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...