Here is the first part to a story that I've been kicking around in the back of my mind for

Here is the first part to a story that I've been kicking around in the back of my mind for a few years (since the first season). Though it could still use a bit of polishing up, I figured I might as week post this first hald of Chapter One to the net to see if anyone cared for it. Let me know if you like it, and I will see if I can get around to doing some more work on it. Of course, if you don't like it, I might just post the rest of it to the net in the hope that you will choke on it and die. :-) Dreamwalker (Yup, the twisted fellow who brought you "Galactica and Enterprise".) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ (as yet I have no title) Prologue The whiskers on Tivahtay Branoth's snout curled back. She forced herself to examine the area, although her highly sensitized olfactory senses make her want to retch. Even the humans in the group looked as if their stomaches were getting very queazy, though it was likely due to other senses than that of smell. She never could figure out how they could ever smell anything with those puny noses of theirs. Finally satisfied that there were no obvious differences between this incident and the others, Commander Branoth moved off a ways, letting the science teams finish their grisly business without having her in their way. Or at least it made for a good excuse to do so. Besides, the heat from the stone was still great enough to make it uncomfortable to stand still for too long, even with the heavy soles of her boots protecting her hindpaws. She stood for a moment observing her crew efficiently taking readings from the surrounding area. They were controlling their disgust quite well. This was not a new scene for many of them, but they were by no means used to it. And she had no intention of permitting any of them the chance to do so. Tivahtay's eyes rested for a moment on the charred mound of flesh and bone which had only hours before been three members of her crew. Around the remains for several meters, the rocky ground had been heated to the point that it had glowed. Some of the smaller stones had even melted. It had taken until now for the ground to cool enough for them to get to the remains, even with insulated footware. The Commander motioned for her First Officer to join her. Her mind was set in this matter. "Eleven deaths are enough," she commented when Lieutenant S'fron was next to her. "I will not permit this to occur again. Begin preparations to shuttle everything back to the ship as soon as is possible." The solemn Vulcan acknowledged the command, moving off from the activity and signalling to a pair of nearby crewmen to follow him back to the main encampment. Branoth tapped her communicator insignia, wincing against the high pitched squeal of static. It now no longer mattered that they were not able to filter out all of the interferance from this cursed planet's magnetic fields. "Branoth to Cochrane." "This is the Cochrane, Captain," came the distorted voice in response. It might have been that of the chief helmsman. She could not tell due to the high degree of distortion. "Prepare to begin receiving returning personnel from planet-side, and send down all available shuttle craft. We're warping out of orbit as soon as all crew are aboard." Branoth had yet more cause to curse this planet's unusual magnetic fields: the fields rendered the transporters essentially useless -- she did, after all, have no wish for her body to rematerialize as scrambled and distorted as the communicator signals. "And inform Starfleet Command that I am aborting our present mission due to unidenitied dangers present on and around the planet. Branoth out." Closing the circuit, the Commander turned to a nearby ensign. "I am leaving you in charge here. You have thirty minutes to finish taking readings and return to the make encampment." Waving a claw in the vague direction of the pile of ash and charred bones, she added, "Have the remains placed in cryonic suspension capsules with the others." Branoth turned and started back to the encampment. By the Ancient Hunters, she was not going to allow this demon-ridden planet to claim the spirits of any more of her crewmembers. Pausing on one outcropping of rock, she considered howling her defiance to the shimmering crimson sky. But that, she recognized, would only disconcert her crew even further. Tivahtay consoled herself with a low growl, springing from the boulder and continuing on her way. Chapter One Arrivals Captain's Log: Stardate 43557.7 Final distribution of the Minox plague antidote has been completed. Although our timely assistance has halted the spread of the plague on Taminar IV's southern continent, current estimates already are placing the count of lost lives in the tens of thousands. And still there remain the disfiguring effects that the plague will have had on those saved by the antidote. I have already offered to the planet's Prime Minister the help of the Federation in the for of rehabilitation and cosmetic surgery to those disfigured by the Minox plague. A preliminary discussion with Prime Minister Antimeth has left me with the impression that Taminar IV may soon join the Federation. But at such a price to show them the benifits of such a decision. Deactivating the terminal on his desk, Captain Jean-Luc Picard leaned back in his chair, running a tired hand over his pate. He stood up, straightening his tunic, and stepped to the view-port. Below the Enterprise lay the small, cloud-wrapped planet of Taminar IV. But Picard's attention was focused past the white and brown planet, focused on the myriad of pin-points of light that lay out there, a veritable sea of jewels. So close that he could almost touch them, yet so far away. Ancient beyond belief, they held secrets hidden since the dawn of time. What feet had trod the surfaces of the planets orbiting those distant jewels? What age-old wisdom had been learned had passed on by those carried along on those feet? Born with heart of an explorer, Picard wanted to devine the answers to those questions and many more. He wanted to journey out there, to sail that sea of stars. He wanted to see that which had never been seen by human eyes and to touch that which had never been touched by human hands. To truly go where no human had gone before. Yet still here he stood, gazing down on a planet well inside of surveyed Federation space. Though