends were there.
There was one game of 5 on 5 and many groups of 3 or 4 sitting around
waiting to play, talking. Marcy made her way from group to group like a bee
working a flower field. One of her friend's sisters had had an operation and
she wanted to know how it had turned out. Another had had a brother reach
captain. She wanted to hear how he was doing. She, of course, had to check
on Jeff to see how his shoulder was feeling and to remind him not to play.
He called her 'Mom' but with a smile. Marcy knew most everybody's hobbies
and pastimes. She had let herself be dragged to more than one cabin so they
could show her their latest achievement or talk about their latest problem.

When it was all over. Marcy's cheeks hurt from talking, again. She was
completely fulfilled. She realized that she hadn't been this completely
up-to-date with so many of her friends in a long time. Funny thing, though,
she noted that she had never actually played a game of volleyball.

*****
"Captain, we have cadets requesting permission to beam aboard," reported T'
Mau, at communications.
"Cadets? As in training tour? Didn't we just take our turn two patrols ago?"
said Captain S'Apients.
"Yes, sir", said First Officer T'Poth.
Captain S'Apients was not in the mood for this. More impositions from
Operations, when would they learn how hard it was to run a ship when the
orders kept interfering?
"How many?" asked S'Apients.
"Three, sir", said T'Mau.
"Only three?"
"Yes, sir. They report that the Confrontation took out 11 but had no room
for them."
"Oh," said the Captain, "but ... us?"
"It's part of our mission to take on cadets," said T'Poth.
"Offhand, I'd say some Sauerian Brandy has been exchanged," muttered S'
Apients.
"All right," said S'Apients, "beam them aboard. Then, have them report to T'
Poth once they are settled."

When things go bad, things really go bad thought S'Apients. First there was
that communication from his daughter announceing she'd run away from home.
She apparently had had another big fight with her mother. He could barely
understand what she was saying she was sobbing so deeply. He could still her
parts of her lament: "I'm sorry", "didn't think about what I was doing",
"couldn't help it", "had to run away", "doesn't understand me", and "out to
ruin my life".
When he asked for leave to take care of a personal problem he got a "No",
expected. Imperial Romulan Command Doctrine was that a captain and his ship
were inseparable. When the ship was undergoing maintenance or upgrade, the
captain was free to attend to personal business. Otherwise the ship didn't
move without the captain on board. And they wondered why many very eligible
sub-commanders refused ship commands.
****
"C'mon Marcy, just for a couple of hours." pleaded Jeffrey Adams.
"But I'm not qualified to sit at the helm station."
"I told you. It's all automated. There's nothing to do. Just sit there and
look pretty," he smiled, "C'mon, please! I'm exhausted. I just need a couple
of hours of shelf-time. (a common term for sleep among junior officers
because the bed in their rooms is a attached to the wall and looks like a
big shelf, also a reference to the fact that junior officers often feel like
they are plug-and-play tools who are stored and ignored when not in use)
Then I'll come relieve you. Believe me, I've sat the night-watch for many
weeks now and have gone many entire shifts without TOUCHING the console."
He did look tired, thought Marcy. He probably wouldn't even make it through
the last 6 hours of the shift let alone the full 8. She thought. 2 hours,
it's all automated.
"OK," she said.
"Great! One more thing, when I relieve you don't do anything big and formal
like announce "I am relieved." Just stand, wait for me to sit down and walk
away. You'll see when you relieve Ensign Kee. When I relieve you just do
what he does."
"Will I have to do anything?" asked Marcy.
"Nothing major," Jeff interrupted, "Every once in a while she'll ask speed,
heading, and position. I think she just does it to see if I'm awake. It's
the top 3 displays labeled 'Speed', 'Heading', and 'Position'. You can
handle it."
He smiled.
Well, she thought, this'll definitely be something to 'write home about'.
And he does look so tired, poor guy.
"OK"
"Great! I owe you one."

