Episode 8: "Predator"

Lizards. Big, huge, carnivorous lizards. Also called Dinosaurs. Beasts from times of old on planet Earth. . . but resurrected again on this planet: the dinosaur park. Resurrected for the enjoyment of millions.

This planet has become a vacation spot. McMillan thought to himself. Not his kind of vacation spot though. . . he *hated* lizards of any kind, especially these big ones. There was something about them which just made his skin crawl. Perhaps that was because of one too many experience with deadly lizards in his past. . .

Nevertheless, this *was* the place where Starfleet had sent the Gibraltar to. . . the place where, apparently, Starfleet had found Slade. The place where he, McMillan, would hopefully finally arrest this troublemaker, and bring her to justice.

"Standard orbit." The Captain informed the helmsman. "Prepare to beam down."

"No weapons." Commander Arado, his trusted First Officer, replied, his answer also meant for the entire crew. "This is a place where millions go to for their vacation. The government doesn't want to see anything which might cause panic, down there. Understood?"

As the crew moved to the Transporter Room, McMillan threw a sideward glance at Arado. His First Officer was a man of duty: one who could appreciate a joke every once in a while, but who wouldn't have *any* problems with addressing the crew if they weren't paying attention to their duty enough. A man who had proven himself as McMillan's right hand time and time again. He will make a good Captain someday. McMillan thought as he entered the transporter room. For my sake though, let's hope that don't doesn't come just yet.

The blue-ish beams faded away, and before them, a world filled with green emerged. "Wow." Kieran Braveheart, the Science Officer, uttered. Similar phrases of approval were heard from the rest of the teammembers. Even Petty Officer Westland, the Vulcan Operations Officer, didn't seem to mind this place all that much. It was truly understandable that this was a place for vacation. Except they were here on duty. They had a job to do.

Judging by the tricorder readings, Captain McMillan lead the team through the thick vegetation onto a path, straight towards a visitor centre. He had hoped the tricorder readings would become more clear once in there, but. . . alas. No such luck.

"Captain." The Vulcan spoke up. "There seems to be some sort of dampening field, blocking our tricorders." She moved away the tricorder to show what she said next. "They are useless, at the moment."

"Thank you Ms. Westland." McMillan said, most likely looking as annoyed as he felt. If he did, nobody said anything about it. He imagined that they all felt the same way, after all. Without tricorders, it would be much more difficult to track Slade, or any sign she might have left.

Eventually, the team moved outside of the centre, only to be stopped by a huge gate. One which had power surges running through it. "Probably to keep the dinosaurs in." Heron wagered a guess. She reached out to touch the gate, but quickly withdrew her hand when a spark interfered with those plans. "Yep." She said, shaking her hand. "Not a good idea."

"Captain." Ms. Westland then spoke up. "It would seem that we are getting a signal on the tricorder."

McMillan quickly grabbed the tricorder of his own, and checked. Yes, the Vulcan was correct. "But how?" He asked. "I thought they were blocked?"

"Either the signal is powerful enough to reach our tricorders," Ms. Westland said as an explanation, "Or the signal blocking our tricorders is weaker here."

Probably due to the electrical current. The Captain thought, and then nodded. "According to this, the signal is coming from. . ." He paused for a moment, and swallowed softly. He had feared as much. "From inside the area where the dinosaurs live." The decision was easily made, though McMillan knew he could just now be ordering his crew to their deaths. "Let's go in."

The crew wasn't making much progress in covering terrain, that was for sure. Not because the terrain was hard, but because they had to evade dinosaurs. McMillan had to admit, he was in awe of these creatures. From what he had read, they could easily tear each and every one of them apart, without the crew even knowing what hit them. It most certainly warranted the careful approach.

Nevertheless, their search had immediate results: they had found a building, very much like the visitor centre earlier on. . . except this one was *inside* the dinosaur controlled portion of the park, *and* it was broken. Very much so, even. The doors hardly worked, and thick, black smoke came from smouldering remains near the still-working transporter. Who or whatever had done this, couldn't have gone far.

And at the moment, everyone obviously assumed that one person was responsible for this. Slade.

"Careful." Commander Arado said as the crew looked around this building. "It could be a trap." McMillan nodded: if it had been Slade, she'd have set some traps for them. Traps which, as McMillan knew from experience, the crew wouldn't like at all.

All of a sudden, a mighty roar echoed through the woods. This one was closer than the ones the crew had heard before. And they could *see* where this roar was coming from: a white velociraptor was standing there, glaring at the Starfleet crew. There no longer was a gate, a fence, or even a building in between. This dinosaur had entered the building. And it wouldn't leave. . .

It seemed everything was happening in slow-motion. Doctor Seesaw, Ensign Braveheart and PO3 Westland quickly activated the transporter, and they were gone. But for Captain McMillan, Commander Arado and Lt. Heron, there was no time left to do this. The dinosaur moved closer, as Lt. Heron stood before the Captain, between him and the dinosaur.

And then. . . the dinosaur spoke up.

Ensign Braveheart looked at the transporter controls. "It's no use." He admitted. "The circuit's fried. And even if it wasn't, I wouldn't be able to beam the Captain, Commander or Lieutenant over." They hadn't transported far away. . . a few dozen meters, at most. But that was enough to bring them out of danger. For how long, nobody knew.

"Tricorder readings suggest they are still all alive." Westland said in a tone which Braveheart was beginning to dislike. "Nobody has been killed just yet. There is no reason for panic."

Before Braveheart had a chance to respond, Doctor Seesaw spoke up. "Let's safe the bickering for later: we've got a laboratory to examine." And she was right. The transporter had beamed them into some sort of laboratory. One which was also nearly destroyed, but still. . . perhaps there were still some instruments which they could use.

"It looks as if scientists had been monitoring the progress of the dinosaurs." Westland observed, glancing at the nearby monitors. A faint sound was heard, as Westland's eyebrow jerked upwards. "Curious. A program seems to have been activated just now."

A shock of horror went through Braveheart as he too looked at the readings. "That's not just any kind of program." He bellowed. "Doctor, look at those readings. Aren't those DNA sequences?"

"Humanoid DNA sequences, to be precise." Seesaw answered, after which she too showed a look of horror. "Oh my god. If this does what I think it does, it will mutate humanoid DNA into that of dinosaurs." She glanced at the others. "That program. . . it must be spreading a gaseous form of the biological program which rewrites the DNA!" She looked around. "If you see any gas-vents: block them! We still have a chance!"

Not wanting to change into a dinosaur this early in his Starfleet career, Braveheart obeyed, as did Westland. Just a few moments later, the hiss of gas being pumped in the room was heard no more. "We've got to report this to the Captain." Seesaw said, after taking tricorder readings.

"We will, once we get out of here." Braveheart responded. He then tapped his commbadge. "Braveheart to Captain McMillan, are you alright?" As he contacted his CO, he remembered that the three of them were in the same room with a *dinosaur*. . .

But apparently the Captain had survived. "We are, Ensign. We have. . . just made first contact with what seems to be an intelligent form of dinosaur. How are you holding up?"

"We have found evidence that the dinosaurs on this planet might not be actual dinosaurs Sir." Seesaw responded, almost unable to hide her eagerness. "We've disabled a program which tried to turn us into big lizards."

"Good lord." Came the response from McMillan. "Hold on, I will contact the Gibraltar, and have you beam to us. Stand by for Transport. McMillan, out."

The blue light disappeared again, and Braveheart and Seesaw almost jumped up a meter in the air when they saw a white striped velociraptor standing in front of them. To her credit, Westland didn't move a muscle. "It's alright." Came the quick insurance of Captain McMillan, "Allow me to introduce 'Spike'." He smiled slightly. "He's been telling us about Slade. . . or well, more about their hatred of humans, actually."

The dinosaur swept his tail in an angry fashion. "Humans." He said with contempt in his voice. Not to mention, according to Braveheart, a lot of bad breath. "They act as if they're so superior, while it is *us* who are superior, not them!"

Braveheart noticed Captain McMillan frown, even though the CO didn't say anything. Instead, he started about something else. "Spike. . . we will take every precaution to make sure Slade doesn't come back here. Also. . . we shall contact the government of this planet, and see if they *know* that intelligent dinosaurs live here."

'Spike' simply watched the Captain with a deadly gaze. Braveheart had to give the Captain credit: he didn't even blink. "We will leave." McMillan then stated. "We will leave, and not bother you again. But I do hope that one day we will be able to return, and talk. . . peacefully."

Another sweep from the dinosaur's tail, but this time not as angry. "We shall see, Captain. We. . . we shall see. And I will spread the word to my kin: we will look out for Slade."

"All the best, Spike."

"All the best, Captain."

"Gibraltar. . . six to beam up." McMillan smiled faintly as he looked at the dinosaur. "Thank you. For your vigilance, for your talk. . . and for not killing us." His face then straightened. "Energise."

From beyond the damaged dome, a pair of familiar eyes watched as the Gibraltar officers disappeared in a blue light. Idiots. She thought to herself. Blind fish. She had been observing this situation for a while now, and still they hadn't noticed her. And these are Starfleet's finest?

Demeter Slade shook her head. She almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

"Slade to Scimitar." She said, pressing her own communication device in opening a channel with her own personal warship. "Transport me up." The chase was far from over.

Episode 7: "Clues"

We've lost any and all trail of where Slade might be.

The thought that had entered Captain McMillan's mind countless times before since rescuing the crew of the Challenger, echoed there once again. Of course, their rendez-vous with the USS Sutherland had been necessary: the Challenger crew had to be brought back to Federation Space, to deal with the aftermath of what had happened to them. Unfortunately, that had caused the Gibraltar to lose whatever lead they had on where Slade might be now. She had eluded them. Again.

"Anything?" McMillan asked for the umpteenth time. He had asked Lt. Etta Teichmann, who had transferred on board from the Challenger, to man Science while Ensign Braveheart had been unavailable. She had accepted it at first, but McMillan didn't doubt that his continuous asking about any trail of Slade, was driving the poor woman crazy. If that was the case though, she didn't show it. Instead, she merely shook her head... as did Ensign Clawtooth, who was manning the Helm. He too was getting used to these questions.

All of a sudden, the tactical console, where Lt. Kelly Heron was standing, beeped. Just a second or two afterwards, the Tactical Officer spoke up. "Captain. I just received a report from Starfleet Intelligence. One of their operatives, a Ferengi named Bork, claims he has seen Slade in a bar, talking to some Klingons, at Mirtak Four."

McMillan turned around, and not for the first time, wondered how this particular officer managed to get her hands on reports from Starfleet Intelligence. She had shown suspicious behaviour in the past... closing down programs just as he or any of the other crew came nearby, sending out signals... none of which was enough to warrant extra attention of course, since she kept it discrete. But it was enough to make McMillan wonder. One of these days, he would have to have a talk with this woman.

But not today. Captain McMillan would not look a given horse in the mouth, as the proverb said. Perhaps Heron *was* with Starfleet Intelligence. But that was of later concern. "How long ago was that, Lieutenant?"

"The report is two days old, Sir." came the answer.

Commander Unadecal Arado, McMillan's trusted First Officer, decided to speak up as well. "Are we sure this Bork fellow can be trusted?" A good question... something McMillan had to admit to not have thought about.

"Yes Sir." Came the simple answer. "I completely trust him." There was no explanation, no further answer... just a look in Heron's eyes saying 'do not persue this any further'. McMillan nodded at this, and turned to Lt. Teichmann. "What do we know about Mirtak Four?"

The news Lt. Teichmann brought was not what McMillan had hoped... but it *was* what he had expected. "It's a borderworld, Sir." she answered. "Located at the border of the Federation, the Romulan empire, and the Klingon empire. It's governed by none of these, though all claim to have ownership of it."

"Not a place we'd like to visit." Arado commented.

"Normally I'd agree, Commander." McMillan answered. They all knew how much 'fun' those borderworlds could be. Survival of the fittest and anarchy went hand in hand there. "Nevertheless, this is our only lead we have." He shot a glance at Lt. Heron, before looking at Ensign Clawtooth. "Well... Helm, set a course, and engage at maximum warp."



Lieutenant Novi, the Gibraltar's Chief Engineer on duty, was not happy with the readings which he was getting. "The magnetic constrictors are out of allignment." He muttered to himself, as he opened up a panel down in Engineering. "Let's see what... whoa."

He quickly tapped his commbadge. "Captain McMillan, we should slow down to warp 6, at least... holding at this speed will tear us apart. The magnetic constrictors are *way* off. I cannot guarantee the safety of this ship if we're going this fast."

"Acknowledged." came the Captain's voice, though to Novi's trained ears, the man didn't sound happy at all. Well, too bad. He was an Engineer, not a Counselor. "Do whatever you can to fix the problem. Bridge, out."

"Easy for you to say." Novi muttered. "You don't have to uphold the reputation of a miracle worker." Nevertheless, Lt. Novi went to work. He was surprised to see how precise the damage was to the constrictors. A bit too precise to be random.

*Way* too precise to be random, in fact.

After roughly 30 minutes, he opened a channel to the Bridge again. "Captain, you should be able to go to full warp again. That's the good news."

"And the bad news?" McMillan's voice betrayed that he hadn't expected any bad news...

"The bad news is that I've found traces of sabotage in the magnetic constrictors. I don't know who did it, or how, or how long it's been like this. But it looks as if we got to it right on time." He paused. "I'd advise caution, Captain."

There was silence coming from the Captain now. "Understood." He answered softly. "I'll assign security to guard the ship's senstive spots. Though I wouldn't be surprised if it had been done by Slade last time we ran into her."

"Very well Sir." Novi answered, shaking his head. He wondered if perhaps the Captain was giving this woman *too* much credit. "Engineering, out."



Some time later, the Gibraltar dropped out of warp, behind one of Mirtak Four's moons. "Best not to draw attention." Lt. Heron had advised. And good advise indeed: this was a disputed area after all. To have a military ship like the Gibraltar in orbit of that world would *not* be a good sign.

"Ms. Heron, could you see to hailing Mr. Bork." McMillan ordered. "We'd like some additional information on Slade. Like... if he knew where she went."

The usually calm and ready-for-anything Tactical Officer now frowned. "I am unable to contact him." She spoke up. "Either he is unwilling to answer... or unable."

McMillan did not like the sound of this. "Any chance of finding out where he is? We might be able to beam down and find him ourselves."

Lt. Novi swiveled around in his chair. "Perhaps we can lock onto a communicator or something." He looked expectedly to Lt. Heron. "If he's wearing that, that is. Or perhaps something else that will distinguish himself from others?"

"He's an Intelligence Operative." Heron merely answered, thereby giving Novi the message that there would be no communications devices: someone in Intelligence obviously wanted to blend into a crowd, not stand out of it. "Though... he might have a weapon with him. One which is..." He paused, as if wondering to share this piece of information or not, "... most likely not sanctioned by the Federation. I'm giving you the information now."

For the umpteenth time, McMillan wondered how Heron knew this... though again, he remained silent. Instead, he looked at Lt. Novi, who was working alongside Lt. Teichmann at Science, Ensign Bourne at Communications, and Science Officer Westland. If anyone could pinpoint Bork, it'd be them.

"Gotcha." Bourne smiled. "Captain, we have some co-ordinates of where this weapon was last fired. It seems to leave a residual energy trace which isn't easy to detect... unless you know what you're looking for."

Quickly, McMillan stood up, finally able to do something. "Good job folks. I'll meet you all in the transporterroom in five minutes."



The building they materialised in was deserted. Not a single lifesign could be found. And it was creepy. It was as if whoever had worked there, had left in a hurry. All the important crates, cases with merchandise and even some data terminals, were still left. At least, on the first floor. When the crew moved to the second, and later third floor to check those out, there was *nothing*. Just the walls and a large computer terminal which wasn't active.

"I don't like this." Heron muttered. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

McMillan couldn't blame his tactical officer. He too was not feeling relaxed here. It was as if they could expect an attack at any time... even though there was nobody here. With caution, the crew moved on further... to the fourth floor.

"Hold on." Ms. Westland, the Science officer who had come along, gestured to her tricorder. "I"m reading something. A signal. Coming from somewhere on the fourth floor."

"I wonder if it's a trap." Bourne muttered, but didn't voice his opinion out loud when the Captain looked at him.

Carefully, the crew moved closer, until Heron finally found the source. She picked up a small cilindrical looking device from the floor. "Bork's transmitter." She said with a frown on her face. "He'd use this to contact Starfleet Intelligence."

"Then where is he?" Bourne asked. "And where is Slade? I'm telling you, I think we've been had."

McMillan remained slightly more calm than his Communications Officer, though. "I don't think so, Mr. Bourne." He commented, scanning the device with his tricorder. "This transmitter has got the DNA traces of a Ferengi -most likely Bort- on it." From what he could see from these readings, this transmitter might have been a subdermal one... virtually undetectable, but also *very* painful to extract. Something must have happened. "And..." He frowned, double checking his readings. "Just as I feared. Slade's DNA traces are on it too."

His tricorder then began to beep frantically. "Hold on, I'm getting something... A series of numbers is encoded in this device. 025 - 118."

"Co-ordinates?" Westland offered.

"Or a heading." McMillan responded.

"It could be a trap." Bourne continued.

It most likely is, knowing Slade. McMillan thought to himself.

"Even if it is," Commander Arado ventured, "It is our only lead. Captain, I'd say we plot a course from the Gibraltar, using heading 025 mark 118... see what we find. And of course... be prepared for anything."

"That goes without saying, Commander." McMillan answered, tapping his commbadge. "Gibraltar... we're done down here. Get us up."

A few minutes later, the USS Gibraltar jumped into warp, heading 025 mark 118... on to whatever clue, or trap, would await them...

Episode 6: "Heaven"

Captain Fenriss Barbosa was lying in the grass. Life hadn't been any better before now. It might sound odd, but she considered being 'stranded' here the best thing that happened in her life. And in the life of her crew. She knew they all agreed. Lt. Teichmann here for instance. She was certainly one of those who loved this place. Hell, they *all* loved this place. It was... it was heaven. Compared to this, Risa was just a backwater planet.

At first, she had resisted this 'Slade' person, when she took over the USS Challenger: her ship. She felt a pang of sorrow at not being able to be on the Bridge anymore, but... well, she supposed she could also be grateful to this renegade officer for leaving her and her crew stranded on this planet, which the crew had dubbed 'heaven'. Because it certainly was. Her life on the Challenger was over, as far as she was concerned. Her 'afterlife' in 'heaven' had just begun. And she was enjoying every minute of it. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath. The fog which found its way through the yellow flowers, entered her nostrils, and she smiled. What better life was there than this?

"Captain Barbosa." A voice came from nearby. When Barbosa opened her eyes, she noticed several Starfleet personnel standing around her: Starfleet personnel with phasers. Starfleet personnel which she didn't recognise. All of a sudden, she felt threatened. What were they doing here? Still, she didn't let it show.

"That is me." She answered, even though all that she wore now of her Starfleet uniform was her commbadge, and that was only for practical reasons. She had long ago opted to just wear her shirt: a uniform like that hardly seemed relaxing. Lt. Teichmann had thought differently though, but then again, who was she to dictate what her crew should or shouldn't wear? "To whom do I have the honour speaking?"

"Captain McMillan, USS Gibraltar." came the curt response. "Allow me to introduce my officers. My First Officer, Commander Arado. Lt. Heron, Tactical Officer. Ensign Braveheart, Science Officer. Ensign Menkez, Operations Officer. Lt.jg Bourne, helmsman, and Doctor Seesaw, our Medical Officer." He paused. "We uh... came to rescue you."

Alarm bells started to ring in Barbosa's mind. Rescue? Etta Teichmann seemed to be wondering the same thing. "Rescue?" She voiced her concerns.

Captain McMillan didn't seem to pick that up. Either that, or he ignored the statement. "We regret to inform you, that your ship, the USS Challenger, was lost. Slade, the renegade, piloted it on a course into a star. We barely had time to get out of there ourselves." He paused, and offered a genuine "I'm sorry."

Barbosa frowned. "That really is too bad. She was a good ship." she said, and she meant it. She had spent a lot of time on the Bridge on that Starship, and she would miss it. But perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, like everything Slade had did to her so far. Perhaps the loss of the Challenger would be a satisfying reason for them to stay here, on this planet. She decided to push it. "But we do not require rescue, Captain. We're perfectly alright here. Our crew has decided to stay here." She paused, and gestured around. "What more could we want? You are welcome to stay too, of course."

"You are saying," one of the Gibraltar officers, Lt. Heron, spoke up, still wearing her phaser rifle, "That you are not returning to Starfleet?"

Barbosa nodded. "That is exactly what we're saying. And it's not just my decision. Ask any of my crew."

Teichmann now spoke up. "It's true. We love this place, and we will *not* leave it." She was very convinced of this, as she should be. Barbosa smiled silently: Teichmann always had a knack for defending her Captain. Well, hopefully it wouldn't come to that. If this other Captain would just accept the wishes of the Gibraltar crew...

But it didn't seem that he would. He actually seemed shocked at the very idea that an entire crew could decide to stay somewhere. "But Captain. What about your duties? Don't you care for your ship?"

At this, Barbosa sat up. "Of course I care. But as you said, the Challenger is lost. That is a pity. But it doesn't change the fact that we love this place, and we're not leaving."

At that moment, Doctor Seesaw closed her tricorder: she had been scanning the two Challenger officers until now. "They seem to be healthy, Captain." she reported to her CO. "No sign of injuries or anything. Though I am getting some anomalous readings that I have to verify."

The look of concern on McMillan's face said it all, as well as the rediculous conclusion he took afterwards. "Could there be something in the environment, causing them to act like this?"

"There could be." was the Doctor's answer. "I would need to run more tests."

"Oh don't be rediculous." Teichmann interrupted. "We're fine, can't you see that? And this place is just wonderful." She looked around, and many of the angry features on her face disappeared. "We love this place, Captain McMillan. We won't go."

McMillan simply nodded to Doctor Seesaw, and then turned back to Barbosa. "Captain. A few words please. Ensigns Braveheart and Menkez, search the area. Mr. Bourne, please stay with Ms. Teichmann. Ms. Heron, go pick some flowers. They're lovely."

At the mention of that last order, everyone turned to face the Gibraltar Captain, who seemed to realise what he had just said too. Barbosa merely smiled. This had happened to the Challenger crew too. At first they had fought it, since the symptoms were less than pleasant. But when they finally gave up the fight, the symptoms disappeared, and they began to see how beautiful this place was.

"I mean... keep an eye out." McMillan corrected himself, as he shook his head. "Doctor, do whatever tests you need. We need to find out what is happening... to us, as well."



About half an hour later, Captain McMillan was no further in convincing Captain Barbosa to leave, Lt.jg Bourne had nausea attacks, Ensign Menkez found he could no longer walk, and Lt. Heron was swinging through the trees. There was definitely something going on, Seesaw figured, but she didn't know what. There was some sort of gas from all around her, influencing people in all kinds of different ways. She had to find out what was causing it. She had to...

And then it hit her. The fog. Quickly, she moved to higher ground, above this fog, and started scanning. Damnit. She thought. Her suspicions were true. This fog contained some sort of gas. If someone were exposed to it too much, it would be lethal...

And that it was. Suddenly, she got a call from her Captain: one of the Challenger personnel had dropped dead, just as he was reporting to Captain Barbosa. Seesaw scanned the body, and confirmed with a frown what she had detected earlier. "It's the fog."

She would have thought that this would convince Captain Barbosa to return with them to the Gibraltar, but... no. Apparently the fog had already clouded Barbosa's mind. And it would do the same to all the Gibraltar crewmembers, if they stayed here much longer. "Captain, we have to go." she informed McMillan, once they were out of hearing range of the two Challenger crewmen. "We shouldn't be exposed to this fog much longer. You've seen the damage it can do."

"Then what would you suggest?" McMillan asked, his tone of voice more argumentative, more angry than Seesaw ever heard it before. This fog was affecting him too. "We cannot go without the Challenger crew."

"We can shoot them." Lt. Heron said, jumping out of a nearby tree. "Stun them, and beam them over." She brandished her phaser rifle, and besides her, Lt.jg Bourne did the same. "Let me at them Sir, and..."

"No." McMillan said, much to Seesaw's relief. "No, we'll solve this a different way. I don't want to fight fellow Starfleet officers." He paused. "I need alternatives."

It was Commander Arado who spoke up. "We need to let them go to sleep." He suggested. "Concentrated pockets of anastazine gas would do the trick. We launch probes and set up portable forcefields, so that the gas doesn't escape. When it has done its work, we beam up the unconscious Challenger crew."

The Captain seemed to like this idea. Seesaw didn't: there were many effects the gas could have in combination with this fog... but she had to admit that she always like this idea better than just shooting everyone. And there were no alternatives. So finally, she nodded in approval.

"Very well Commander." McMillan stated, finally a smile on his face. "Make it so. Return to the Gibraltar. We will try to convince Captain Barbosa, one last time."



Captain McMillan sighed, as he entered the Bridge. He had really hoped his colleague from the Challenger would listen to reason. But she hadn't. Barbosa and Teichmann had refused to come back on board, but they did say "there'll always be a place for you here, Captain." Somehow, those hadn't been comforting words.

And now those two officers and the rest of their crew, lay unconscious in Sickbay, the cargobays, hell, even the shuttlebays. Luckily Starfleet was already dispatching a ship to take over these many people from the Intrepid class vessel.

"Captain," Ensign Braveheart spoke up, "I suggest we launch a few markers, warning others of this planet."

Sitting down in his chair, McMillan nodded. "Agreed. Let's not let anyone else go through this." He turned to his left, where he saw Commander Arado sitting. He looked up too, and straight into McMillan's eyes. "You know Sir," He said, obviously having something on his mind, "Because of our little rescue trip, we might have lost all track of where Slade could be now. Perhaps next time we should... consider other options too."

McMillan bit his lip. Catching Slade *was* their main mission. Why *hadn't* he gone after her? Another ship could have easily been dispatched to rescue the Challenger crew. Was it because he had known Slade in the past too? Was it because he actually *didn't* want revenge for what she had done to them at the Challenger? Or was it because he was afraid of her?

He shook his head. "Perhaps, Commander. We have sent out probes anyway... perhaps they'll find Slade. Only time will tell."

He took in a deep breath. Only time will tell. "Mr. Bourne... set a course for the Starfleet ship we're supposed to rendezvouz with. And... Engage."

Episode 5: "Trapped"

Once again, the Captain of the Gibraltar had assembled his most trusted crew in the Transporterroom. Once again, they prepared to face the unknown. But this time, the unknown was very close to home. Sensors had detected a Federation Starship -the USS Challenger, Galaxy Class, no less- in orbit of a planet. This was odd to begin with, since there weren't supposed to be any other Starfleet ships in this sector, or this deep into what used to be Romulan space. Furthermore... the Challenger didn't answer any hails. No lifesigns could be found, whatsoever.

What happened to all those people? Captain McMillan couldn't help but wonder as he suited up for the mission. He strapped a phaser to his side. Was this really necessary? Boarding an unmanned ship? Still, protocol required it. And for once, he didn't disagree with it. Who knew whatever happened to the crew of the Challenger. Over a 1000 people... lost... or killed? A chill crept down his spine. Not a pleasant thought.

Quickly, the Captain regained his composure, and turned to his crew. "Let's go." As he dematerialised, he silently wondered what ill fate would await them. Well, whatever it was, he'd soon find out.



The Bridge of a Galaxy Class Starship usually is as functional as it is pretty. The wooden arc which holds Tactical and Communications gives a comfortable atmosphere. The carpet is often preferred by various Captains over that of other starships, and the chairs are equally comfortable. Unless there's a crisis, anyone being on the Bridge of a Galaxy Class Starship would feel at ease.

Captain McMillan and his crew did not feel at ease when they entered the Bridge of the Challenger.

"Surprise..." A somewhat familiar voice said in biting irony, as the doors parted. Immediately, the Gibraltar crew already on the Challenger Bridge raised their weapons
at the person sitting in the Captain's Chair. This woman was shorter than McMillan was, and her blond hair was a stark contrast with the dark suit she was wearing. She had a pleasant appearance... beautiful even, the Captain had to admit. For a moment McMillan's mind started to wander, but he quickly focussed on the situation at hand. This woman, despite her good looks, was not a good sign. "Welcome on board the Challenger, Captain."

"Slade." McMillan stated simply. The USS Gibraltar spent many weeks tracking this dangerous renegade Starfleet officer... and now, they hadn't found her... she had found *them*. They had come here, expecting a lot. But not this.

And then, it happened. "Since you where so nice to all join me here at the bridge let me inform you that you are trapped." The words hadn't left Slade's mouth, or forcefields jumped online in front of the Bridge's exits. Panic struck in the otherwise so calm Starfleet officers, and even more weapons than before were trained on the renegade. McMillan swore softly under his breath, and then turned to face the woman now standing before the Captain's Chair. The woman who was their nemesis.

The woman who should not be underestimated. Ever.

But then again, there were several Starfleet officers here on this Bridge, all aiming their weapons at her. She was but a lone woman. Sure, she was *Slade*, and that counted for something, but even her would not be able to evade this much weaponsfire. Captain McMillan said this... and as he did, he realised he made the very mistake he swore to himself he wouldn't make. He underestimated her.

Slade smiled. It was a smile unlike any the Captain had ever seen. Beautiful yet intimidating. For the umpteenth time, he felt himself shudder. Whatever it was, Slade had the upper hand... and she knew it.

"You can fire, but you'll only damage the furniture." She answered, gesturing at the chairs around. "You see, I am just a holographic projection."

The Operations Officer, Mr. Menkez, silently confirmed this. "No lifesigns other than us Sir." He reported. "She's not lying."

Damn. McMillan thought. Damn. We walked right into her trap. He looked around, and noticed that only part of this crew had been trapped here. A flicker of hope echoed in the Captain, since his First Officer Arado, Ambassador Qinan and Lt. Heron were still outside, at the transporterroom... perhaps they could do something?

Time. McMillan knew he had to stall for time. If his officers were going to do *anything*, they'd need to have the time to do that. "So how did you get your hands on the Challenger Slade?" He asked, taking a step forward. "And where did you leave the crew?"

Again that smile. Again the chills down the Captain's spine. "Oh, let's say that the Challenger's Captain and I quickly came to the agreement that it's better to have a vacation on a nice m-class planet just outside the neutral zone, than have his ship blown up."

For a moment... just for a moment, McMillan closed his eyes. He thought of the Challenger's Captain and crew, wondering if they were alright. He was certain the Challenger's Captain had made the right choice: nobody seemed to be able to mess with Slade.

As the Captain opened his eyes, he noticed that Slade still had more to say. "So Captain." She started again. "A little challenge, on the Challenger." McMillan resisted an urge to sigh at this bad pun, especially in the midst of this situation, and continued to listen. Whatever it would be... it would not be good. "I have locked the helm." She continued. "You steer directly to the sun of this system. And if I can count right, you have about 15 minutes to solve that mess."

Captain McMillan was shocked, as was his crew. Helm was locked, and just 15 minutes left to go? Things were looking more grim, even though the Captain had thought that wasn't possible...

"Well, if you'd please excuse me," Slade commentted to the speechless crew. "Even thought I'd hate to miss another sunbath, I have better things to do than play hide and seek with Starfleet." And with those words, the Slade hologram 'poofed'... leaving the Gibraltar crew stranded on the USS Challenger... with only 15 minutes until obliteration.

