"The Last Paladin"

[Atoz 77]

(I know that some of you are less than thrilled at the humanism in some of my stories, so guess what? In this one I have a character who happens to be a Christian. And no, he's not the bad guy.)

THE LAST PALADIN >>>

Captain's log, Stardate 54062.3: While en route to the planet Adara III, the Odysseus is paralleling the western edge of the Alpha Carinae Anomalous Nebula, colloquially known as the Briar Patch. Although this is not our current mission, I have briefly reduced velocity to Warp Factor Three in order to give my Sciences department time to observe and record some of the astrophysical anomalies as we pass by.

Sitting back in the Senior Officer's Lounge on Deck 2, Captain Atoz looked out at the massive, multi-colored cloud of glowing gases that dominated his view on the starboard side. The nebula's diameter was so great that traveling at sixty times the speed of light, the starship hardly seemed to be visibly moving relative to it. Atoz had to admit that the cloud made a beautiful and soothing sight against the constant background of stars, even though he was grateful that their mission didn't call for them to venture inside among its many navigation hazards.

Atoz glanced over at Science Officer Diane Weir, seated on the other end of the sofa with her left leg folded under her. She wasn't looking out the window at the glowing nebula. Instead she was looking at him over the glass of herbal tea she held cupped in both hands.

"You know, I've been thinking," she said, now that she had his attention. "While we're at Adara, I'd like to take a few hours of shore leave. It would be good for Iara to visit a real beach and not just one on the holodeck. Would you like to come with us?" She took a sip from her tea.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Atoz said wistfully. "But unfortunately my meeting with the Consul will probably take up all my time."

"Another reason I'm glad I'm not a command officer," Weir said with a smile, taking another sip of tea and delicately licking her lips.

"I admit that it has its drawbacks," Atoz said as he sat up, moving closer to her end of the sofa. "But being captain has advantages, too." He could feel his pulse racing as he leaned toward her. Weir remained where she was, her eyes challenging him and inviting him at the same time.

With an audible hiss, the pocket door behind them slid open. Atoz hastily pulled back to his side of the sofa as Communications Officer Amelia Penner entered the lounge. "Good morning, Captain," she said brightly. "Here's my monthly report on ship's social media status."

"You could have sent that to my padd, Amelia," Atoz said austerely.

"I know, sir. I just thought since I was in the area..."

The young blonde stood there, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet with her arms at the sides of her gold and black uniform miniskirt. Atoz caught the mischievous look in Weir's eyes, cutting downward toward the right side of her own blue and black uniform, and he immediately understood.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Penner," Atoz said.

Penner positively beamed with pleasure. Her promotion from ensign to lieutenant junior grade had just become official, and she was proud of that black pip on her collar next to her gold one. "Thank you, sir," she said.

"What are you thanking me for, lieutenant?" he asked.

"I don't know, sir," Amelia said, blushing. She looked out the window of the lounge at the nebula they were passing, as if desperate to change the subject. "Uh... One thing I've been wondering about, sir. Why do they call it a briar patch?"

Weir answered, "A briar is a bushy plant with thorns that catch in your skin and clothing. So if you want to pass through a whole patch of them, you have to move slowly and carefully."

"But why would you want to, sir?" Penner asked. "I mean, who wants to move through a patch of thorny bushes, fast or slow?" She had been born on Luna Colony, and for the most part her only contact with plant life had been the botanical parks around Lake Armstrong.

"Well, I..." Weir began, but her voice trailed off. She herself had grown up in the city hive of Toronto, and she had no ready answer.

"Because in the early summer," said Atoz, who had grown up on the colony Indra II, "they grow sweet, delicious berries that are well worth a few thorns in your skin."

"I don't think this Briar Patch has anything like that, sir," Weir said. "As far as I can tell, it's just a lot of supernova remnants and neutron stars. The combined multiphase anomalies are mildly interesting from an astrophysical point of view, but of little practical use."

"It's a good thing we're just passing by on our way someplace else," Penner said, staring out the windows.

The comm whistle sounded. "Bridge to Captain," said the deep voice of Commander Fawkes, the First Officer. "We're picking up a vessel lying dead in space off our starboard bow. I'm taking us out of warp to check it out."

"What kind of vessel?" Atoz replied. "Can you send me a visual?"

In response, one of the glass steel windows became a holographic view screen, showing the view from the main screen on the bridge. The image scanned to the right and zoomed in on a gracefully streamlined ship floating in space. Atoz estimated its size as class 8, not much bigger than a runabout.

"Class 8 free trader vessel Charlemagne," confirmed the voice of Lt. Rosh, the tactical officer. "Earth registry. I am reading damage to her engines and a hull breach. Three Human life signs on board." Just then there was a flash of tachyons as the Odysseus abruptly dropped to sublight velocity.

"Come to heading oh-six-one," Fawkes' voice ordered. "Stand by to render assistance."

But Rosh interrupted. "Commander, I am now reading seven class 9 vessels rapidly approaching on bearing 196, shields and weapons charged."

"RED ALERT!" Fawkes ordered. "Raise shields!"

Atoz, Weir and Penner instinctively looked out the wide, glass steel windows for some sign of the attacking ships, but the captain realized immediately that they would have little chance of seeing anything. He spun on his heel and hurried out the door, with the two women following.

[Atoz 77]

Atoz raced up the companionway to the bridge, arriving just as two dart-like ships streaked past without firing. He could see from the tactical display beneath the main screen that Fawkes had sensibly moved the Odysseus closer to the Charlemagne so that their shields could be extended to cover the smaller trading vessel. He felt Penner and Weir brush past him on their way to their stations.

"Scorpio class attack fighters," Lt. Rosh reported, "armed with disruptor cannons." Even as he spoke, energy beams flashed as they impacted on the ship's shielding. "No damage," he said.

"Phasers to twenty percent capacity, rapid fire mode," Fawkes ordered. "Fire at will."

The ship's phasers lanced out both to the left and right simultaneously, targeting two fighters and blowing them to pieces. Atoz held onto the command module railing as another series of disruptor impacts made the deck rock slightly under his feet, but he made no move to take over command. He and the First Officer had an understanding that whichever of them happened to be in command when a combat situation broke out usually kept it for the duration. In the desperate moments of a space battle, it was suicide to break your concentration to give up the chair to another person. And now as the fighters pressed forward their attack, the eyes of both officers flicked back and forth between the view screen and the tactical display, assessing progress and revising strategy.

"Helm, yaw eighty degrees starboard-substarboard," Fawkes snapped. The only blind spot in Odysseus' phaser batteries was directly astern where the roll bar structure blocked the lines of fire, and the First Officer had noticed that the fighters were taking advantage of that. Without moving from its spot, the ship went into a slightly off-center spin, bringing the phasers around in sweeping intermittent arc as one fighter after another disintegrated.

"The remaining vessel is withdrawing," Lt. Rosh reported.

"Cease fire," Fawkes said reluctantly, biting his lower lip. "Track it on sensors." The retreating ship was still well within range of the Odysseus' longer range phasers, but there was still a chance that the attack had been the result of some error. Starfleet's policy was to avoid bloodshed whenever possible.

"Damage report?" Atoz asked Rosh, releasing his hold on the railing.

"None worth mentioning, Captain," the Eminian tactical officer responded.

Fawkes stood up from the command chair, meeting Atoz's eyes. "The Scorpio class is a Romulan design," he said unnecessarily. Only two modern navies still used attack fighters -- the Romulans and Klingons, and the later mainly for sport.

Rosh shrugged. "But they have been known to share the design with allies, sir," he pointed out.

Atoz turned toward the Sciences station. "Diane, can you scan the wreckage?"

"Already doing so, Captain," Weir said busily. "There are no survivors, but I can locate the bodies of the crews if that's what you want."

Atoz nodded. "Mr. Rosh, beam them to Cargo Bay Six. I want to know who's behind this. We're a long way from the Neutral Zone."

"Maybe the crew of the Charlemagne can tell us that," Fawkes said, frowning.

"Captain, they're hailing us," reported Lt. Penner.

"Starfleet ship, this is the Charlemagne!" said a male voice over the hailing frequency. "I have badly injured people on board! Can you give me a hand?"

"This is Captain Atoz of the Odysseus. Stand by, Charlemagne." Atoz turned to the Tactical Officer again. "Lock onto them and beam all three of them directly to Sickbay."

***

Five minutes later, Atoz and Penner walked past the reception desk of Sickbay and immediately spotted Petty Officer Claussen standing unobtrusively beside the entrance to Trauma Room One. Leave it to Lt. Rosh to post an armed security guard even without being specifically ordered to do so. Atoz exchanged nods with Claussen as he stepped inside.

Two civilians, a woman and a middle-aged man, were lying on diagnosic beds in considerable pain and distress as Dr. Pierce and Nurse Zelinsky attended to them, looking over their vital signs and administering hypos. A third male civilian was on his feet in between them, mainly hovering around the woman, holding her right hand tightly by both of his.

He was about forty years old, dressed in brown trousers and a white shirt half covered by a short leather jacket. All of his clothes seemed rough and well-used, although still serviceable. His own body might be described the same way. His hair was dark, streaked with a few premature gray hairs, and his skin had a tanned and weathered appearance as if he spent a great deal of time outdoors. Penner was charmed right away. He looked like the rugged hero of a holonovel.

"Hang in there, Mack," he urged the woman desperately. "I can't lose you, not after what we've been through. Who's going to keep me out of trouble without you?"

The woman made a brave attempt at a smile, shuddering with pain. She made a feeble gesture of agreement.

Dr. Pierce briefly caught Atoz' eye. "You're going to have to step back," he said shortly to the man, running his feinberger over the woman's head and chest. "I think the Captain wants to talk to you anyway."

"Forget your Captain," the man said, looking frantically toward the middle-aged man on the other bed, as Zelinski inserted a breathing tube into his throat. "Are they going to make it?"

"They will if you get out of my way and let me work," Pierce said harshly, picking up a neural stimulator.

Atoz stepped forward, grasping the man's elbow and attempting to pull him back out of the medical staff's way. "There's nothing you can do for them," the captain said, "but I need some answers."

The man resisted at first, but then seemed to realize that he was out of his depth. He backed away reluctantly, still keeping his eyes on his two friends as he stepped into the corridor with the starship captain.

"You could start by telling me your name," Atoz said.

"Ellis Marshal," the man said absently. "I appreciate you helping us, captain. But I don't have any answers for you."

"I need more than that, Captain Marshal," Atoz began.

"Professor Marshal," the man corrected, turning piercing gray eyes upon the captain. "Professor of Archaeology and Ancient History at the University of Chicago, Earth. I'm uh... sort of on sabbatical right now. Mack's the pilot of the ship, Hofstadder's the engineer."

"Who was that attacking you?" Atoz asked. "And for what reason?"

Marshal's gray eyes opened wide in innocent astonishment. "I don't what you're talking about. The Charlemagne was damaged by a meteor impact. Space debris or something. I guess those pirates came in to finish the job, but--"

"Pirates don't use attack fighters, professor," Atoz said. "They like to capture ships and their cargo intact. Whoever they were, they wanted you dead."

"Whatever you say, captain," Marshal said diffident shrug of his shoulders. "I'm just a college professor. I don't know anything about pirates. I just know we were cruising along, minding our own business, when we hit some kind of space rock." He flashed Penner an endearingly boyish grin. "Now are you going to throw me in the brig for that or what?"