Lt. Commander Katie Edwards made it a point to arrive a good half-hour
before her shift, mostly to see who would arrive early and by how much. This
was one of the extra duties associated with the "newbie" shift, as the
officers named the night shift.  The night shift was mostly new junior
officers and seasoned junior officers who had a stagnated in their careers.
Those who performed well she'd recommend for the second shift. Of course,
she realized she was a "newbie" C.O. who was being evaluated as well. But
that was just the way promotions worked in Starfleet. One had to accept it.

First to show up, as always was the Vulcan engineer Sapek. Next, unusually,
was Ensign John Simmons, the weapons officer, then the Science officer Lt.
Derreck, a Telosian. Where was Jeffrey Adams? He was usually here by now.
Even Ensign Kee was beginning to strain his neck around.

Ensign Marcy Newman entered the bridge for the first time since her initial
tour of the ship, and was elated at seeing so many familiar faces. There was
John who was kind of sweet on her. There was Lt. Derek, a fine family man
and darn good Parissi Squares player. There was Sapek who everybody liked
even though he couldn't feel likewise. This won't be so bad she thought.
These are my friends.
She marched over to the helm station.
"Ensign Kee, I am here to relieve you."
Ensign Kee spun in surprise. Everyone on the bridge, it seemed, paused to
look.
Recovering, Ensign Kee stood, waited for Marcy to sit down and, as protocol
requires, left the bridge,  as much as he wanted to stay and supervise until
he got that "warm fuzzy" feeling that she knew what she was doing.

Lt. Commander Edwards, however, didn't just take this at face value.
"Ensign ... Newman? Is it?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I didn't realize you were a helm officer."
"Yes, ma'am. I am. I originally planned a dual career in medicine and
command. I only got as far as helm qualification before I decided it was too
much and focused on medicine.
A little white lie, thought Marcy, no real harm done.
"Yes, Dr. Kingston says nothing but good things about you.  Nonetheless
Ensign Adams has been assigned to this shift. Where is he?"
"He ... uh ... said he was sick. He asked me to fill in, sir."
"Was he?"
"He looked sick to me," Marcy tried to joke.
"Yes, but was he sick according to Dr. Kingston?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask her."
"I intend to Ensign Newman," said Edwards pointedly.
OK, thought Marcy, a couple of white lies and maybe they didn't work as well
as I thought, but still no real harm done.
Ensign Simmons, though, wasn't fooled.  He knew Marcy. She was NOT qualified
for the helm. Nursing? Yes. Programming the holo-deck? Yes. The Helm? No,
not even close. As a matter of fact if he didn't think she was the most
wonderful girl in the universe he would have blown the whistle right away.
Besides, he thought, if she gets into trouble he could saunter over, tell
her what to do, and be her hero. That was a good plan.

"So I ask you again, Evok, what is the point of these patrols?" prodded
Captain S'Apients.
"Deterrent," said T'Poth again.
"Deterrent," said S'Apients sarcastically, "The Federation could march
across the neutral zone this very hour. We could only slow them down long
enough to get word to an base."
"Exactly! That is our mission," said T'Poth confident he had made a point.
"Yes, but Evok, a string of sensor satellites could do the same thing, far
more efficiently too. No Evok, our job is to justify the Department of
Federation War budget. That's all."
S'Apients could see that his first officer was uncomfortable questioning
Romulan command doctrine. They'd only had 3 or 4 of these philosophical
discussions. Maybe he wasn't ready yet.
S'Apients had initiated these discussions to prepare for his next position.
When he got to Commodore he would be expected to sit in councils and debate
hard questions like this. He had proposed these discussions to develop and
practice a debate technique. Unfortunately his new first officer was still a
good line officer. He followed Department doctrine without question.
"I tell you Evok, what we SHOULD be doing is crossing the neutral zone
randomly and bloodying a Federation patrol ship. This would explain to the
Federation that while they outnumber us we out-gun them. THAT would be REAL
deterrent!"
T'Poth stared open-mouthed.
"Relax Evok," said S'Apients, I have no intention of crossing the neutral
zone."
"Not until the time was right," was S'Apients unspoken thought. One method
of almost sure promotion was some heroic deed. Single handedly intimidating
the Federation would surely qualify.
S'Apients smiled.
"These are just hypothetical scenarios," said S'Apients, "Topics for debate,
what do you think?"
"I think we should stick to our standard patrol orders," said T'Poth.
"Oh, of course, of course. But theoretically do you think it would work?"
"Well, I have no doubt we can defeat any one Federation ship. Two though,
that might take a while."
"Yes, but if we showed them our firepower. Do you think they would stay
intimidated?"
"They are kind of prone to talk... I can see where they might be
'encouraged' to talk more. Theoretically, of course."
"Yes, yes, well I see our time is up. Next time we will discuss the real
effectiveness of the cloak. Do you think it is a necessary weapon?"
"Indispensable."
"I don't. We'll discuss it," said S'Apients, "Dismissed."
T'Poth left a little elated everyone knew the cloak was the backbone of
combat tactics. He would REALLY impress the captain next time.