his ship was well capable of voyaging to many of those distant orbs, it seldom did. The Enterprise spent so little time in the far reaches of explored space on the mission for which she had been designed and built, all because she was so frequently chained to simple missions that could easily be carried out by other Federation vessels was rankling. Certainly Jean-Luc Picard was not against rendering assistance to those in need of it, it only bothered him that so ofter it was the Enterprise that rendered that assistance when many other Federation Starships were just as capable of doing so instead. And most often, the only factor involved in the selection of the Enterprise for what amounted to a milk-run was that she was the flag ship of the Federation of Planets. For instance, there had been at least three other starships which were in range of Taminar IV and capable of transporting the antidote to the Minox plague. Yet the Enterprise had been selected for the mission, most likely to impress the populace of the planet and encourage them to join the Federation. That line of reason appeared to have been correct. Prime Minister Antimeth had displayed vieled interest in petitioning the Federation Council for admission. Picard had no complaints in adding another planet to the Federation, and he certainly had none against curing those suffering on the planet below, but if only Command could more often choose other ships for such honors and leave the Enterprise free to explore the far reaches of known space... to expand the boundries of known space. True, Q had only recently introduced them to a distant sector of known space, near J-25, but being hurtled through space for the pleasure of a puerile alien entity was not what Jean-Luc had in mind. And he had a distinct feeling that when next they met the Borg, as Guinan was certain would occur, it would be a far more unpleasant experience. Picard released a faint sigh, his mind wandering amongst those distant stars that were, for the moment, beyond his reach, while a cup of Earl Gray tea cooled on his desk, forgotten. Lieutenant Commander Data paused as he made is way across one of the covered walkways spanning the distance between the various buildings composing the medical center. On the street below the walkway, a large funeral procession was making its way towards one of the many burial vaults being constructed near the edge of the city. What with the many deaths that had occured over the past weeks, the traditional mausoleums in which the inhabitants of Taminar IV normally interred their dead had been quickly filled. With their expansive life spans and small population, the Tamieans usually had only to attend to a relatively few number of deaths. As a result, their magnificently constructed burial chambers were only capable of housing those few deaths that normally occurred during each of their planetary years. Data would have liked to ask some of those in the funeral procession about what they were feeling. He had spent time contemplating the meaning of death. As an android, however, he would himself never actually die, though at some point in his future enough of his systems would wear out that he would cease to function. That would, in effect, be his own death. But instead, it was the concept of death for an organic being that interested him. He was curious about what it was like for an living person to contemplate one's own demise, to feel the lose of a friend or a loved one. As an android, Data did not know what it would be like for a human to feel the death of someone close to himself. Therefore, he would have liked to query those in the funeral procession about what they were feeling. But he knew enough about humanoids to recognise that to do so would be outside of the realm of good manners. That was a common problem for Data. He always desired to learn about the intricacies of human existence, and yet often he could not ask a human about these intricacies since to do so would be in bad taste. Thus, that which he wished to learn about, more often than not, was of such a nature that he could not ask about it. It was a vicious circle he was uncertain of how to break. Therefore, Data believe that he would likely never understand how a humanoid viewed death from a personal view-point. He would only be able to access writen accounts and textbook definitions of this subject. This left him with only his own confusing experiences with death. And none of his own experiences with death confused Data more than the loss of Tasha Yar. Ever since Armus had killed her, Data had been left with a sense of emptiness, an inexplicable void that Tasha had somehow occupied. He had never understood this emptiness, and was begining to doubt he ever would. Data resumed his way across the walkway. Dr. Crusher was awaiting the information he had recovered from the hospital's archives. Below him, the funeral procession continued on its way, wrapped in the aura of mouring which enshrouded the planet. Picard glanced over his desk one last time. He had finally managed to complete all of his work relating to both running the Enterprise and the transfer of medical supplies to the planet. With the ship's diurnal cycle, it was already far into the night. He might as well return to his cabin for a few hours of sleep. In the morning he had another meeting with Prime Minister Antimeth. He left his ready room and was half way to the turbolift when a tone sounded on the Tactical board and the ensign stationed there spoke up. "Captain, we've just received a priority communique from Starfleet Command." Thoughts of sleep and being tired immediately fled from Captain Picard's mind. "I'll take it in my ready room," he informed the young ensign. Picard returned to his desk and sat down, keying in the authorization code on his desk's terminal. The console screen flashed the message header, which confirmed it as being a priority dispatch from Starfleet Command. Then the header faded and prerecorded message began. On the screen appeared Admiral Martinez, her usually neutral face showing a slight, friendly smile... and perhaps something else. "Hello, Jean-Luc. I see you've still not shown your face around Earth for awhile. Hope you're not trying to weasle out of buying me that drink you owe me." Then she paused, her face growing completely serious. "I haven't seen any recent reports, but the rumors are that things got pretty bad out there on Taminar. I know