Atoz sighed. "Lieutenant Penner will escort you to guest quarters," he said. "We'll tractor your ship into our Hangar Deck and see if she can be repaired."

"Charlemagne's a tough old bird," Marshal said. "I'm sure she'll--" He broke off as he saw Dr. Pierce approaching.

"The woman is suffering from exposure to vacuum," the doctor reported, "lung damage and hyperthermia. She'll be up and around in a couple of days. The man has severe radiation burns from inhalation of toxic engine coolant. He'll pull through, it'll just take a little longer. I have to clone him a new set of lungs."

"Thank you, doctor," Professor Marshal said. "Can I talk to them?"

"I've got them both sedated right now. Give them a couple of hours. what about you? You told Nurse Zelinski that you got into a sealed compartment after the hull breach, but you were knocked around. You could have internal injures, hairline fractures--"

"I'm fine, doc," Marshal said. "I'm used to roughing it. You said something about guest quarters, Captain? I'm really tired."

Atoz nodded his assent. "Right this way, sir," Penner beamed. "We've got some nice cabins on Deck 7. You don't have much of a view, but they're in section L , so nobody will be bothering you." She led him away along the corridor with Claussen following them.

"He looks like a tough bird, alright," Pierce said.

"He's not telling me everything either," Atoz said. His comm badge chirped at him.

"Rosh to Captain," said the tactical officer's voice. "I have the six casualties from the attack fighters in Cargo Bay Six, sir. I recommend that you come and look at them yourself."

"I'm on my way," Atoz said, tapping off his badge.

***

By the time they arrived in the guest quarters cabin, Marshal had charmed his way into Penner's heart by telling her about archaeological digs he had been on, mostly on Earth, but in various places through the galaxy. "The Sultan of Helios was so grateful, he made me one of his honorary sons," the professor said, concluding his last story as he looked around the cabin she had brought him to. True to her word, there were no portholes and thus no view of space, but it was neat and comfortable.

"Gosh, professor," Penner gushed, "you have such an exciting life. I can't imagine doing all those things."

"Call me Ellis," he said, flashing her that adorable grin of his. "All I do is dig holes in the ground. You're the one who has it made, serving on a starship. I'll bet you're one of the helm officers, that sure but steady hand on the wheel that keeps the ship on course."

Penner blushed. "Me, a helm officer?" she demurred. "I'm just in communications. I see to it that people can talk to each other. I'm not important at all."

"Not important?" Marshal said, snaking his arms around her slender waist. "That's the most important job of all! You're the nerve center of the whole thing!" Flattered by his attention, Penner relaxed as his arms held her. "But hey, I'll bet this ship is so big, even the auxiliary craft would be out of my league."

"Well, it does have two hangars, up on Deck Six," Penner said proudly. "Two runabouts and four regular shuttlecraft."

"See what I mean? I'd be totally lost." His gray eyes looked into hers as his fingers caressed her smooth cheek. "I tell you what -- I'm really bushed. I'm going to lie down for a bit, but you be sure and wake me up in time for dinner. I've got some more stories I want to tell you."

"Okay, prof--, I mean Ellis." Shyly she turned and strolled off down the corridor.

Marshal wistfully watched her go, then nodded to the security guard who was still standing watch over him. "Hey, buddy. How's it going?"

***

In Cargo Bay Six, Atoz looked over the row of six body bags without much enthusiasm. He had seen corpses killed by decompression and battle damage before, and they were not pretty.

"This one is the most nearly intact," Lt. Rosh said, kneeling beside one and opening the seam.

The first thing Atoz noticed was the green blood. Then the pointed ears. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead he narrowed his eyes to look more closely at the uniform and the brow ridges. "I was going to say Romulan," he said, "but these are Prothalans, aren't they?"

"Yes, sir."

Prothal was a planet on the near side of the Neutral Zone, settled by dissidents from the Romulan Empire five hundred years ago. For generations they had lived semi-underground, trying to avoid contact with both the Federation and Romulus. They had even instituted a eugenics program which gave them those distinctive ridges. Lately they had begun to emerge from their isolation, more pirates than anything else. But what were they doing here? And why were they attacking an archaeology professor from Earth?

Atoz' comm badge chirped. This time it was Fawkes. "Captain, someone just launched a shuttlecraft. The Aeolus."

"What? How did he bypass our security? How did he get away from Claussen?"

"I don't know, sir. But he's already out of tractor beam range."

Even so, the ship could easily overtake a shuttlecraft. "Well then, get after him, Charles."

"You're going to love this, Captain. He just dove straight into the Briar Patch."

[Atoz 77]

The Odysseus was already under weigh as the turbolift doors hissed open and Atoz and Rosh arrived on the bridge. The red alert lights flanking the portal were still blinking silently ever since the earlier fighter attack. The tactical officer immediately took over his station as Fawkes rose from the command chair, giving it up to the Captain.

"I have the shuttlecraft on sensors, Captain," reported Lt. T'Pana at Operations. "It is two hundred thousand kilometers distant, accelerating to point three cee. But I am getting false sensor echoes from it."

"I was afraid of this," said Weir at the Sciences station. "The overlapping gravitation fields of the supernova remnants are generating subspace distortion."

"Then we have to catch him fast before he gets too deep in the nebula," Atoz said, taking his seat. "Ensign Yarwood, ahead one third impulse." The heavy concentration of dust and gases made warp speed inside the nebula impossible. The deflectors would never stand the strain.

"Captain," said Rosh at tactical, "the remaining fighter we were tracking has rendezvoused with a Prothalan assault ship. It is heading our way."

"That's just lovely," Atoz said, sitting back in his chair and stroking the side of his chin with his index finger.

The starship slipped smoothly into the gaseous nebula like a person stepping through the all but invisible gap in a curtain. The Odysseus now seemed to be traveling through a twisting tunnel made up of billowing smoke and dust, with massive intertwining tendrils of phosphorescence, glowing like neon, to either side. Visibility seemed limited to only a few dozen kilometers.

