"Distant Echoes"

[Atoz 77]

DISTANT ECHOES >>>>

Captain's log, Stardate 54133.5: This is the fifth day of our stay at Epsilon Carinae, which happens to coincide with the local vernal equinox celebrations -- or "Spring Break" as we used to call it back home. Naturally the crew has entered into the spirit of the occasion by taking full advantage of shore leave. Mr. Rosh has asked for and received permission to give a demonstration of suborbital skydiving.

"Synchronous orbit, two hundred kilometers, sir," reported Mr. Nickel, the helmsman.

"Sensors show no traffic below us, Mr. Fawkes," reported the female officer at the Tactical station, speaking with a soft Scottish accent. "Weather seems clear for the most part."

"Thank you, Mr. Blackadar," said Charles Fawkes, the First Officer. He didn't need to turn in the command chair to see the sardonic smirk on the auburn-haired Scot's face. To her practical mind, jumping out of a starship in orbit when there was no need to was just short of idiocy, but then as a security officer, Blackadar had long ago learned to be tolerant of other people's little quirks. Fawkes only regretted that with the Captain occupied on shore, he was required to be on duty. Otherwise he would be on the hangar deck with the others.

Fawkes looked out the main viewscreen which showed the blue and white hemisphere of the planet below the Odysseus' bow. He glanced at the tactical display on the armrest of the command chair, where he could see the dots representing three other ships -- the passenger liner Astral Queen, a Rigelian free trader, and the Science vessel Orion -- all maintaining standard orbits a thousand kilometers higher.

"Mr. Nickel," he said, "give us an aft view on the main viewer."

"Aft view, aye, sir," was the reply. The view on the main screen changed, showing the scene from rear of the ship from a point just above the hangar doors.

"Bridge to Hangar Deck One," Fawkes said. "Any time you're ready, Mr. Rosh."

"Thank you, Commander," the Eminian replied over the intercom.

On Hanger Deck One, on the port side of the Odysseus' stern, Lieutenant Enir Rosh was dressed in a charcoal gray full body suit which felt almost like a suit of armor. The Eminian turned to join the other three members of his dive group clustered around a wall viewscreen studying the weather map.

"Looks like we'll be passing through some alto-cirrus," observed Lieutenant j.g. Polidoro, "but it shouldn't be a problem. Just watch out for the pressure change if it's your first time."

"I think I can handle that," said Lieutenant j.g. Zelinski, the only woman in the group, with a nervous smile. She had done high altitude jumps before, but this was her first from orbit.

Rosh pushed the button on the control panel. There was a hiss of hydraulics as the big, rectangular hangar doors slid back into the bulkhead, revealing the black, star-strewn vista of outer space, held back now only by the blue-tinted airlock force field. All three of them walked up to the rim and looked out. To their right they could see the tip of the Odysseus' port engine nacelle at it jutted astern, and beyond that nothing but the azure curve of the planet below them.

"Is everyone ready?" Rosh asked. He got excited nods of agreement from Polidoro and Attenborough. Zelinski took a deep breath and also nodded.

Rosh tapped the intercom which connected him with Lt. Caeli, leading another group of three who were jumping simultaneously from Hangar Deck Two on the starboard side of the ship. "We're ready to go, Luke. One minute, mark."

"Okay," the other officer replied. "See you on the ground."

All four of them backed away from the opening a few paces and lowered their visors, sealing and checking their life support systems. One by one, at one minute intervals, they each took three or four rapid strides forward and threw themselves through the force field -- Attenborough leading, then Zelinski, then Polidoro. Rosh brought up the rear, waiting until the engineer was out of sight before taking a running leap and thrusting himself through the force field.

At first he felt nothing at all. He seemed to be simply hanging there in space, high above the planet's cerulean atmosphere. There was no sense of motion whatsoever. Although his momentum was carrying him slowly astern of the Odysseus at the rate of about four kilometers per hour, he knew that at the same time his body was still sharing the starship's orbital velocity. If nothing else happened, he would remain peacefully suspended in orbit for hours as he circled the planet like a very small satellite.

"Okay? Everybody ready?" Attenborough's voice said suddenly in his helmet's earpiece. "Initiating."

Rosh could see a bright flare far ahead of him as Attenborough fired the retro thruster built into the back of his re-entry suit. The flare became a brief arc of flame as the ensign fell out of orbit toward the planet, followed two minutes later by Zelinski, and then Polidoro. Rosh waited two minutes and then fired the thruster on the back of his own suit.

Once again, apart from the pressure on his back, he felt no change in motion at all. The thruster cut off after ten seconds, leaving him in free fall. Rosh tilted his head behind and could see the Odysseus out the corner of his helmet visor, rapidly growing smaller as he dropped away. The holographic altitude indicator inside his visor read 200 kilometers, and it was steadily decreasing, albeit with agonizing slowness. Glancing to his left, he could see a blinking light attached to another re-entry suit, pacing him on that side. It was probably Luke Caeli; he would have taken the last place on his group just as Rosh had taken the last place on his.

