This is a work of gay-themed romantic science fiction/fantasy. Some chapters contain descriptions of consensual sex between adults. If reading material of this nature upsets or offends you FOR ANY REASON, please click away now (and what are you doing in this area of Nifty in the first place?) Likewise, if reading anything like this would get either of us in legal jeopardy, please follow the above instruction. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the story.
CHAPTER TWO Boarding and Departure
SCENE ONE: Captain Mike Ramsey, Kevin McMasters, Starbase 456
"So, what do you think Captain?" Kevin McMasters, at the controls of a two-person transport shuttle, moved the small craft around the bulk of the USS Lyra NCC65432 as he brought her new Captain in to examine the brand new "Zodiac" Class starship waiting for her inaugural mission. "I think she's a beauty!"
"It looks like a super-sized Steamrunner or maybe a Thunderchild Class ship," Ramsey observed. He was a tall rangy man with brown hair, gray eyes and sun-weathered skin (thanks to being raised on his home world of Plateau). "You must have completely re-imagined the physics that creates static warp fields."
"I did, I did!" McMasters rubbed his hands excitedly. "Nacelles hanging off a starship's ass-end may look cool but they really aren't practical. This design is also much easier--not to mention less energy-expensive--to shield!"
"I presume the ship is armed to the teeth?"
"The Lyra has twelve phaser arrays and eight photon torpedo launchers," Kevin said proudly. "She also carries five dozen small ROVs with phaser cannons under the control of onboard computers! Yeah, my girl is `loaded for bear' as they say on your home world! The Lyra may be half the size of a Dreadnaught but she can outdistance and outmaneuver one. If it came down to a fire fight, she can go toe-to-toe with any combat ship the Federation has in service," the Toymaker said proudly. "Considering where we're going we're gonna need at least one Ace-in-the-Hole! That's why I equipped her with a cloak!"
The Captain found himself just the tiniest bit disturbed by the idea of weapons not under his control but he had to trust the Mad Toymaker: Kevin McMasters had done wonders with his revolutionary new ship designs: who was to say he hadn't done the same with computer tech? Ramsey quirked an eyebrow. "You do remember long-standing treaties with the Romulans and Klingons forbid the Federation from producing cloaking technology..."
"I know agreeing to that was one of the dumbest decisions the Federation ever made!" McMasters said. "Right up there with the Prime Directive! Besides, since Romulus's sun went nova their empire has crumbled and the Klingons are supposed to be our allies!"
"At least nominally..." Again Ramsey raised an eyebrow. "You're quite the revolutionary," he observed.
"I build things," McMasters told him. "I leave philosophy to Politicians and Political Scientists: I'm way more interested in research and development! I also know that where we're going we're likely to need every advantage we can get. You ARE aware there are certain factions in the Federation that want us to fail."
"Which is why I don't intend to!"
"And that's why I, and a mutual friend, arranged to spring you from Andersonville," McMasters said brightly. "Conn, Panda, helped pull some strings to get you out: both of us also are arranging to get some competent crew for the mission."
"If the old bear is involved our chances of success have gone up considerably," Ramsey observed as the tiny craft moved into one of the shuttle bays. "When will he be boarding?"
"The Panda is already aboard!" the younger man replied, "He has the Comfy Chair parked in Shuttle Bay Four: very likely he's in the Main Lounge `redecorating' even as we speak! I'd just about kill to take apart that Puppeteer Holoweb he uses..."
"I'll have to make a point of dropping in on him..." Much as he liked Conn, and as many times as the Master of the Nine Mysteries had helped him out, there was still quite a few things he didn't know about the Panda and his many connections.
SCENE TWO: Dr. Josh McClaren, Transporter Room One USS Lyra
CPO Ke'Ta Tuiasatupu stared open-mouthed as the ship's Chief Medical Officer and his two companions materialized. "Did we have a transporter malfunction?" she wondered. Somehow the Doctor had arrived with nothing but a bag slung over one broad shoulder. If that was a Transporter malfunction it was a new one on her--but, then again, this WAS a whole new system. Maybe she hadn't set something properly...