"We'll be lucky if we find anything in this pea soup," Fawkes commented, joining Rosh at the Tactical station.

"Anything on sensors?" Atoz asked, leaning forward toward the Ops station.

"I am still receiving multiple false sensor echoes, Captain," T'Pana answered.

"Which one seems strongest to you?"

The Vulcan frowned as she thought about it. "Five degrees port, sir."

"Make it so, helm," Atoz said. "Half impulse."

The Odysseus banked in that direction, slowly gathering speed. At first she seemed sluggish, but then she surged forward unexpectedly. And then -- THUM! The ship jerked to a halt, nearly throwing people who weren't braced from their seats. The engineering monitor panel cracked, spitting out a shower of sparks and making Ensign Polidoro leap back in fright. The engines were making an alarming throbbing sound, transmitted through the structure of the ship.

The bosun's whistle blew. "Engineering to Bridge what in Zarkhon's name are you doing?" demanded Vespis, the Chief Engineer. "Are you trying to KILL us? My babies are going critical down here!"

"Reduce speed to one quarter!" Atoz ordered the helm. The throbbing sound immediately subsided.

"You scared the life out of me!" the Andorian continued. "The manifolds are burning heavy hydrogen like a couple of Berengarian firedrakes!"

"I've reduced speed," Atoz said. "How are they now?"

"Well, they look better," the Chief Engineer admitted grudgingly. "I'm still getting ionic and metaphasic energy readings coming through the forward ramjets. You've got to take it slow, Captain."

"I hear you, Vespis," Atoz said. "Watch them carefully and let me know if they start to go critical again." He leaned forward toward the helm. "Ensign Yarwood, gradually increase speed. Watch your power flow monitor."

"Aye-aye, sir." Her fingers danced along her console as she nudged the ship forward. "Point two six... two seven... two eight... two nine..." She licked her lips. "Point three... three one... three two... three three... I'm getting flux readings, Captain."

The structure of the ship began to shudder again, making that throbbing noise. "Okay, that's good," Atoz said. "Point three one impulse. Hold her there."

"Point three one, aye sir," the helmswoman said, looking very much relieved as the engines dropped back into their steady rhythm.

"Captain," said Rosh suddenly, "I'm reading 14 attack fighters and three class 6 escort vessels on an intercept course, bearing 165 mark 7."

"Reinforce the forward shields," Atoz ordered. "Phaser banks to twenty percent, rapid defense fire. Helm, come starboard to meet them head-on."

A few moments later the fighters appeared, bursting into view through the fog of the nebula, their engine cowlings trailing smoke. All fourteen swept down upon the Odysseus in a single wave, opening fire with their disruptor beams which flashed against the starship's shields. The phasers replied instantly as the fighters got within close range, darting out with staccato lances of red, swatting them like flies one after the other. Five were destroyed in the first sweep as the fighters zoomed past.

"Roll sixty degrees," Atoz said, clutching the arms of his command chair. "Reinforce ventral shields." Responding to the command, the ship gracefully glided over on her side, bringing the ventral phaser banks to bear and accounting for four more fighters as the squadron pulled a tight U-turn for its second pass.

Their initial assault having failed, the formation broke up, the remaining five fighters attacking theOdysseus from different directions. Disruptors lashed against the shields like lightning bolts, while the phasers kept up their continual song of destruction.

"All targets destroyed," Rosh reported. "Shields down to 70%." Just as he spoke, the three escort ships burst through the cloud wall, simultaneously firing torpedoes as they came. The three missiles exploded in flashes against the Odysseus' starboard shields, rocking the whole ship.

"Starboard shields down to 20%," Rosh reported. "Structural damage to deck 4, sections G and H."

"Evasive action," Atoz ordered the helm. "Ten degrees port-subport, go!" The ship swerved to the left and disappeared through a cloudbank. The escort vessels followed, their engines straining as they accelerated in pursuit.

"Reinforce aft shields," Atoz said. "Target aft photon torpedoes."

"Aft torpedo launcher is temporarily off line, Captain," Rosh reported.

Atoz rubbed his chin. If he turned around to deploy his forward torpedoes, he would risk exposing his strained forward shields as well. But just then he thought of something. "Ensign Yarwood, increase speed to point three three impulse."

The helmswoman gulped, her eyes looking frightened. "Aye-aye, sir."

The ship surged forward that little bit. The deck beneath them began to tremble violently, the engines throbbing in protest. Weir glanced over from the Sciences station. "Manifold temperature is going into the red zone, Captain," she reported.

Atoz nodded. "Come on, old man," he whispered. "Hold together for me."

Seeing the Federation ship pull away, the three enemy ships poured on the speed to overtake. TWenty seconds later, they were in big trouble as their engine manifolds blew apart, sending them tumbling out of control.

"Reduce speed to point two nine," Atoz said immediately.

***

In the shuttlecraft Aeolus, Professor Marshal wrestled with the controls, fighting a sudden stream of false vacuum turbulence that had kicked up from out of nowhere. If it had been in his nature to curse, he would have been doing it. In the course of a colorful and adventurous career, he had learned in a rough and ready way how to operate an incredibly diverse range of devices, instruments and vehicles, but he was far from a qualified shuttlecraft pilot. Navigating a nebula like this was not what he was trained for.

At the same time, he felt guilty about what he had done to Lieutenant Penner. The mimic bracelet on his left wrist had copied her biometric authorization data while he had embraced her, enabling him to override the ship's lock-outs and steal the shuttle. He couldn't help feeling that she would be blamed for that somehow. Hopefully he'd be able to return to the Odysseus and get her off the hook, but that was too far in the future to make plans for.