Side by side they plunged downward through the ionosphere of the planet, steadily picking up velocity with every second. The altitude indicator read 150, 140, 130... At around ninety, Rosh began to feel the first feeble stirrings of air resistance. His suit temperature began to rise rapidly to over five hundred degrees Celsius. Suddenly he was fighting turbulence, stretching out his arms and legs in a desperate struggle to keep his equilibrium as a fireball of supercompressed air boiled against the front of his heat shielded re-entry suit. The temperature kept rising until he felt as if he were being cooked alive. His altitude indicator read 50 kilometers and rapidly decreasing.

Then he was through it, gliding smoothly through the stratosphere like an aerodynamic missile, passing through wisps of ice crystal which melted instantly on contact with his still red hot suit. He glanced to his left and saw Caeli still keeping station with him, both of them glowing like meteors.

Now they were getting down into the troposphere, ten kilometers and still falling. Rosh felt a spattering of condensation across the visor of his helmet, momentarily obscuring his vision. The air was thicker, giving a definite feeling of pressure against his body. He was able to maneuver slightly by spreading or retracting his arms, and yet still he was plunging like a rock at nearly the speed of sound. He could make out the surface, far below -- the blue waters of the ocean and then a green coastline and a city. His head spun for a moment with a terrible sensation of vertigo, knowing that he was still more than three miles in the air with no engine whatsoever.

At this point his suit's navigation system beeped. The holographic map popped up in front of his eyes, letting him know that he was approaching the target area. Forcing himself to look ahead, he started searching for the other members of the dive group. Almost immediately he saw a parachute open up, at least five minutes too early. Was that Polidoro? No -- it was too far to the left. More likely it was Torrens, a newbie in Caeli's group. There -- that was Polidoro's chute. And then Zelinski's and then Attenborough's.

Rosh held on a few moments longer, pulled the cord of his chute and felt the satisfying grip of the synthetic canopy as it deployed and took hold of the air, catching him and bleeding off some of his incredible velocity. He was still traveling at over 100 kph as he hit the ground rolling, his suit absorbing the impact as he tumbled to a halt on the target field amid the applause of several hundred spectators -- Captain Atoz included among them.

"Whoa, not so fast!" warned Ben Pierce, the ship's doctor, as the more enthusiastic young people in the crowd surged out of the spectator stands. All eight skydivers had touched down on the field, their suits still smoking from re-entry. One by one they opened their visors, grinning with exhiliration as the crowd cheered.

"Have you ever been tempted to try something that dangerous, Hawkeye?" Atoz said, hanging back in the stands, "just for recreation?"

"Are you kidding?" the doctor replied. "The most dangerous thing I do is get out of bed every morning." The two of them watched as the skydivers were engulfed by adoring young men and women, scantily dressed for Spring Break, bringing them refreshments and helping them out of their suits. "Then again," Pierce added, "when we were younger we would have risked a little bodily injury to impress the opposite sex."

Atoz nodded. "Some things never change."

That was when it happened. As the captain let his gaze wander across the reviewing stands, a face suddenly popped out at him -- pink skin with purple mottling on the left half of his face, a jutting nose and blue, staring eyes like those of a fish, topped by a round, wide-brimmed hat. It was a face that made his heart pound with an involuntary surge of adrenalin.

In the blink of an eye, the face was gone, vanishing into the jostling crowd of spectators. Atoz rushed forward, mounting a few steps higher into the stands, pushing people aside as he searched.

"Seven? Are you okay?" Pierce asked mildly. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have, Hawkeye," Atoz said dully. "I just saw the Death Stalker."

[Atoz 77]

Two columns of shimmering light appeared in the Transporter Room as Atoz and Pierce materialized on board the Odysseus. The captain nodded a greeting to the transporter technician as he strode briskly through the door and into the corridor, with the doctor keeping pace with him.

"Hold up a minute, Seven," Pierce said. "If this is some kind of joke, I missed the punch line."

"I'm not smiling, Hawkeye," Atoz said, stepping into the nearby turbolift. "Deck Two," he said as the doors hissed shut behind them. The lift responded by carrying the two of them upward through the ship. "Captain to Communications."

"Ziffel here, sir."

"Ah. I just beamed up from the skydiving demonstration, petty officer. I know that I saw several of our people with data padds, making recordings. Do you know if Kate Garrett was there?" Ensign Garrett was one of the ship's Communications officers.

"Yes, sir," Ziffel replied. "She said that she was going to make a recording for the ship's social media page. Was there some kind of problem, sir?"

"Oh, no. Not at all, petty officer," Atoz said. "Would you let me know when she uploads that?"

"I'll be sure and do that, sir."

The lift arrived on Deck Two. "Look, Seven," