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Star Trek: Second Star to the Right
A Collection of Star Trek: Chimera Short Stories - Vol. II

1: “The Messenger”

His form materialised in the blue/white hue of the transporter beam before stepping forward off the transporter pad and being welcomed aboard by the ship’s first officer.
“Admiral,” she started, keeping her hands by her sides, not wanting to extend her hand to welcome him onboard. “Welcome aboard the Enterprise, I’m Commander Rafaella Musiker, first officer,” she continued, before gesturing towards the door, “the captain is in her ready room.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, yet tried to comprehend the reason for the first officer’s icy welcome.
They made their way from the transporter room to the turbolift in an uncomfortable silence, made worse by several officers who passed by him in the corridors giving him looks of disapproval, judging him for past transgressions.
The turbolift doors hissed open, and he and Musiker stepped inside.
“Deck one,” she spoke, ordering the ship’s computer to their intended destination. Rafaella stood next to him with her arms folded, barely acknowledging his presence.
After almost a minute, the turbolift arrived at its destination, deck one, the bridge.
Rafaella emerged first, where she was greeted by the Enterprise’s tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Mura.
“The captain’s in her ready room, Commander, forewarning, she’s not in a good mood,” he said, as he crossed the bridge to his station.
Rafi smiled, before the steely gaze returned to her face to take a look at their visitor.
“This way, admiral,” she said, as he stepped out of the turbolift, the bridge crew all looking at him with the same level of disapproval and disgust as those officers he’d passed by in the corridors earlier.

Captain Seven of Nine looked up from her desktop computer as the doorbell chimed to her ready room.
“Come,” she said, indicating for her first officer and the visiting admiral to enter.
Seven stood up, ready to great them. She straightened her uniform and brushed several stray hairs behind her ear —something that she would have never even thought about doing years ago. Her physical appearance was irrelevant. But now, just like she had since taking command of the Enterprise, she found herself concerned of such things, mainly due to the fact that she knew all to well that she needed to succeed, that she needed to project the image of a perfect Starfleet captain to make sure that those who entrusted her with commanding the Federation’s flagship, that she would do a good job, and to dismay any last lingering doubters that she was no longer a threat, that she was no longer Borg.
Seven smiled at Rafi, as she and the admiral entered the ready room, before extending her hand out to the admiral to welcome him aboard.
“Welcome aboard the Enterprise-G, Admiral Pressman.”
Pressman shook the former Borg drone’s hand and thanked her for agreeing to see him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

With the introductions out of the way, Seven dismissed her first officer.
Rafaella stood there for a second, annoyed that she had been asked to leave, concerned about Seven’s safety.
As if she were able to read Rafi’s thoughts, Seven shook her head, “I’ll be fine, Commander.”
“But,” Rafaella protested, insisting that she remain, the admiral’s track record was very much in Rafi’s mind right now.
“Rafi, please.”
As Rafaella exited the ready room, leaving Seven with the once disgraced admiral, he took a seat opposite her desk.
“My apologies, admiral, my first officer is somewhat overly protective of me,” she said, making her way to her replicator. “Two cups of coffee, hot, black,” she ordered, before turning back to Pressman and bringing the replicated coffees over and placing one of them in front of him.
“I see that Janeway really did have an influence on you,” he said, picking up his coffee and taking a sip.
Seven smiled, “Coffee: the greatest organic suspension ever devised,” she replied, echoing what Janeway had once said to her in the past.
She took her seat behind her desk and opposite the admiral. “So, what brings you here, your message sounded important?”
Pressman placed his coffee cup on her desk and produced a padd from the inside of his jacket. Sliding it face down across her desk, the admiral gave her a look, —a look that indicated what she was about to read would be difficult.
“Before you read that. I need to let you know that the data on that padd has been verified by four separate sources. All non-Starfleet sources, but sources nonetheless that I trust implicitly,” Pressman expressed empathetically, as if to try and protect her feelings.
Seven picked up the padd and began reading its contents.
Within seconds, she had read the first four paragraphs of information, retained it and processed what was written before placing the padd back on her desk and saying, “This has to be fabricated. A rouse. A trap,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears.
“I can assure you, Captain. My colleagues and I at Section 31 have verified the information. It is true, he is alive, Captain.”
“I killed him. I shot him at point blank range and then held him in my arms. There was nothing more I could do for him. I can still smell the stench of the room in which I found him, can still hear his muffled cries as he begged me to end his life.”
Pressman ran his hand over his brow, and shook his head. “Captain, he is alive. The young man that you killed on Vergesson, who you believed was your ward, was not Icheb, he was a clone.”
Seven stood up, and turned towards the viewport, trying to mask the pain that she now felt burning inside her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and then turned back to the admiral, “Get off my ship,” Seven said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I will not be drawn into another one of your plots to rid yourself of your reputation.”
Pressman rose, he kept his calm, he knew that still to this day, so many within Starfleet found his presence distasteful, that he should no longer be wearing a Starfleet uniform —not that he wore a Starfleet issued uniform, no, now he was a high ranking member of Section 31, a rogue, covert organisation linked to Starfleet Intelligence, he wore one of their uniforms now, which seemed fitting considering his chequered past.
He had been an agent with thirty one for years, after his fall from grace, after the attempts of rescuing the USS Pegasus, after he was sentenced to prison for his actions that played a part in the attempts to create and trial a Starfleet cloaking device. And it was that he used to convince Seven of his claims today, as a way of breaking through to her that what he had uncovered was true.
“Captain, if I could go back and bring back any of those officers that met their ends due to my direct actions, I would. I paid a heavy price for a lapse in judgement all those years ago and it cost me their lives and my career,” he picked up the padd and handed it back to her, “Icheb, the boy you rescued from the collective and grew up to be someone you considered kin, the young man who grew up to be a fine Starfleet officer, to serve on the Coleman as assistant chief science officer is still alive…and he misses you.”
“Impossible,” she said, somewhat quieter than when she spoke before. The admiral was getting through to her. The reality of his claims were starting to sink in.
Icheb’s death had weighed heavily on her for years. It was the driver for so many of her decisions over the last decade and if he had not of died, it’s quite true that she would have become an entirely different person, maybe even not becoming the captain of the Enterprise.
Pressman stepped forward and placed his hands over Seven’s, he looked her squarely in the eyes and said, “On the last page of that padd are the coordinates to his last known location,” —and with that, he let go of her hands and made his way to the door.
“Admiral,” Seven spoke, as Pressman made his way back onto the bridge, where he was greeted by Commander Musiker, ready to escort him back to the transporter room.
“Have you seen him?” She asked, her heart pounding in her chest.
Pressman managed half a smile, then nodded, before turning on his heel and making his way to the turbolift.
As he did so, Rafi looked at Seven, standing there in her ready room looking as if she had seen a ghost.
Rafi knew Seven well enough to know that something was not right, that Seven was upset. But before Rafi could say anything, Seven turned, the doors to her ready room closed and she picked up the padd that Pressman had brought her once again.