"No Chief, I'm from Pacifica," the new arrival replied. "This is how we dress, weather and local laws permitting: since I'm still technically off duty..."
"I should have guessed from the tattoos," the woman said. Then: "what's with the dogs? Aren't you supposed to be the CMO not some security guy or Planetologist?"
"Who said I can't be the Chief Medical Officer and a Dog Dad?" Josh replied. "These are Pacifican Mastiffs: I've been bonded to them since they were pups. End result, they have to travel with me."
"Hoi, I Bud!" One of the dogs spoke up. "Dis is Bella..."
"Hoi!" the bitch said.
This stopped Tuiasatupu in her tracks. "They talk!"
"The breed was created to do that," Josh told her.
"So why did they send Mastiffs to Pacifica?" the Transporter Chief asked. "I thought it was mostly a water world: wouldn't some kind of spaniel or Newfie have made better sense?"
"Pacifica was an accidental colony," the sandy-haired muscle man told her. "The ship was a second wave colony vessel bound for Forest. Back then, genetically engineering new species was all the rage: Robert Webster thought dogs that could talk would assist the colonists and Mastiffs would have done well there. Still, when my ancestors crashed on Pacifica, the first of the dogs' ancestors were some of the few Earth creatures to survive long enough to breed. Eventually they developed a psychic link to some of us. I've actually trained these two as therapy animals."
"Interesting..." The woman looked at the new arrival. "I can't get over a white guy with tattoos like my people wear.
"You're a Pacific Islander then?" Josh said.
"I'm from Samoa," the Transporter Chief replied.
The Doctor smiled. "Most of the original colonists bound for Forest were Caucasians from the Pacific Northwest but we had a few Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders in the mix. Don't ask me why."
"I thought Pacificans cross-bred a lot with Betazoids and Deltans," she said. "Don't they have a thing against body art?"
"They do," the young man replied. "Still, by the time the first Deltan ship found us, tattooing had become a long-established tradition and we weren't about to change for anyone! Yes, Pacifican culture took a lot from both groups but we maintain our own identity. I'm a quarter Betazoid and a quarter Deltan and the `tats' disturb that side of my family to no end."
"So--you're an empath then?"
"Not in the least," the big beach bum replied. "If I were, the Federation would probably have steered me into Counseling. "I do have a weird quirk though..."
Tuiasatupu looked down at the massive snake between the Doctor's legs. "Besides that anaconda?" she teased.
Josh smiled. "That's due to my Deltan ancestry," he told her. "No, my quirk is that I disrupt Borg communication! Any Borg, or other Hive-mind, within a hundred feet of me can't communicate: they are completely cut off from the rest of the Hive! That little trick saved my butt more than once."
Tuiasatupu gave the Doctor a speculative look. "I'm surprised Starfleet didn't force you into a combat role!"
"Believe me Chief, they tried!" Josh told her. "Lucky for me my paternal grandmother is the Deltan Ambassador to the Federation. She stepped in and put a stop to that pronto!"
SCENE THREE: Jonas Niedermeyer, somewhere on Starbase 456
Cdr. Jonas Niedermeyer III, looked down at the box containing the insignia of a Starfleet Chief Petty Officer. "What the fuck is this Admiral?" he demanded., shooting a black look at his long-time superior and partner-in-crime "I've done your dirty work for years--and you demote me?"
"You're going undercover," James Lambert replied coolly. "Starfleet recruited some damn Dorsai soldier as Chief of Security for the Lyra; you know how the Dorsai are--you can't buy them off! Therefore, you need to take a lesser position. You'll have access to the entire ship as part of the Lyra's security team: you need to make sure this mission fails and fails so badly that McMasters is forever discredited and Ramsey is disgraced--preferably sent boot express back to Andersonville!"
A smile crossed Niedermeyer's narrow face. "Yeah, I'm good at chaos!" he smirked. Then: "I presume you've got a means to extract me if everything goes south? If I'm such a valuable asset you won't want to lose me."
"You'll have to steal an escape pod to get off the Lyra," the Admiral told him, "but, don't worry, I've arranged for a fully-cloaked Romulan ship to follow the Lyra: they'll pick you up and bring you back to the Federation should the need arise. Don't worry Niedermeyer, I'm not about to lose one of my best assets!" Not without good cause at least...
The other man smiled: since the breakup of the Romulan Empire there were always groups available to do mercenary work: the ship could follow the Lyra unseen and undetectable. They could even report back to make sure that Ramsey wasn't holding out any vital information the higher-ups in the Federation or, more particularly, Admiral Lambert might need. Yes, Niedermeyer decided, this assignment might be fun after all.
SCENE FOUR: Lt. B.B. Wolfe, Security Chief's Office
Lt. Benjamin Brazos Wolfe glanced around his spacious office: Starfleet ships, unlike the Dorsai craft he was used to, were packed with luxury and lots of extra room: the Lyra was a virtual Hilton in Space. The dark-haired man had grown used to the general softness of working with the Federation which was virtually opposite to the stiff, always-ready, battle-hardened stance of the Dorsai. After all these years serving with Starfleet he still kept the tough, combat-ready nature of his people though his Federation colleagues all said he worked too hard.
The man glanced at his PADD to see who his subordinates would be: his crew was far too small for his liking but there were some "interesting" and possibly useful personnel. Candace Pierrepoint LeParc was a half-Khund which would make her a virtual tank. Brin Londo, a native of Zuun, was a mutant with unnatural strength and agility: his combat skills were beyond impressive. CPO Cardinal O'Shannon was a former Space Marine: she had impressive combat skills but, being a new transfer, had little experience with Starfleet operations and protocol. Further, Space Marines were notoriously contemptuous of Starfleet and their "soft" lifestyle: she might prove difficult. There was one name that gave him great pause however--Jonas Niedermeyer III.
Wolfe stroked his chin; unless he was wrong, he'd run across someone named Niedermeyer who worked in the Security Directorate under the command of a shady Admiral named Lambert. Niedermeyer was a full Commander: surely that couldn't be the same man. That Niedermeyer was part of a `club' that called themselves Animal House: the crewmen Wolfe knew didn't much care for them... No, the Dorsai warrior decided, it couldn't be the same person. Starfleet Officers didn't get busted down to Enlisted rank for misdeeds: they'd be expelled.. Still, the untidy mop of thick, black hair, somewhat sallow skin, blade of a nose and slightly squinty eyes had a strange familiarity. He'd have to watch this man...
SCENE FIVE: Dr. Josh McClaren, Lt. Galahad Jones, Sickbay USS Lyra
"Well, this is going to be awk--weird..." Lt. Galahad Jones, a cute, short but muscular, well-tanned blond twunk with green eyes looked at his superior with a wry grin. "How is this going to work?"
Josh looked at his Head Nurse. "You may outrank me, Mr. Jones," he said politely, "but I am still Chief Medical Officer on this ship! If the situation ever arises, I may have to defer to you if I can't persuade Captain Ramsey to back me up. Until then though, I have more experience that anyone else in the medical department so in matters medical, my word is law. Got it Nurse?"
Galahad gave his superior a wry grin. "I'm just as happy to let you deal with all the big decisions boss: I know I'm not up to the task of running an entire department: I hope you are!"
"I've been in Starfleet for over ten years--bouncing between Medical and the Diplomatic Corps," Josh told him. "This is, in fact, my second go-round as a Chief Medical Officer,"
"Really?" the other man replied, "what ship?"
"The Merriweather Lewis," Josh told him. "It was my first posting after the Academy: that was about six years ago."
"Wow, talk about being thrown into the deep end!" Galahad said. Then: "the Merriweather Lewis, as in the same ship that was lost in the Forgotten Frontier?"
"Unless there was another one in Star Fleet," Josh told him. "Miranda Class Starships are actually good little workhorses for the Federation: back when I was aboard the Merriweather Lewis, we did a lot of missions cleaning up messes after the Dominion War: it gave me a chance to see a lot of the Federation and I really enjoyed my time aboard her."