And all McMillan could think at the moment, was Damn. She's good.



Commander Arado cursed under his breath. He had been just outside the Bridge when the forcefields were raised. He, the Ambassador and Lt. Heron couldn't access the Bridge now. But what else could they do? Perhaps there was some way of getting past these forcefields. But even if they could... how to get rid of the lockout? Captain McMillan had informed him and the others left outside. Time was of the essence now. Perhaps the Gibraltar could help out? Arado had already ordered the Intrepid class ship to follow the Challenger. Perhaps a Tractorbeam could do the trick... though on a Galaxy Class starship, it wouldn't really make a difference, now would it.

His commbadge chirped again. "Commander," He heard the voice of Captain McMillan, "It would seem we're in luck. The Tactical console is still active... though it's protected by a code. We have to crack that first."

Again, a soft curse came from the Commander. Lieutenant Kelly Heron was *the* expert on cracking codes. There was no other like her. And she's not able to reach the console... Arado thought soberly. Had Slade planned this? He wouldn't put anything past that woman anymore... She seemed to be capable of anything. I should have foreseen this. I should have...

"Commander," McMillan's voice interrupted him, "How about the prefix code?"

A faint smile was put on Arado's face. Of course. The prefix code. Every ship had one: specifically or situations like these. They just had to transmit the prefix code to the Challenger, and *poof*, its shields would collapse, and control over the Challenger would belong to the Gibraltar crew again. "I'll get right on it Sir. I just hope we have the time."



Timing was indeed a problem. "5 minutes remaining." Lt.jg Fitzgerald stated. He was working on a wall at the side of the Bridge. He knew that if he could just get to the tubes, wires and computer controls located just on the other side of this wall, he might be able to get rid of the forcefields surrounding the Bridge. This would take quite some time... and that was exactly what they didn't have. One look on the viewscreen said enough: the sun was getting closer and closer.

"Fine." He muttered, and got his phaser rifle. He aimed it at the wall... and fired. Crude but efficient. The CEO thought, as he began to look for the wiring he needed.

"Captain." He spoke up. "I think we found it." At McMillan's nod, he went to work, eager to get off of this ship. A few moments later, the forcefields on the Bridge did go down... but their problems weren't over.

"Self destruct initiated. 1 minute to detonation." the sterile voice of the Challenger's computer informed the crew.

"Captain." Arado's voice came over the Comm. "We found the prefix code. If you want to lower the shields..."

McMillan interrupted the Commander as he stood up from the Captain's Chair. "It would seem like we have control already... though stand by to beam everyone off immediately. It would seem we have inadvertedly activated the Self Destruct sequence. Get us all out... now!"

With just seconds to spare, the last souls ever to walk on the Bridge of the Challenger again, disappeared in a flash of blue light.



On the Bridge of the Gibraltar, the entire Bridge crew watched the Galaxy class starship blow up in a burst of flames. "Just in time Commander." McMillan complimented the First Officer. As he sat in his own chair again, he glanced at the viewscreen, where the Challenger's debris was still spinning around. He couldn't help but wonder, even though they escaped with their lives... if they couldn't have done better. They had to have been able to save the ship. To save the information on that ship, on when Slade had boarded the Challenger. All that was lost now.

The Captain allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts, but it was interrupted by Lt. Heron. McMillan was glad to see the Lieutenant being here: from what he had heard over the comm, she had taken quite a risk trying to get to the Challenger's Engineering.

"Captain," Ms. Heron spoke up. "Sensors are detecting a Starfleet Runabout warping out of this system. It could be Slade. We should set in a persuit course."

For a moment, this sounded tempting. The Captain wanted to apprehend this renegade, more than anyone else. For professional, and personal reasons... some of which this crew didn't know of. He almost gave the order... but then remembered what had happened here. "No." He answered, causing shock and surprise amongst his crew. "No, we have the crew of the Challenger to save. We will catch up with Slade another time." Letting her go was difficult... very difficult. But he had to think of the thousand men women and children, stuck on some planet just outside the old neutral zone. "Start scanning for ion traces belonging to the Challenger. I want to know where she's been last, and..."

"Captain, permission to follow Slade in a shuttlecraft?" Lt. Heron didn't give up. Despite the situation, McMillan grimaced. Heron was without fear, it would seem. If anyone could follow Slade, it'd be Heron. "Very well Lieutenant." He agreed, reluctantly. "Take a shuttle and follow that runabout. And... be careful."



As Heron raced off of the Bridge, McMillan couldn't help but feel he had made another terrible mistake.