"The Voice"

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

Second Officer's Log

Cmdr Jami Farrington, MD

USS Manticore, NCC 5852

Stardate 500503.13

 

"The Voice"

 

Ever since Manticore had tapped into the comm between the USS Hawk and its rendezvoused Sovereign dreadnaught, Manticore's Second Officer and helmsman Jami Farrington had been constantly replaying the script in her mind.

 

Zang, release your tractor cable now, we'll take it from here.

 

She knew that voice.

 

Commodore, what the hell was I towing to the memorial?

 

Commodore . . . Commodore who?

 

Captain, just release your tow cable and move off. There is a new assignment for you.

 

Yes Commodore, releasing now. But sir, I must protest that it is highly irregular to be bringing enemy contraband into a Federation commemorative event.

 

Zang, this is the last time I'll remind you that Special Ops is all about NOT asking questions. Now move off from the cruiser at once. I won't tell you again. We have sent you coordinates for your next mission. Now begin.

 

It wasn't until a few hours later that the realization hit her. Jami sat at the helm, randomly shifting vectors as Manticore fled from the heavily armed Sovereign class dreadnaught and its Romulan prize. Suddenly she knew who the voice belonged to. Lenscher. But she knew him as Captain. She had met him only once, and was thankful it had never happened again.

 

About a year before Manticore launched, Jami had been recruited by Black Ops and came under temporary assignment to the staff of Vice Admiral Gren Dejariov, Starfleet Surgeon General. While ostensibly teaching deep space medicine at Starfleet Academy, Jami underwent 12 months of intensive training and indoctrination into the alternate universe of covert operations. It was there she met her new CO, long-time friend Captain Atragon-9, and the rest of Manticore's hand-picked crew. They all worked so closely together that they came to know each other intimately — each quirk and foible, each mannerism, every like, and every loathing. They built a trust unequaled in regular Starfleet crews. They also learned to be wary, to keep a watchful eye for interlopers and for traitors.

 

Jami's Black Ops medical training included the psychology of cults and secret societies, one of which was the KEHL, the Keep Earth Human League, dedicated to ousting all non-humans from Earth, especially Vulcans. As the movement grew, so did infiltration into it, until a Romulan faction took control and manipulated the KEHL to their own ends. [cf: Sarek, A.C. Crispin]

 

As the KEHL waned, a succession of cults took its place, some more radical than others. One such cult was the APG, the Alliance for a Pure Galaxy. Just as the KEHL aimed at keeping Earth human, the APG dedicated itself to keeping the galaxy "pure." Unfortunately, they had their own idea of purity, the standards of which were hidden from outsiders because their cult was wrapped in secrecy. As far as Starfleet Intelligence could determine, anyone and anything that did not look or think the way the members of APG did was not "pure." The APG had experienced a waning of sorts, but had not totally moved off the Intel scope. Rumor had it that there had been a resurgence of the APG, with splinter groups suddenly forming throughout the Federation.

 

As Jami's initial Black Ops training came to an end, Starfleet held a reception under the guise of an Academy reunion. It was there that she met Captain Lenscher. His Machiavellian reputation had preceded him, so, though she would have liked to meet him, Jami had decided to keep her distance.

 

Lenscher wasn't difficult to spot. Over the hum of practiced small-talk which focused on space tugs and freighters rose a hearty baritone laugh worthy of Fischer- Dieskau. His lanky frame towered over most of the crowd and his musculature spoke of a man who carefully honed his physique. A mass of expertly trimmed dark hair framed his chiseled, sun-tanned face, and he moved with a dynamic grace. Put him in a toga and he'd make a good Caesar, thought Jami. She also knew his command style bordered on tyrannical, and had been warned by a few that Intel kept him on a very short leash. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

 

Jami must have been staring. One second she was talking medicine to a young Midshipman, and the next second she turned to face Captain Lenscher, his cold gray eyes staring down into hers.

 

"Doctor Farrington, I presume," he said smoothly, his lips curling slightly at the corners. "Tell me, Commander, why a woman of your caliber is wasting her time aboard a space tug."

 

Jami held his gaze for a moment, then courteously extended her hand. "Captain Lenscher. Even space tug crews have need of medical attention from time to time."

 

"Indeed they do," Lenscher replied. He shook her hand gently but firmly, then continued to hold it well past a socially acceptable length of time. He stepped a little closer. "I understand you will be under Captain Atragon." He sighed deeply and pulled her even closer, then narrowed his eyes suggestively and bent down to whisper, "Surely you could do much better."

 

Machiavellian? Lecherous is more like it. Jami managed to sustain her passive smile and began a graceful attempt to extract her hand from his. He, in turn, tightened his grip and began a caress, working his way from her hand to her wrist, then to her forearm, then . . . .

 

"Dr. Farrington!" A jovial voice broke Lenscher's concentration as Admiral Dejariov came up from behind to rescue Jami. "Please excuse us, Captain Lenscher." The Admiral put a firm hand around Jami's shoulder and, still talking, led her off. "Doctor, there is someone over here you must meet." When they were some distance away he leaned towards her and said in a jaw-clenched stage whisper, "I trust you've learned your lesson."

 

"Yes, Sir," she sighed, "I certainly have."

 

At present, as Manticore continued her flight from the Sovereign class dreadnaught, Jami turned to Colonel Claire Eason, Manticore's Operations Officer and resident Starfleet Intel liaison. "Lenscher," said Jami. "The voice on the comm, the Commodore on the dreadnaught. It's Lenscher."

 

Claire paused for a moment, a cloud passing over her face. "Damn. I bet you're right."

 

"I met him at a Starfleet gathering once. He's not someone you forget easily."

 

Col. Eason sighed and shook her head. "No. I've met him a couple of times myself." Then, putting two and two together she added, "He's always had an eerie fascination for, and yet hate of the Romulans. He's very idealistic and will not hesitate to run over anyone or anything in his path."

 

"Is he a Captain? Admiral?" asked Engineering Chief Garnoopy.

 

"Last I heard he had just been promoted to Admiral," said Claire.

 

"Last *I* heard, he was busted down to Commodore," said Admiral Atragon, with more than a little satisfaction.

 

Col. Eason nodded. "That's highly possible Admiral. He's constantly being promoted and demoted."

 

Lt Cmdr Farron, Manticore's Chief Science Officer, had been listening. "The Romulans we encountered a year ago knew we were there after receiving an illegal Federation device that could track our ship's cloaked movement," she said. "It is reasonable to assume that dreadnaught has the same technology, or perhaps even better. You think we have a runaway Admiral running one of the most powerful ships we've ever seen? With the cloaked Romulan vessel, did he want the Romulans to be accused for the bomb?"

 

"Think about it," interjected Garnoopy. "If we think the Romulans blew up a ship, who would we attack?"

 

Ship's Counselor Margaux Roget had been listening and finally spoke up. "He can't be working alone. No one with that size of ship, the those resource needs, can work alone."

 

Atragon shifted his weight in the command chair and took a deep breath, something he did habitually before speaking. The bridge fell silent. "I'm not scared if he's working alone," Atragon said slowly. "I'm scared if he's working within the system."