It had taken T'Saren a long time to quit crying. Now she was just amazed at
the irony of her situation. She was a daughter of an Imperial Captain, a
member of the elite society of Romulus. Now she was looking for handouts
from people whom she had disdained for not being driven to success. That's
how she had been taught to think. She only hoped they were more kind-hearted
than she expected.

It wasn't quite dark yet. The purple glow of Stol, their Sun, was still on
the horizon. She could see Remus as a large white disc against the stars. It
was a large general spotlight contradicting the gathering gloom. The few
Earthers who had visited Romulus saw it as a mini-sun because it kept the
night-time so well lit. It only got black-dark for very short periods during
the year.

T'Saren had wandered downtown mostly aimlessly. She was pretty sure she knew
what parts of town to avoid. Other than that though she just wandered
around.
She did have a plan but preying on the sympathy of innkeepers would only
work after dark and after any reasonable expectation of paying customers
showing up had passed.
She finally stumbled on a park where she and her father had had a picnic
long ago. It had been just after his promotion to first officer. They had
all been so happy then. Every day had been an unplanned pot-potpourri of
laughter and good fortune. He was always home when he needed to be. Mom
hadn't become so strict and mean. Life was so much better then.
As she wandered through the park all she could think about was how she
really wanted to talk to him right now. Maybe if she sat at "their picnic
table" she'd feel closer to him.
She had been there a couple of hours. Stol was gone now. Sitting there had
made her feel a little better, but she was getting cold and hungry. She was
thinking of putting her plan into effect a little early when she looked up
and realized she had been spotted.
They were four "toughs", dressed raggedly, clearly no strangers to trouble.
They had probably already been reprimanded that night she thought.
Upon seeing her alone they made a bee line for her. The leader didn't even
slow until he was sitting right next to her.
"I'm S'Tug," he said then stared at her waiting for a response.
"What do you want?" she said finally.
By Romulan standards T'Saren was a beautiful woman. She had a wide face with
widely separated eyes and a prominent nose. She had also taken great pain to
develop the male-desired stocky body. She had just the right balance of fat
and muscle. Her personal trainer saw to it.
"I want you," said S'Tug, "Right here, right now." T'Saren realized her good
looks were working against her and tried to turn the tables.
"Oh, I don't want you. I want him," she said pointing to the biggest of the
standing three.
The other 2 howled in disbelief at the insult she had just given their
buddy.
"Maybe we can all have our turn," said S'Tug reaching out to stroke her
face.
T'Saren pulled away.
"No, I don't ..."
"No?! What do you mean NO," S'Tug grabbed the lapels and started pulling her
clothes apart.
"Hey! Wait a minute," said the biggest guy grabbing S'Tug by the shoulders
and throwing him to the ground.
"Relax," he continued, "we'll find something to do with her. She's a party
girl. Aren't you?"
"At the right party," said T'Saren.
"See?" said the big guy, "She'll be fun."
S'Tug stood, seething anger in his expression. As soon as the big guy
stepped clear of her S'Tug flipped his knife into his hand and charged her.
He stuck the knife directly into her main heart. T'Saren barely had time to
exhale before she collapsed, dead.
S'Tug turned to the big guy pointing the knife at him.
"If I can't have her, nobody has her."
"Are you crazy?" said one of the other two, "She could be the Imperial
Princess for all we know."
"Shut up!" said S'Tug.
"Look," said the big guy calmly, "you took a lot of Slop (an aggression
enhancing drug). I don't think you are in control ... Relax ... Calm down
... You need to think."
The struggle within could be seen on S'Tug's face.
The big guy continued.
"Whoever she is we better leave before the Imperial Guard shows up. Let's
split up and meet back at the West Side Hole in 2 hours. Okay? Then we can
figure out what to do. Okay? C'mon S'Tug think clearly.  You aren't that
messed up. Calm down. You with me?"
"Yeah," said S'Tug regaining some composure, "maybe ... we should get out of
here."

"We are sorry to report that your daughter is dead."
S'Apients sat, stunned.
The clerk went on,
"When you finish this patrol you will ordered to Romulus to stand down for a
week. Your crew will get shore leave and you may attend a service for your
daughter. Romulus out."
This was the extent of Imperial Romulan Fleet compassion, 'a ship never
moves without it's captain.'
S'Apients couldn't help but feel sorry for himself. "I knew there was
trouble," he thought, "if only I could have been there. If only I could have
stopped the fight. If only I could have gone home to talk to her. Damn job.
Damn IRF. Can't break their precious rules. Why not? What's so bad about a
captain occasionally leaving his ship? Their precious rules. More important
that anything. No exceptions.
Eleven years. For eleven years this ship has been my world. Eleven years.
You'd think they could make an exception once in a while. Maybe just for the
most senior members. But no, no exceptions. If I could have been there, even
after she'd left, just to talk to her, but no. No exceptions.
Why not? Why no exceptions!? IRF administrators got to go home. They got all
the leave they needed. Their daughters didn't run away and get killed. What
do they call it? Family Emergency Leave. FEL, yes that was it.
What they need was a little emergency so they can't leave their stations
either. Yes, that was it. A little incident to make them realize how unfair
it was. How very difficult this "ship doesn't move without it's captain"
rule really was. A little incident. Something that could topple us into war
if the crisis weren't constantly monitored, just a little crisis."