Could it really be true, she thought to herself. Could he still be alive?
Whatever she thought about Pressman or Section 31 did not matter right now, all she knew was that she had to find out for herself. She needed to know, first hand, if Icheb was still alive…

“The Messenger”
by Jonathan Crosby Bromley

Starring:
Jeri Ryan as Captain Seven of Nine
Terry O’Quinn as Admiral Pressman
Michelle Hurd as Commander Rafaella Musiker
Joseph Lee as Lt. Commander Mura.

Image by JonBromLE1

Description
Star Trek: Second Star to the Right
A Collection of Star Trek: Chimera Short Stories - Vol. II

1: “The Messenger”

His form materialised in the blue/white hue of the transporter beam before stepping forward off the transporter pad and being welcomed aboard by the ship’s first officer.
“Admiral,” she started, keeping her hands by her sides, not wanting to extend her hand to welcome him onboard. “Welcome aboard the Enterprise, I’m Commander Rafaella Musiker, first officer,” she continued, before gesturing towards the door, “the captain is in her ready room.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, yet tried to comprehend the reason for the first officer’s icy welcome.
They made their way from the transporter room to the turbolift in an uncomfortable silence, made worse by several officers who passed by him in the corridors giving him looks of disapproval, judging him for past transgressions.
The turbolift doors hissed open, and he and Musiker stepped inside.
“Deck one,” she spoke, ordering the ship’s computer to their intended destination. Rafaella stood next to him with her arms folded, barely acknowledging his presence.
After almost a minute, the turbolift arrived at its destination, deck one, the bridge.
Rafaella emerged first, where she was greeted by the Enterprise’s tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Mura.
“The captain’s in her ready room, Commander, forewarning, she’s not in a good mood,” he said, as he crossed the bridge to his station.
Rafi smiled, before the steely gaze returned to her face to take a look at their visitor.
“This way, admiral,” she said, as he stepped out of the turbolift, the bridge crew all looking at him with the same level of disapproval and disgust as those officers he’d passed by in the corridors earlier.

Captain Seven of Nine looked up from her desktop computer as the doorbell chimed to her ready room.
“Come,” she said, indicating for her first officer and the visiting admiral to enter.
Seven stood up, ready to great them. She straightened her uniform and brushed several stray hairs behind her ear —something that she would have never even thought about doing years ago. Her physical appearance was irrelevant. But now, just like she had since taking command of the Enterprise, she found herself concerned of such things, mainly due to the fact that she knew all to well that she needed to succeed, that she needed to project the image of a perfect Starfleet captain to make sure that those who entrusted her with commanding the Federation’s flagship, that she would do a good job, and to dismay any last lingering doubters that she was no longer a threat, that she was no longer Borg.
Seven smiled at Rafi, as she and the admiral entered the ready room, before extending her hand out to the admiral to welcome him aboard.
“Welcome aboard the Enterprise-G, Admiral Pressman.”
Pressman shook the former Borg drone’s hand and thanked her for agreeing to see him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