He took out the platinum-iridium medallion that he was wearing around his neck under his shirt. His thumb caressed the cool metal while his eyes looked at the alien hieroglyphics that he had spent ten years of his life deciphering. He felt sorry for Penner, but the treasure he was seeking was just too important for him to let qualms like that get in his way. If he didn't beat Namessik Vor to it, the disaster for the entire human race would be incalculable. He simply couldn't let anything or anyone stand in his way.

Marshal checked the navigation console once more. The stellar coordinates he had fed into it were correct. How many times had checked and double checked them? As the shuttle fought through the last of the turbulence, his pulse began to beat faster as he looked at the graphic display and saw that he was very close now. The message encoded on the medallion said that there was a neutron star at these coordinates, with a single planet in a stable orbit. And on that planet was the treasure he had been hunting for all his life.

Beep! The engines of the shuttlecraft shut off, retro-thrusters firing to bring the craft to a dead stop. "Destination arrival," said the calm, female voice of the onboard computer.

Marshal stared out the forward porthole at complete emptiness. That was impossible! He turned his head left, right, up and down, straining his neck. His fingers fumbled with the sensor panel. There was nothing! No planet, no neutron star, nothing!

He looked at the sensor sweep again, and this time he saw a ship approaching from astern. Namessik Vor! Marshal hit the thruster controls, kicking the shuttlecraft forward and steering toward a glowing tendril of ionized gas. Once he passed through that, he would be hidden from sensors, and then he could double back...

The shuttle stopped with a jerk, the engines whining in protest. Marshal felt his body suddenly get much lighter. The next thing he knew he was materializing on a transporter pad.

"This time," Captain Atoz said, "I am going to put you in the brig unless you give me some answers. What are these Prothalans after?"

Professor Marshal tried out one of his charming, boyish grins on the mean-looking Eminian security officer who grabbed his left arm, tearing the mimic bracelet off of his wrist. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Captain," he said.

"Mr. Rosh, throw him in the brig," Atoz said. "Give him the uncomfortable cell."

"Alright, alright!" Marshal said hastily. "I'd rather talk about this somewhere more private, but here goes." He took a deep breath as if to steady himself.

"They're after the same thing I am -- the Ark of the Covenant."

[Atoz 77]

"Look, I'm sorry that I wasn't straight with you from the beginning, Captain," Professor Marshal said, sitting in the Deck 6 conference room with Atoz, Fawkes, and Weir staring at him. "The way things are, I wasn't sure whether I could trust you." He took a long look at the captain's face. "But we don't have time. Namessik Vor has a jump on us. We have to find the Ark before he does. The whole future of the human race could be at stake."

Atoz listened with a slight frown on his brow. "Arachne," he said, "what is the Ark of the Covenant?"

A holographic image of a woman dressed as a Greek goddess appeared in the conference room. "Working," the computer interface said. "In the Christian Bible, the Ark of the Covenant refers to a box made of acacia wood and overlaid inside and out with gold. It contained the tablets of stone given to the Israelites by God on Mount Sinai."

Marshal had begun nodding through this recital. "The Ark is more than that," he interrupted. "But I don't expect you to understand. You may be human, Captain, but you're not from Earth. No disrespect intended. All human beings are created in the image of God. That goes for everyone, even those born off planet."

Atoz was surprised by the mention of "God". People who talked about religion were a minority these days. His own upbringing on Indra II had not included religion at all. It wasn't until he attended Starfleet Academy that he had met other people in his class who had such beliefs.

"But the Covenant was made," Marshal continued, "between God and the children of Abraham. It's my belief that only the true sons and daughters of Earth, those born within her biosphere, can really grasp it. You just wouldn't understand."

"Well I'm a daughter of Earth," Weir said suddenly. "I was born in Toronto. Explain it to me. For that matter, Commander Fawkes was born in London."

"Then you two will understand," Marshal said. "The Ark was given to the Israelites as a sign of God's favor. It made thunder and lightning. It held the power of God within it and made them invincible in battle. They carried it before them when they marched, and in between it rested in the tabernacle."

"I'm sorry, is this documented history?" Atoz asked.

Weir gently shook her head. "He's talking about a time before documentation was what we would call scientific, sir. It's been generally accepted by historians as legendary."

"Legendary to you," Marshal said. "History to me. The Ark is real. It exists in actual fact."

"You've actually seen it, then?" Atoz said.

"I don't need to see it. I have faith."

Atoz breathed a frustrated sigh. "Explain this to me, professor -- if this was an artifact given to the children of Earth, why are you searching for it out here in the Briar Patch?"

"Because it was taken from Earth in 1945. Look, World War II was the last Just War, the last war that had a clear-cut winner. Obviously no army on Earth possessed the Ark after that. So it must have been taken away. Q.E.D."

"I see what he's getting at, Captain," said Fawkes cautiously. "You could argue that all wars on Earth from Korea up until World War III were equally disastrous for both the winners and the losers. There was no real victor."

"But how did it leave the Earth?" Atoz asked. "I've never heard of any extraterrestrial contact with the Earth in 1945."

"That's a fair point," Marshal said. "In 1945, the Nazis were experimenting with a saucer-shaped spacecraft that also had time travel capability. It would have made warp drive look like kid's stuff."

"I find that difficult to believe," said Weir, arching her right eyebrow skeptically.

"Ask your computer lady here," the professor said, jerking his thumb toward Arachne, "about The Bell, or Die Glocke, if you don't believe me. The saucer made one test flight during which it vanished without a trace. I believe that the Ark was on board, maybe as cargo, maybe as a power source. The spacecraft traveled halfway across the quadrant, where it fell into the hands of a Yridian named Yohk. He recognized the Ark for what it was and he hid it in the Briar Patch." Marshal took the medallion from around his neck and tossed it on the conference table. "He made that, as a map to the Ark's location."

Fawkes picked up the medallion and frowned at the unreadable alien markings.

"It's in Yridian and in code," Marshal said. "'I found the Ark of the Promise along with the Bell marked by the broken cross. This is not a thing for the eyes of common men. It rests now inside the tower on the satellite which worships the collapsed star. May Ongil watch over it.'"

The professor sighed dejectedly. "The broken cross obviously refers to the Nazi swastika which would have been emblazoned on the flying saucer. The reverse side of the medallion has a set of coordinates. It took me three years to realize that they were based on the old Yridian stellar coordinate system, and to translate them into our modern system. Much good it did me. When I got to those coordinates, there was nothing there."

Weir took the medallion from Fawkes. "And you say this was made four hundred years ago?" the science officer said. "That explains why you didn't find anything. Stellar coordinates are referenced to the galactic magnetic field. The subspace distortions within the Briar Patch over four hundred years would have twisted the magnetic lines of force and altered the coordinates."

"What?" the professor said, sitting up straight. "And can you compensate for that?"

"I'm pretty sure that I could," Weir said complacently.

***

Once more on the bridge of the Odysseus, Atoz and Weir took their stations, while Fawkes and Marshal stood at the railing.

"Captain," said Rosh, "we have been getting sporadic readings of the Prothalan assault ship. It appears to be holding to a search pattern."

"Searching for us?" Atoz said, sitting down in his chair.

"I would judge not, sir," the Eminian replied. "The Odysseus must be visible on their sensors as well, if only as a ghost. It would be relatively easy for them to triangulate on us if they wanted to."

"He's looking for the Ark," Professor Marshal said. "I forgot to tell you, Captain. Namessik has a copy of the medallion. It's a long story. He just doesn't have the side with the coordinates. He was following me hoping I'd lead him to the planet at least."

Atoz leaned back in his chair as he spoke to the helm. "Ensign Yarwood, thrusters ahead, point oh nine impulse. Steer well clear of their search pattern."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Weir had been busy at the Sciences station, correcting for subspace distortion. "I have the proper coordinates now," she said. "We need to hold heading 355 mark 16. It's a neutron star, so be careful on approach."

"Make it so, Mr. Yarwood," Atoz said. Behind him, he could sense Professor Marshal fidgeting impatiently as the ship turned to the new heading, gliding softly among the billowing gases of the nebula like some imaginary dreamscape. Obviously Marshal wanted to go faster, but Atoz kept to the same relatively slow velocity, less than a tenth of the ship's maximum impulse speed. If the Prothalans could see them on their sensors, let them think that the Odysseus was just as lost as they were.

Right where Weir said it was they found a small planetoid whipping swiftly around a nearly invisible neutron star, illuminated by the brightly ionized gases of the nebula itself.

"There is a breathable oxygen atmosphere," the science officer said, scanning the planet. "Ambient temperature is 34 Celsius. High winds. I would recommend desert gear. I'm also reading a structure down there which is resistant to sensor scans."

"Standard orbit," said Atoz, putting his hands on the armrests of his command chair and pushing himself to his feet.

"Captain," said Fawkes, intercepting him, "you should stay on the ship. We don't know when that Prothalan vessel might turn up."

Atoz met his eyes. "You really want to see this thing, don't you?"

"The Ark of the Covenant is the stuff of legends, Captain," the First Officer said with a grin. "I grew up hearing adventure stories about things like this."

Atoz nodded. "Okay, Charles. Maybe you'd be the best one to deal with it."

***

On the sandy, barren, windswept surface of the planet, four shimmering columns of blue light appeared as Fawkes, Professor Marshal, Weir and Rosh materialized. All four of them were wearing light, loose outer garments that flapped in the wind, plus goggles and filter masks to protect their faces from flying sand. The sky was crimson and the air felt as hot as a furnace.

Weir flicked open her tricorder. "I'm reading high concentrations of metaphasic particles," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the howling wind. "We shouldn't stay long."

Fawkes nodded as he looked around at the harsh, inhospitable landscape. Marshal and Rosh were already spreading out, searching for the structure Weir had detected from orbit. "Over here!" called Marshal, pointing to a dark, oddly-shaped tower about fifty meters away. He led the way toward it, until about halfway there he suddenly pulled up short. "Oh no! Namessik has beat us to it!"

Six humanoid figures were standing in a semicircle around a seventh who was kneeling. They were all as rigid and as motionless as statues. In fact, as the party drew closer, it was clear that the figures were made of stone. "The idiots!" Marshal exclaimed, rushing forward to examine the area around them. "They opened the Ark and looked inside!"

Fawkes stopped in front of the first statue he came to. The details of its clothing and its facial features were perfect. It appeared to have been transmuted to rock as it stood there. He cautiously reached out to touch the surface and found it gritty. "Diane?" he said, bewildered. "Is this--?"

"Eighty-eight percent sodium chloride," the science officer said with a glance at her tricorder, "along with carbon, calcium and other trace elements. Salt."

"'And the Lord rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone and fire,'" Marshal quoted. "'And He overthrew those cities, and all the plain, and all the inhabitants. But Lot's wife looked back from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.' Now do you believe, Commander?"

[Atoz 77]

Captain's log, supplemental: While Commander Fawkes and the away team investigate the planetoid, the Odysseus remains in orbit, keeping watch for the Prothalan assault ship.

Atoz rubbed his chin reflectively. He knew that it was risky to remain stationary. If the Prothalans were scanning and saw the ship in a standard orbit, they would immediately know that they had found the correct coordinates. "Ensign Yarwood," he said, "thrusters ahead, point oh nine impulse. Plot a fan search pattern using this as a starting point. Make it look as if we're still searching."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Lt. T'Pana, do you have a position on the assault ship?"

"I am still receiving false sensor echoes, Captain," the Vulcan Ops officer replied, "but I can say that the highest probability is approximately bearing 030, distance 115,000 kilometers."