"0200 hours, I made it", thought Marcy. She hadn't had to touch the console
once. She'd only had to announce speed position, and heading once. That was
when she had been caught playing 'eyes' with the navigator. He hadn't played
back. He had kept his attention focused on his duty like a good officer.
Somehow though, Lt. Commander Edwards recognized that Marcy wasn't paying
attentions to her station. Other than that all the obviously routine orders
had gone to all the other bridge crew.
"Sir, we have distress call from an Andorian freighter. They have lost main
power and are 2 hours from drifting into the neutral zone."
"Only 2 hours?! Why didn't they report sooner?"
During the pause while the communications officer asked, the turbolift doors
swished open and Jeff walked in.
"They report that their engineer has just now admitted that the problem is
beyond his ability to fix."
"Very well. Navigation, plot us a course to the distressed ship," ordered
Edwards.
Jeff realized the urgency of the situation, and  made a bee-line for the
helm station Jon, Marcy's admirer, had also started sauntering over.
"Course already plotted," reported the navigator.
"Very good. Helm change course," said Lt. Com. Edwards.
Jeff and Jon arrived at the helm station at the same time the order did.
"Take us to the distressed ship," finished Edwards.
Marcy panicked.
"Ensign Newman," Jeff said, "I'm here to relieve you."
Marcy couldn't getup fast enough.
"Just a minute!" interrupted Edwards, "You will follow standard procedure
for relief of an officer. Ensign Newman sit down and carry out the last
order."
Jeff gave Marcy a little nod. She sat.
Jon Simmons was standing in front of the helm console. Jeff was at Marcy's
side. Jon started pointing out the way to change the speed. Jeff stooped
over and started whispering directions to change the heading. Marcy,
bewildered but trying, did a little of both. She had no way of knowing this
was the slowest way to get the job done.
"What's the problem Helm?" said Commander Edwards.
"Nothing ma'am. Just a second," said Marcy.
But commander Edwards could see that there was indeed a problem. She heard
the susurrations and saw the slight gestures at the helm station. The
problem, she saw, was 'too many cooks spoil the broth'.
"Ensign Simmons, return to your station," she boomed, "Lt. Adams, stand at
attention until you can relieve."
Marcy, abandoned, looked at the console. The speed was right and the yellow
current course number were slowly changing.
"Jeff!" she whispered without moving her head.
Jeff, in a tight tightlipped whisper said,
"Wait until the yellow numbers match the blue ones then 'Engage'."
Marcy put her hand over the big Engage button and watched intently as the
third yellow number rolled up to and matched the third blue one. When that
yellow number stopped she thought she understood what was happening. But
then she noticed that the first yellow number was higher than the first blue
one and the yellow one was increasing! That can't be right, she thought.
Well, she finally decided, the best thing to do was to engage as soon as
possible. The sooner she did it the closer the yellow number would be to the
blue one. The closer the number were to each other, the close they would be
their destination. Then, she concluded, Jeff could guide them in from there.
She pressed the 'engage' button.
Jeff, unable to do anything about this mistake, closed his eyes trying to
wish it away.
He snapped them open again when the computer announced, "Warning! We have
entered the Romulan Frontier Neutral Zone".
"Helm what is the problem!" barked Commander Edwards.
Marcy froze. She realized she had really screwed up. She wanted desperately
to confess, but she knew that might end with her and Jeff facing
courts-marital. At the minimum they would get dishonorable discharges.
"All stop!" ordered Commander Edwards.
Marcy just sat there.
"All stop ... Ensign Newman all stop! ... Ensign Newman ... Ensign Newman,"
said Commander Edwards trying to let this new officer get herself out of her
own crisis.
"Red Alert! We have entered Romulan Space," reported  the computer.
"Ensign Newman, you are relieved! Lt. Adams take the helm station."
"Marcy got up and ran for the turbolift, tears streaming down her face.
"All stop," reported Jeff.
The captain would be here any second. Commander Edwards knew she had a lot
of explaining to do.
"Firehawk class heavy cruiser, range 100,000 km, on an intercept course,"
reported Ensign Simmons from the weapons stations."
"Plot us a return path and get us out of here," ordered Edwards.
The turbolift doors opened and Captain Timothy Hatcher entered the bridge.
He knew better than to just take control. He waited for a break in the
action.
"Course plotted," reported Navigation.
"Helm, take us out," order Edwards.
"Aye, aye."
"Report," ordered Capt. Hatcher.
"We have accidentally entered Romulan space. There is a Firehawk class heavy
cruiser bearing down on us at ... speed and range Simmons?"
"70,000 km at Warp 5"
"Raise shields. Battlestations." Ordered Hatcher.
"We'll never outrun them," he murmured to Com. Edwards.

"Are there any other Federation ships coming?" asked S'Apients.
"No sir, but there is an Adorian cargo ship on their side of the neutral
zone," reported T'Poth.
"Maybe their just testing how quickly we react to an invasion," S'Apients
thought out loud.
"But why have a ship waiting on the other side?"
"Perhaps its not a cargo ship. Maybe it's cargo bays are full of sensor
equipment. They're probably monitoring this whole sector.
T'Poth nodded thoughtfully.
"Well then," S'Apients concluded, "we'll have to give them a real show.
Shields up. Power to the plasma torpedoes. All personnel to their battle
stations."
"Power to the cloak?" asked the engineer.
"No."
"Sir?"
"No power to the cloak."
T'Poth gave the captain a puzzled look. In response S'Apients looked at T'
Poth and said in a loud voice,
"Cadet T'Apiro!"
"Yes, sir!", said the cadet coming to his feet.
"How crucial is the cloaking device to the tactics of a Romulan
ship-of-the-line?"
"Irreplaceable, sir."
"What if I were to tell you that I can defeat this enemy without it?"
"Nothing, sir."
S'Apients then turned to face the cadet.
"Do you think it's possible?", he said.
A pause.
"It would be difficult sir."
"What if I were to wager you that we will defeat this enemy and not suffer
so much as a scratch on our shields?"
Another pause.
"I don't know sir."
"Come. I win you will come to my quarters every day for a month and clean
it. My yeoman could use the time off."
"What if I'm right, sir?"
Those that hadn't stopped to listen to this unusual conversation did so now.
"If you win I will invite you, no, you and your entire family to a party at
my house, with all the Imperial Romulan officers I can find, to be held in
your honor."
Everyone felt better about the Captain's new, possibly strange, tactic. No
matter the method, the Captain planned to get home safely.
"The Federation ship is hailing us," said the communications officer.
"Well?" said S'Apients to T'Apiro.
"It's a bet, sir."
"Good. Very good. Watch and learn, cadet." Said S'Apients turning his gaze
back to T'Poth.
"Put them on," said S'Apients to the communications officer.
"This is the Federation Starship Alberta. We have had a navigational
malfunction. We were on a rescue mission and accidentally entered you space.
We would like to leave immediately and without incident."
"Very well, Alberta, you may leave," said S'Apients. Then he smiled and cut
off the communication.
"Do not accept any more communications from them," ordered S'Apients.