"So--can I ask a question?" Galahad said. "I'm curious why someone of your obvious skills is only a JG: who did you piss off? I mean, haven't you written and published at least a dozen well-received papers--not to mention all the times they've asked you to lecture on Betazoid and Deltan healing techniques?"
"Short answer--I'm a Pacifican!"
"Ooh..." The short nurse smiled. "That explains it!" Then: "so what's on the agenda boss?"
"I have a Command Staff meeting then I have to track down those aboard who don't have Medical profiles. Felicity Fortune I expect I'll meet at the Staff Meeting since she'll be the Ship's Counselor. I'm not sure where to find this `Panda Conn' person though..."
"Check the Speakeasy," Galahad blithely told the Doctor.
"Excuse me, the what?"
"The Speakeasy!" Galahad replied. "Panda Conn completely redecorated the Main Lounge to look like something out of Earth's distant past--don't ask me how! All I know is he seems way into historical recreation! The dude even dresses like something out of the past: he'll be the big beef in a white suit with black accents and nine rings on his fingers."
"How did you manage the ship's bar before you checked in?" Josh wanted to know.
"Natural talent I guess..." Galahad replied cheekily. "Raisans always know where to find action!"
SCENE SIX: Captain Mike Ramsey and Senior Staff, Captain's Ready Room, USS Lyra
Captain Ramsey looked over the small group of officers gathered in his Ready Room. "Welcome aboard the Lyra ladies and gentlemen," he said. "I trust we'll all be able to find a way to work together: we have a new ship and crew with unproven technology and we're massively understaffed."
"The tech ISN'T unproven!" Kevin McMasters said, half angrily. "I wouldn't allow my baby to go out of space dock if she wasn't 100% ready!"
"When will the rest of the crew arrive?" B.B. Wolfe asked.
"Starfleet is sending us out with the crew we have aboard," the Captain told him. "We'll have to make do with the 150 individuals we have."
"I have an array of Emergency Crew Holograms to pick up the slack," Kevin McMasters told the group. "It's hardly an ideal situation but we have that as a backup if and when the need arises!"
"Why is Starfleet in such a tearing hurry to get us out of here?" Sascha Markov wondered.
"I have my suspicions..." the Captain said. "Still, the `official' reason is they received a distress call from one of the romantic emigree worlds."
"Romanic Emigrees," Wolfe said, "who, or what, are they?"
"I can answer that," Sascha told the Dorsai. "Back when the Federation was just forming and humans were colonizing any and every planet they could, there were a ton of different groups that just didn't fit in with the homogenous gestalt they were creating. There were groups that decided they had a better way to live. In the end, the Federation decided to just dump them on planets in the Kappa Sector and leave them to themselves! Thus the Forgotten Frontier: for that matter `Woofiekins', the Dickson Sector where you come from was once considered part of the frontier so don't judge, bubeleh..."
"There were quite a number of, let's just say--unique--colonial experiments out there," a big, bulky man with black hair streaked with silver and a neatly trimmed beard observed. He was dressed in a decidedly "retro" fashion--white suit and fedora with a black shirt and a black-and-white-patterned tie: the outlandish garb clashed with the crisply-uniformed Starfleet Officers.
"We don't know how many of those colonies succeeded," Ramsey said.
"At least the Federation doesn't!" Sascha said, casting an eye at Conn. "It seems our friend the Panda knows more than he's sharing..."
"And I will provide any information I have, if and when, it's needed!" the Panda assured her. "Until then--you children are capable of finding out things on your own!"
"That's part of why we're going out there," the Captain said, effectively ending a battle before it could begin. "The Forgotten Frontier is large and there is evidence of a number of spacefaring races living in the region: on top of everything else we'll have to make First Contact and take their measure for the Federation."
"What about the immediate mission?" Wolfe said, bringing the briefing back to the topic at hand.
"A Chapter House of the Order of St. Vidicon of Cathode on the planet Gramaraye says two groups of `invaders' are stirring up trouble among the locals. One group that sounds like Vulcans or Romulans have targeted the Nobles while the other group is riling up the peasantry. That group sound like Ferengi. Both seem intent on fomenting a civil war"
"Oy Givault!" Sascha said, "one of those crazy Neocatholic Saints from the time of troubles!" Then: "nobbles and peasants--is this a Medieval Recreationist colony?"