Atoz breathed a little easier, even though that was still much too close for comfort. He sat back in his chair, studying the main view screen. Something was bothering him about this entire situation. It wasn't that he couldn't bring himself to really believe that the Ark existed; he was willing to take Professor Marshal's word for it up to a point. But why should the Prothalans be after it so tenaciously? According to Marshal's own logic, they were of Romulan descent and would be even less likely to believe in it that Atoz would. What was he missing?

***

Lieutenant Rosh had his own tricorder out, scanning in a half-circle as the wind continued to howl around the away team. "Commander, something doesn't make sense," the security officer said. "If we assume that these individuals were turned to salt because they opened the Ark, then what became of the Ark? It is not here." Sure enough, there was nothing in front of the kneeling figure. No footprints or other traces could be seen in the shifting sands.

"They probably beamed it up to their ship!" Marshal said anxiously. "They could be getting away with it right now!"

Weir shook her head, scanning the statue-like figures. "I don't think these are Prothalans. According to the isotope breakdown ratios, they been standing here over three hundred and eighty years."

"What?" said Fawkes. "Are you trying to tell me this has nothing to do with the Ark?"

"Commander, there are plenty of phenomena in nature that we don't understand without having to invoke the hand of God. I would just point out that this entire nebula is littered with subspace distortions and metaphasic radiation. These seven travelers could have landed here on this planetoid for any number of innocent reasons, gotten overwhelmed by a suddenly shifting sand dune and suffocated where they stood, and then their bodies gradually transmuted over time."

Professor Marshal stared at the science officer wildly for a moment, and then without wasting any breath on protests, he turned and sprinted toward the tower. The other three hurried after him.

The door to the tower was a rectangular slab, weighted to open at the slightest touch. The four of them stepped through into the antechamber out of the wind, removing the filter masks and goggles from their faces. The antechamber was lit by two square light panels set in the ceiling. Another rectangluar opening led into a corridor which turned to the left. Rosh was about to step through when Marshal stopped him.

"Hang on," the professor said, getting down on one knee as he examined the smooth stone that made the door frame. "Step back a little bit," he advised the others, waving them back. Fawkes shrugged and did as he was told, and the other two followed his example.

Marshal gingerly waved his hand across the doorway, triggering an almost invisible electronic eye. A laser beam flashed, scorching a line down the center of the opening. Marshal grinned. "This isn't my first barbecue," he commented. "Come on. They usually have a recharge rate of about a minute." Without waiting, he hurried through the doorway. Fawkes waved the others through and then quickly followed.

The corridor went left and then hooked right again. Marshal halted again at the entrance to another antechamber. On the far wall was a sealed doorway. On the floor in between was a pattern of tiles distributed apparently at random, some representing an arrowhead-shaped symbol, others a circle with a bite taken out of the upper right quadrant, and yet others a bird.

"The way this works," the professor said, "is that the designer of the trap wants to keep the treasure from falling into the wrong hands. One false move and the ceiling could come crashing down on top of us, literally."

"So what's the problem?" asked Fawkes.

"The problem is I don't recognize any of these symbols," Marshal said. "They have nothing to do with the Ark of the Covenant."

***

The Odysseus was completing the outer sweep of its fan search, fifteen hundred kilometers out from the planetoid. "Captain," T'Pana announced, "the assault ship has just appeared within one hundred kilometers of the planetoid. It was obscured by an ionization stream until the last moment."

Atoz sat up with a jerk. "Okay, no problem," he said, knowing as the words left his mouth that the lieutenant was a Vulcan and therefore didn't need to have her pride soothed. "Thrusters to point three two impulse. Phasers stand by." Even as he gave the order, he realized that they would never get there in time.

***

Marshal moved slowly and cautiously across the floor, stepping lightly from tile to tile. He had noticed a pattern -- the tiles with circles made a neat diagonal line halfway across the room until it was crossed by a diagonal line of arrowheads, which was in turn crossed by a diagonal line of birds. It was flimsy, but it was all he had. He followed the tiles to the far side, realizing that together the diagonals formed a X-shaped cross with a bend in the upperleft crosspiece. Well, the cross was the most common symbol in the galaxy when you came to think of it. What could be simpler than one slash crossed by another slash? It lent itself to endless variations.

With a flash, a hologram suddenly appeared in front of him -- a skinny, wrinkled-up Yridian dressed in a multi-colored robe. "Greetings, friend," he said. "I am Yohk Toohirijh. If you have come this far, you have proved your determination. There is only one final test to prove that you are the rightful owner of the treasure that you seek. The three tiles directly in front of you are wired to a computer buried under the floor. Press them in the correct order, and the door will open." The hologram disappeared.

The correct order? Marshal had never seen these symbols before! He had no idea what the correct order was!

Now that floor had been crossed, Fawkes, Weir and Rosh cautiously came over to join him. Weir was scanning the room with her tricorder as she came. "There is indeed a computer built into the floor," she said, "and it has quite a sophisticated polynumeric encryption system. But I'm pretty sure I can isolate the door lock and trigger it remotely."

"No, wait," Marshal said. "That's the obvious thing to do. The computer probably has a random keycheck algorithm to prevent that kind of tampering." Yes, that was the logical thing to say, but what he really felt in his heart was that a test like this was a test of character as much as anything else. It wasn't meant to be won by cheating.

"Good point," Weir agreed, folding her tricorder. "Do you suppose there's some other trap that would kick in if we tried to phaser through the door?"

"I hadn't thought of that, but probably."

"So what's our next move?" Fawkes asked.

"Stand where you are, aliens!" shouted a harsh voice suddenly. Five Prothalans had just entered through the doorway from the corridor, four of them holding sonic disruptor pistols aimed at the four explorers. Fawkes and Rosh automatically whipped out their phasers even before it dawned on them how outnumbered they were.