With the introductions out of the way, Seven dismissed her first officer.
Rafaella stood there for a second, annoyed that she had been asked to leave, concerned about Seven’s safety.
As if she were able to read Rafi’s thoughts, Seven shook her head, “I’ll be fine, Commander.”
“But,” Rafaella protested, insisting that she remain, the admiral’s track record was very much in Rafi’s mind right now.
“Rafi, please.”
As Rafaella exited the ready room, leaving Seven with the once disgraced admiral, he took a seat opposite her desk.
“My apologies, admiral, my first officer is somewhat overly protective of me,” she said, making her way to her replicator. “Two cups of coffee, hot, black,” she ordered, before turning back to Pressman and bringing the replicated coffees over and placing one of them in front of him.
“I see that Janeway really did have an influence on you,” he said, picking up his coffee and taking a sip.
Seven smiled, “Coffee: the greatest organic suspension ever devised,” she replied, echoing what Janeway had once said to her in the past.
She took her seat behind her desk and opposite the admiral. “So, what brings you here, your message sounded important?”
Pressman placed his coffee cup on her desk and produced a padd from the inside of his jacket. Sliding it face down across her desk, the admiral gave her a look, —a look that indicated what she was about to read would be difficult.
“Before you read that. I need to let you know that the data on that padd has been verified by four separate sources. All non-Starfleet sources, but sources nonetheless that I trust implicitly,” Pressman expressed empathetically, as if to try and protect her feelings.
Seven picked up the padd and began reading its contents.
Within seconds, she had read the first four paragraphs of information, retained it and processed what was written before placing the padd back on her desk and saying, “This has to be fabricated. A rouse. A trap,” she said, her eyes welling up with tears.
“I can assure you, Captain. My colleagues and I at Section 31 have verified the information. It is true, he is alive, Captain.”
“I killed him. I shot him at point blank range and then held him in my arms. There was nothing more I could do for him. I can still smell the stench of the room in which I found him, can still hear his muffled cries as he begged me to end his life.”
Pressman ran his hand over his brow, and shook his head. “Captain, he is alive. The young man that you killed on Vergesson, who you believed was your ward, was not Icheb, he was a clone.”
Seven stood up, and turned towards the viewport, trying to mask the pain that she now felt burning inside her. She wiped the tears from her eyes and then turned back to the admiral, “Get off my ship,” Seven said, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I will not be drawn into another one of your plots to rid yourself of your reputation.”
Pressman rose, he kept his calm, he knew that still to this day, so many within Starfleet found his presence distasteful, that he should no longer be wearing a Starfleet uniform —not that he wore a Starfleet issued uniform, no, now he was a high ranking member of Section 31, a rogue, covert organisation linked to Starfleet Intelligence, he wore one of their uniforms now, which seemed fitting considering his chequered past.
He had been an agent with thirty one for years, after his fall from grace, after the attempts of rescuing the USS Pegasus, after he was sentenced to prison for his actions that played a part in the attempts to create and trial a Starfleet cloaking device. And it was that he used to convince Seven of his claims today, as a way of breaking through to her that what he had uncovered was true.
“Captain, if I could go back and bring back any of those officers that met their ends due to my direct actions, I would. I paid a heavy price for a lapse in judgement all those years ago and it cost me their lives and my career,” he picked up the padd and handed it back to her, “Icheb, the boy you rescued from the collective and grew up to be someone you considered kin, the young man who grew up to be a fine Starfleet officer, to serve on the Coleman as assistant chief science officer is still alive…and he misses you.”
“Impossible,” she said, somewhat quieter than when she spoke before. The admiral was getting through to her. The reality of his claims were starting to sink in.
Icheb’s death had weighed heavily on her for years. It was the driver for so many of her decisions over the last decade and if he had not of died, it’s quite true that she would have become an entirely different person, maybe even not becoming the captain of the Enterprise.
Pressman stepped forward and placed his hands over Seven’s, he looked her squarely in the eyes and said, “On the last page of that padd are the coordinates to his last known location,” —and with that, he let go of her hands and made his way to the door.
“Admiral,” Seven spoke, as Pressman made his way back onto the bridge, where he was greeted by Commander Musiker, ready to escort him back to the transporter room.
“Have you seen him?” She asked, her heart pounding in her chest.
Pressman managed half a smile, then nodded, before turning on his heel and making his way to the turbolift.
As he did so, Rafi looked at Seven, standing there in her ready room looking as if she had seen a ghost.
Rafi knew Seven well enough to know that something was not right, that Seven was upset. But before Rafi could say anything, Seven turned, the doors to her ready room closed and she picked up the padd that Pressman had brought her once again.

Could it really be true, she thought to herself. Could he still be alive?
Whatever she thought about Pressman or Section 31 did not matter right now, all she knew was that she had to find out for herself. She needed to know, first hand, if Icheb was still alive…

“The Messenger”
by Jonathan Crosby Bromley

Starring:
Jeri Ryan as Captain Seven of Nine
Terry O’Quinn as Admiral Pressman
Michelle Hurd as Commander Rafaella Musiker
Joseph Lee as Lt. Commander Mura.

Image by JonBromLE1