"Got it in one Lt. Cdr. Markov!" the Captain said. "From what I was able to determine from Federation records they were members of the Society for Creative Anachronism who decided to live the dream full-time!"
Panda Conn spoke up. "You should know that some of the population of Gramaraye have developed Esper' abilities. Almost twenty percent of the population are witches' and `warlocks'--and some of those people have quite strong abilities!"
"Putting the fact you actually knew that aside..." Wolfe said, giving the oddly-dressed man a sidelong glance, "how is that even possible?"
"Wolfe, when the Panda says something, I have learned to my sorrow, not to question him," the Captain told him. "The Solemn Order of the Panda has access to information the Federation lacks; if Conn says something I suggest you believe it!"
"I was educated on Beta Zed," Dr. McClaren put in: they are of the opinion that virtually all humanity lacks the ability for strong psychic power."
"Not unless they have prolonged exposure to Curanide..." the Panda said bluntly.
"Curanide?" McClaren tried hard to think where he'd heard that before. "Wasn't it some kind of drug or mineral Admiral Kirk encountered when he was captaining the Enterprise? If you took enough of the material you gained psychic powers: the Federation stopped researching Curanide when they found out that prolonged exposure was almost always lethal!"
"Not with the proper combination of factors..." the Panda replied. "Someone like you should understand more than most!" This set McClaren back a bit. How did this stranger know about his unusual gift? "I can provide you data if you wish since some of the crew have psychic potential: it would be useful if, at least some, crewmembers on the mission had psychic abilities--at least temporarily."
"We'll discuss that later," the Captain said. "In the meantime I have a few bits of housekeeping I need to do..." He turned to the Dorsai. "The Lyra currently lacks a Chief of Operations and an Executive Officer: congratulations Mr. Wolfe, you're elected!"
"Effective immediately, Lt. Cdr. Markov, you will be our Science Officer: Lt. Thomas, you'll be our Chief Navigator and Lt. Chee Lan will be our Communications Officer." He glanced at the one non-human in the briefing room. She was a Cynthian (a simian species that looked like a cross between a spider monkey and Siamese cat). "Lt. Cdr. Reid Rogers will serve as our Chief Engineer: I trust you can handle Mr. McMasters' revolutionary designs, Commander?"
"I'll do m' best Cap'n!" Reid said. "So far ever'thin' seems pretty intuitive an' quite reasonable."
"Good to know!"
Ramsey turned his attention to a beautiful, lushly built woman with dark hair and alabaster skin. "Since the Lyra is departing without a Ship's Counselor, Ms. Felicity Fortune will fill that role. While she lacks certain skills needed to fill out Federation paperwork, she is more than capable of seeing to the mental well-being of the crew. If we're lucky enough to get our Chief Diplomatic Officer aboard before we have to shove off, she can do that part of the Counselor's job."
"As for you Dr. McClaren," the Captain said, "I can't have a Chief Medical Officer of lower rank than any of his subordinates!" He pulled out a small black box and passed it over. "Congratulations Lieutenant Commander: in my opinion, your promotion was long overdue!"
Felicity Fortune pulled the new pips out of the box and pinned them to the Doctor's blue skant. "Congratulations Doctor," she said, giving the man a quick kiss. "I'm sure your promotion is much deserved!"
SCENE SEVEN: Dr. Josh McClaren, Lt. Cdr. Reid Rogers, the Corridor outside the Captain's Ready Room USS Lyra
"Hey Reid!" Josh had been pleasantly surprised to find his best friend from Starfleet Academy sitting across from him in the briefing room. Both men--oddballs by Starfleet Academy standards had become fast friends and even done their first tour of duty together aboard the Merriweather Lewis. "Congrats on being named Chief Engineer!"
"An' congrats on getting' y'r promotion!" Reid said, hugging his old friend. "It's great t' be servin' with ya again!"
"Here's hoping we both get out of this alive!" Josh said. "Maybe we should get together for some naked surfing?"
"At Wanahakalugi?" the big redhead said. "Let's see what we can schedule! The Holodecks on this ship are humongous!"
"Looking forward to it!"
SCENE EIGHT: Lt. Cdr. Pamela Phipps-Ponsonby, Transporter Room One, USS Lyra
"Welcome aboard Commander!" Transporter Chief Tuiasatupu said after the last of the arriving crew materialized on the pad. "You just made it under the wife! Captain Ramsey is planning to depart at 1800 hours."
"Oh good Lord!" The last thing Lt. Cdr. Pamela Phipps-Ponsonby wanted was to make a bad impression on her new commanding officer. For reasons unknown to her, the woman had been removed from a promising career as a JAG Officer to the Federation Diplomatic Corps and then transferred to an exploration ship where she be expected, as an Officer with zero experience, to manage First Contact with several alien species: it did not bode well. "Is there someone who can direct me to my quarters?"
"FIFI will have to do that," the Transporter Chief told the new arrivals. "We're frankly short of yeomen--and pretty much everyone else!"
"FIFI?" The newly-arrived Chief Diplomatic Officer raised an eyebrow.
"Fully Integrated Fractal Intelligence," Tuiasatupu replied. "That's what Mr. McMasters named the ship's AI: `she' can help find your quarters and get you oriented."
"The Lyra has an Artificial Intelligence?" This disturbed Philippa since the Federation generally discouraged Artificial Intelligences.
"Oh yeah!" the Transporter Chief told her. "FIFI is actually quite charming, once you get to know her! Just don't annoy her; FIFI just might decide to take revenge!"
"Oh joy..." Philippa picked up her single carry bag and walked into the hallway. "FIFI--dear... Could you please show me to my cabin?"
"Certainly Lt. Cdr. Phipps-Ponsonby, Follow the flashing yellow lights..."
SCENE NINE: Bridge, USS Lyra
"So glad you could join us Commander," Captain Ramsey said as his new Chief Diplomatic Officer slipped onto the Bridge. "Please take a seat."
Pippa blushed. "My apologies Captain--my ship just arrived from Earth and I got here as quickly as I could..." The woman kicked herself for giving such a lame defense: this was NOT the way to get on the Captain's good side!
"No worries," the Captain replied breezily. "You're here now--welcome to the madhouse!"
"Captain," Chee Lan piped up, " Starbase 456 has given us clearance to depart."
"Acknowledged: take us out Mr. Thomas!" the Captain replied. "We'll start out using the course the Meriweather Lewis took..."
"Aye Sir!"
"Ahead one quarter impulse..." Then: "Chee Lan--open a ship wide channel..."
"Aye Sir," the Cynthian replied. "Channel open!"
"Thank you," Ramsey said. Then: "Ladies, gentlemen and gensaps--we are about to depart on a dangerous mission but we'll be benefiting the Federation by making sure this is successful. We are understaffed but the Lyra is a good ship and I'm confident in her crew. I look forward to serving with all of you.
"Captain--we've cleared the Starbase: I've laid in a course for the last known position of the Merriweather Lewis," Tracy said from the Navigator's station.
"Very well Mr. Thomas--ahead Warp Factor Six!"
END CHAPTER TWO
AUTHOR'S AFTERWARD
So the second Chapter (and story set-up) of the "Lyra Chronicles" has come to an end: I hope you are enjoying the "easter eggs" I've loaded in. (I count fourteen, most of them new.) As always, questions, comments, suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome. Drop me a line to HonableRonable@gmail.com (my preferred address) or RonVenable@hotmail.com (the email I use to submit stories. Likewise, if you wish to be notified when more Chapters of the Lyra Chronicles are released let me know.
My Editor in Chief Marko the Magnificent has gone incommunicado so any mistakes you find in this are my own: send him good thoughts and positive energy so that he can return to his post. A huge "thank you" to "Rockin' Robyn for stepping up to assist and her proofreading and editorial efforts, Without my "crack Editorial Staff" these stories wouldn't be nearly as good and I am most grateful to both of all those who have helped create these stories.
Keep Nifty free so donate, Donate, DONATE! Give `til it feels good!