Lt. Commander Edwards smiled in relief. Capt. Hatcher caught her eye and
shook his head.
"Tactical, has he slowed or stopped charging weapons?" said Capt. Hatcher.
"No, sir."
"Helm, bring us around to face them. Then back us out toward the neutral
zone, maximum acceleration," ordered Hatcher.
"Aye, sir"
"Continue to hail them, but I don't think he wants to talk."

Hatcher knew the key to defeating a Romulan was to make maximum advantage of
the speed difference between the plasma torpedo and the cloaked ship. It was
the tactic Capt. Kirk of the Enterprise had stumbled upon when first
encountering one of the "new" Romulans. Kirk had amazing instincts.
The standard Federation tactic was to defeat the plasma weapon through a
combination of running away, since plasma weakens as it travels, and firing
phasers into it. This also weakens it.
The plasma torpedo takes a long time to charge and is a huge drain on the
ships power systems. When the Romulan is readying another, typically he
cloaks and travels at a very low speed. This is the time to strike. Standard
Federation tactics is to use proximity fuse torpedoes. Proximity fuse
torpedoes travel a specified distance then explode. This is very similar to
depth charging enemy submarines in World War II.
It was all a little more complicated than this, of course. The Romulans had
developed fake plasma torpedoes a few years ago to throw off enemies. They
looked and 'smelled' the same to the sensors but did no damage to a ship.
Intelligence had told Starfleet that the pseudo-torpedoes cost no energy to
produce and each ship had one for every plasma torpedo launcher, but only
one. Not that the Intelligence office was 100% right all the time.
Another complication to this simple battle drill was the Federation's Wild
Weasel (WW). The WW was an electronic warfare weapon. It was a shuttlecraft
which could mimic the electronic signature of the ship that launched it. The
problem was the limited size of a shuttlecraft limited the volume the signal
could produce. In order for a WW to work a Starship had to play near-dead in
space, no shields, low speed. This was a tactic for which most Captains had
great disdain but no choice.

"The Federation ship has come about to face us," reported the Romulan
Sensor-Weapons officer."
"Very well," said S'Apients thinking how easy this Federation captain was
making it.
"He is now retrograding toward the neutral zone," said the Sensor-Weapons
officer.
'Well not that easy' thought S'Apients before he said,
"Very well. Range?"
"11,000 km"
"Torpedo closing range?" said S'Apients.
The "torpedo closing range" was how far the torpedo will travel before it
impacts on the enemy ship. The Romula Plasma Torpedo was the most powerful
weapon of all the known fleets. It was also one of the slowest. Worse yet,
the weapon couldn't hold its charge. It dissipated. The farther it traveled
the weaker it became. An enemy ship with a running start could completely
outrun a plasma torpedo.
 "Torpedo will close at ... 10,000 km," said T'Aamil.
 "Launch the Foxtrot pattern." The patterns were a standard mix of psuedo
and real plasma.
 "Done, sir."