your crew is doing their usual excellent job, but it looks like you're going to have to cut things short. "Three days ago Command received a transmission from one of our science vessels, the U.S.S. Cochrane. They were in the Eta-Nine sector surveying a planet of great archaeological importance, but were having nothing but bad luck since they got there. A series of 'accidents' resulted in the death or disappearance of several of members of the crew. Their last transmission informed us that the Captain, Tivahtay Branoth, was aborting the mission and returning. All attempts to contact the Cochrane since have brought no response. "The U.S.S. Lexington is en route to Taminar IV as you hear this and should arrive at oh-eight hundred hours tomorrow and take over relief efforts. The Lexington is also carrying a number of scientists who were to be sent to work with the crew of the Cochrane in investigating the ruins on that planet. The scientists will be transferred to the Enterprise to help you either locate the Cochrane or to recover the information discovered about that mystery planet. "There's another thing, Jean-Luc," added Martinez after a pause. "There is someone by the name of Darian Trism who will arrive with the Lexington. I don't know who he is or where is comes from, but somehow he has been granted the rank of Commodore and is in charge of the mission on the planet and is empowered to take command of the Enterprise if he feels it is necessary. I've pulled a few strings to try and find out who he is, but to no avail. I tell you, Jean-Luc, as far anyone down here knows, he doesn't even exist." The admiral shook her head. "I don't like anything about this mission, Jean-Luc. Everything about that planet out there is under complete security, need-to-know only. I can't even find out who has access to this information. And since I know you would ask anyway, I'm going to keep trying to find out something from this end, old friend. Hopefully, I will let you know something, but so far it doesn't look like I will." Admiral Martinez straightened up in her chair, ready to finish the transmission. "Darian Trism will be carrying your orders and all available information on this mission. Martinez out." Martinez's face was replaced by the Starfleet symbol. Picard stared blankly at the screen, not certain just what to think of this sudden change of events. Doctor Beverly Crusher frowned over the computer readout. It seemed as though all she had done for the past week was frown, except when she was giving a comforting smile to one patient or another. She had seen so many weak and pained faces since the Enterprise's arrival at Taminar IV that they were all blurring together. It never ceased to amaze her how many different ways that nature could evolve for inflicting pain on a living being. Not even the cruelest mind could conceive of as many varied tortures, though some were bent on trying to do precisely that. Minox was no exception to the rule. Victims of Minox plague suffered from severe disfigurement which, without the antidote, would worsen to the point that the victim's body often literally fell to pieces. And to make it even worse, no two cases were alike. Limbs would gangrene, becoming numb and eventually falling off, large boils and pustules would form, internal organs rupture, the formation of tumors and other cancerous growths, the list was nearly endless. Beverly had even seen one young man's eyes swell and burst even as she was injecting the antidote. Worse, the antidote could only neutralize the disease. All deformation and disfiguration caused by the disease remained, often correctable only by extensive surgery, regeneration, and bionic implants. It would no doubt take years to heal all those who had been stricken with the Minox plague. And before her eyes was a numbingly accurate account of the plague's mindless work. The bottom of the screen summed up the suffering so neat and concisely, completely devoid of feeling: 43,281 dead, 203,952 recovering. Over two hundred thousand people who had survived the effects of having their bodies mutilated by a microscopic virus, that was almost a tenth of the Tamiean race. A graceful and delicately beautiful race of humanoids, literally days from having become extinct, all because of one idiotic merchant pilot -- smuggler, more like it -- had not bothered to use a few simple decontamination procedures. Beverly shook her head. She was a doctor. She was here to alleviate those tortured by the plague, not devise some of her own for the fool who caused it all. She turned her attention to the door of the cramped office. Data was standing there, holding what must be the information on treatment techniques for the rarer effects that the plague had had on the Tamieans. The android was just opening his mouth to speak when the doctor's communicator insignia chirped. Slightly tinny, the sound of the Captain's voice came from the communicator. "Picard to Doctor Crusher." Tapping her insignia, she acknowledged the message. "I have some news for you, Doctor," continued Picard. "The U.S.S Lexington will be arriving in a few hours to take care of the relief efforts." "Thank goodness," sighed Beverly. "We need all of the help we can get, down here." "Ah, not quite, Doctor." Picard was glad to not be on the planet. "The Lexington is taking over the relief efforts to the Tamieans. The Enterprise has received orders for a new mission." "Now wait just one minute. There are thousands... hundreds of thousands of people down here who are in great need of all the assistance the Federation can give them. We can't just pack up and leave them." "That is precisely why the Lexington is going to take over helping the Tamieans. Be prepared to transfer all assistance efforts to the medical crew of the Lexington immediately upon their arrival tomorrow at 0800 hours, ship's time." "Hold it, Jean-Luc, we can't just drop everything and..." "Yes, we can. We have our orders." "Alright then, I request permission to remai..." "Denied, Doctor." Beverly could almost see Picard smile as he added, "I suspect, Beverly, that you are in great need of some of that rest you so often prescribe for me. Picard out." Crusher vented her frustration by slamming her palm down on the computer terminal before her, causing the screen to flicker momentarily. Data considered the wisdom of exiting the office before the good doctor vented her frustration on anything else in the office.