"Namessik Vor!" said Professor Marshal, shaking his head. "You've been right on my tail all this time, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"You astonish me, Human," the Prothalan captain said. "What an incredible ego you must have! Why do you search for the Ark of the Promise when you know that it belongs to me by right?"

"Look who's talking about ego, you green-blooded pirate!"

The Prothalan scowled. "Kill them all!" he ordered his men.

Four index fingers clicked on triggers. Fawkes and Rosh grimly fired their own phasers, hoping to get off stunning shots before they were hit, while Weir hopelessly looked for something solid she could duck behind.

Nothing happend. Disruptor pistols and phasers both seemed to be drained and empty, obviously the work of a suppressor field somewhere within the walls of the tower. Fawkes and Rosh looked at one another in surprise, but then simultaneously charged at their adversaries. The Prothalan soldiers reacted just as quickly, holstering their pistols and drawing daggers as they lunged forward.

Rosh managed to dodge the slash of the first one's dagger, grabbing his wrist as he spun around with roundhouse kick to the abdomen of the soldier who followed. As the third tried to nail him, the Eminian ducked under the blow, reversing direction and jerking the first man's arm upward in a painful disarming move. As the dagger clattered to the floor, Rosh smacked him in the jaw and leaped, bringing both feet into the second soldier's chest. Then he had only one opponent to face. He picked up the fallen dagger and tossed it back and forth between his hands.

Fawkes quickly stripped off his loose desert jacket, wrapping it around his left arm as a shield as he sparred with the remaining soldier. The Prothalan darted toward him, jabbing with the dagger. The First Officer danced and evaded, blocking the weapon and lunging forward in a charge that threw the man against the side wall.

While this was going on, Namessik drew his own dagger and bore down upon Professor Marshal. At the last second, the archaelogist threw his filter mask and goggles as a distraction and jumped him. The dagger swiped in a deadly arc, barely missing by a fraction of an inch. Marshal backed away, desperately looking for something he could use as a weapon. The Prothalan captain lunged and grappled hand to hand, pressing the Human backward against the sealed door to the treasure chamber.

It was then that Marshal saw it -- a shiny badge or medal on the front of Namessik's uniform, in the shape of that bent X-shaped cross! There was no mistake, it was the same design. The horrible, gut-wrenching thought suddenly flashed through his mind that all these years since had stumbled across the medallion, he had been interpreting the message wrongly!

"Hey, wait!" Marshal gasped. "Hold on a second, Namessik! Truce!"

"What kind of trick is this, Human?" the Prothalan captain panted.

"No... trick! Give me a second... to catch my breath."

Namessik relented, letting him go and backing off two paces, still keeping his dagger pointed at the Human. "Alright, speak! What do you have to say?"

"You called this treasure the Ark of the Promise, right?" Marshal said.

"Yes, of course!"

"I'll make you a proposition. There's a puzzle right here." He pointed at the three tiles on the floor, almost at his feet where he stood. "Do you know which order they go in?"

Namessik scoffed. "As well as I know my own name. The Eclipsed Moon of Aldor," he said, pressing the tile. "Followed by the Arrow of Truth, and the Bird of War." He pressed those tiles. Slowly and silently the door slid upward into the wall, revealing a niche. Inside was a shining brass temple bell resting on top of a rectanglar box.

Marshal felt his heart throbbing in his throat. His pulse was beating like a drum. Here was the end of his long quest! But the box was alabaster white, not gold. And missing were the four winged cherubim which should have been on the corners, bowing their heads toward one another in acknowledgement of the glory of God. It wasn't the Ark of the Covenant!

"The Ark of the Promise!" Namessik said. "The lost genetic records of the founders of our planet, promised to the House of Vor as a reward for our vigilance and constancy."

"You're absolutely right," Marshal said, raising his hands. "It's all yours. Take it in good health."

***

Captain's log, Stardate 54076.8: The Odysseus has arrived at Adara III. Dr. Pierce has discharged our three guests from Sickbay and they are ready to depart.

"I guess this is good-bye, Captain," Professor Marshal said, standing on the Hangar Deck beside the fully repaired Charlemagne, alongside his two friends who served as the ship's pilot and engineer. "I can't believe it. It was my fault. I had all the clues right there in my hands; I just misinterpreted them. It was a wild goose chase."

"Hard luck," said Atoz. "What will you do now?"

"What do you mean?" said Mack, the pilot. "We keep looking. The Ark is out there somewhere, and one day we're going to find it."

Atoz wondered, not for the first time, how three such smart, educated people could have such faith in something that he personally was certain was only a myth.

"In that case," he said, "all I can do is wish you good luck." He shook hands with all three of them. Lieutenant Penner hugged Marshal and shook hands with the other two. Together the Starfleet officers watched as the trio boarded their spaceship, and then stepped back out of the way as the craft lifted off the deck and glided out through the force field airlock into open space. The hangar doors then slowly closed behind them.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Penner said wistfully. "I wanted to believe him."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Amelia," Atoz said. "He's a very likeable man, with many admirable qualities."

"But believing in a magic box that has supernatural powers?" she scoffed.

"I don't think it's really about the box at all," Atoz said. "It's more about what the box means to them. Take this ship for example. Do you understand how warp drive works?"

"Me, sir? I get lost in anything more complicated than transtator physics."

"To billions of people, a warp core would be a magic box with supernatural powers. They just have faith that it works."

"That's different, sir," Penner said. "That's not faith, that's trust, because I see it working every day. Anyway I know that there are people like you and Commander Vespis who do understand how it works."

"But what is it about this ship that you really and truly believe in?"

For a moment she was silent, thinking. "It's my home, sir. All of you are like my family. I believe in all of us, the way we work together to safeguard the Federation and... and to just try to add to our understanding of the universe."

"Those are good things to believe in, Lieutenant Penner," Atoz said.

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