 "Cadet T'Apiro," said the captain, "What would we do now, normally?"
 "Sir, we should cloak, recharge our weapons, and note on which shield our
weapons hit so we can hit them again."

 "The Federation ship has launched a Wild Weasel and gone dead," reported
T'Amil.
 "Cadet, I think you would be losing this battle," said S'Apients. Then he
barked the order,
 "Change course to intercept the Wild Weasel, maximum speed."
 "Aye, aye, sir.", replied the Helm.

 Plasma torpedoes were slow laboring balls of hot gas. They would sound like
rolling thunder if sound could travel effectively in space.

 While plasma torpedoes were slow by weapons standards, they were still
faster than any ship. Even at maximum speed S'Apients ship, Subjugation,
could at best only slowly lose the race with them to the Wild Weasel.

 "Ok, there is the plasma, and now he'll cloak," said Capt. Hatcher to no
one in particular.
 "Sir, they have increased speed and are heading for the Wild Weasel." said
the sensor officer, Lt. Bartley.
 Hatcher paused.
 "Opinion?" he said to Edwards, who had stayed on the bridge as acting first
officer.
 "They may have launched real torpedoes and are trying to disable the weasel
before it consumes them."
 Hatcher thought.
 "It'll never work," he said finally.
 "It may be their only chance."
 "Well then, we should have an easy time of it."

 "Sir," said Bartley, "they have fired on the Wild Weasel."
 "Did they destroy it?"
 "No sir. It is badly damaged but still operating."
 "Very good. How long till the plasma impacts on the Weasel?"
 "About 10 seconds, sir."
 "Well," he said to Edwards, "it looks like you were right."
 After complete silence for what seemed like an hour Bartley reported,
 "All torpedoes are impacting on the weasel."
 A cheer went up. Bartley yelled above the din,
 "Sir, all torpedoes were decoys except for one small one! The Wild Weasel
is destroyed."
 "Bearing?"
 "He's directly behind us. Range 5,000 km"
 "Do we have another Weasel?", asked Hatcher.
 "In about a minute," replied Lt. Foster, the Operations officer.
 "He's firing plasma torpedoes," reported Bartley.
 With Bartleys report Hatcher knew he didn't have anywhere near a minute to
wait for another Wild Weasel to be warmed up.
 "All ahead maximum warp," ordered Hatcher. He knew they'd never get away
but if they could buy some time the plasma might weaken.
 "Fire rear phasers at the plasma," ordered Hatcher. He knew this too was a
mostly futile effort. They were just too close. The phasers would dampen
some energy but it was like trying to prevent a punch to the gut by holding
up a feather. His ship was about to sustain serious damage.
 "Impact in 5 seconds," reported Bartley, "Four. Three. Two. One."
 "Hang on!" yelled Hatcher.

 The library like calm of the bridge was shattered with the screech of
abrading metal. Every crewmen was thrown in a different direction. It was
like they were all in a paperweight snow dome which someone had shook.

 "Helm!" Hatcher yelled over the sound of frying circuitry and moaning,
"Bring us about. It's time to give what we get."

 Ensign Adams didn't respond. Lt. Commander Edwards lept over one motionless
body to the Helm station and pushed Adams out of the way. She didn't know if
he was alive or dead and at this point she didn't have time to check. She,
and everyone else, would worry about that when all of their lives were safe.
Right now the top priority was getting out of danger, lest there be more
motionless bodies to leap over.
 "Helm is not responding sir," said Edwards after pushing a few buttons.
 "Auxillary Control!" barked Hatcher into his chair communicator, "Can you
bring us about?"
 After a pause, "No sir, our helm station is a pile of rubble."
 Hatcher headed for the turbolift doors then turned around to face what was
left of his main bridge.
 "Edwards. Bartley. Stubbs. Foster. You're with me. To the Emergency
Bridge."

 Stubbs, at communication, still had a fully functioning station, but he
knew his place was with the captain. No point in being able to communicate
if no one was there to talk.

 Marcy was thrown completely from her bunk, and not just thrown down but up
first. Everything on her shelves and tables was on the floor. She'd been
crying over how much trouble she'd gotten Jeff into. Now she realized things
were much worse.

 She picked herself up and ran for her duty station, sickbay. The academy
had trained her well. When she saw how many wounded there were and how bad
they were hurt, she became almost catatonic except for the uncontrollable
sobbing. She couldn't believe the wrong she had wrought. Eventually she
wandered aimlessly down the hall in the general direction of her friends
quarters.

 When she came upon the corridor leading to the shuttle bay and her friends
quarters, she was no longer crying. She was walking in a stupefied daze,
almost sleepwalking. Her eyes were the only sign that she was conscious.
They had a slightly terrorized look.

 There was something wrong with the corridor at the turn. She couldn't
comprehend the closed space-seal door. In her state everything had to be as
expected. It was like stumbling through your house in the morning. You don't
think of the roller-skate as an obstacle to avoid until you step on it.

 Upon comprehension, grief turned to shock. This couldn't be. Space-seal
doors closed automatically upon sudden lose of pressure, but that
meant...no, it couldn't be. This had to be a mistake. Her friends were on
the other side.

 She moved to the door panel and punched in the open command. The door
buzzed refusal. Marcy tried it again.

 Joe, with the hurt shoulder, was on duty at his security station. He knew
what the doors error-tone meant and hustled over. He arrived just as the
door was rejecting Marcy for the second time.

 "Marcy, what are you doing?"
 "I have to see who needs my help back here," she mumbled as he reached for
the access panel again.
 "Marcy," he said quietly grabbing her hand.
 "I have to help these people and this stupid door won't let me in!"
 "Marcy," holding her hand to his chest.
 "Let go!" she said reaching for the panel, "I have to see who needs help."
 "Marcy," he said blocking her hand, "There's no one back there."
 "Yes there is. There's Susan and Rob and Mary and Fred. Telos' brother was
just made captain. Ahmed's brother just got married. Surak's a new aunt.
They might be hurt. I need to help them.
 "Marcy, there's no one back there. It's just space now," a tear forming in
Jeff's eye.
 "NO!" she screamed backing away, "NOOOOOOO! I didn't do this! I can't have
done this! This isn't happening!"
 She turned and ran. Her tears started afresh. At first she didn't know
where she was going, she just wanted to get as far away as possible. She
kept moving forward and up, forward and up. Eventually she realized she was
headed for the bridge. When she realized where she was headed it dawned on
her what she had to do. It had to stop. They had to stop shooting. She had
to tell the captain to make them stop. He could do it. He could do anything.
That's why he was the captain.

 When she arrived at the bridge it was empty. Marcy was confused. Where was
the captain? Where was anyone? Where had everyone gone? As she scanned the
room, her eyes rested on the communication station.
 Yes, she thought, that was it. Make them stop. She sat down and banged the
"open channel" button not realizing she had put herself on video.
 "Please!" she screamed, "Stop it!"
 Sobbing in some air she went on,
 "Stop it. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's all my fault. Stop it. Please.
Stop it. I didn't mean to bring us here. It was an accident. Please. Stop
it."

 "Sir," said T'Mau at communications, "we're getting a communication."
 "I told you to ignore their hails."
 "It's not a hail. It sounds like ... crying."
 "Put it on speaker."
 "... Please. It's my fault. Stop killing my friends. I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to."
 S'Apients thought he heard his daughter.
 "On screen," he ordered.
 There to his astonishment was the same picture he'd seen at the beginning
of the patrol. A tear streaked, runny nosed, blubbering girl, with eyes that
were pleading for her soul.

 It was too much. He couldn't break the hearts of two little girls this
quickly. Even though she was obviously an ugly human child she still had the
eyes pleading for help. He couldn't help but feel that to ignore the pleas
of this girl he would somehow be sentencing his daughter again to her death.

 "Main plasma re-charged, Captain."
 "Perhaps we have taught our Federation friend his lesson.  Back us off. Let
us continue our patrol."

Ed Meier




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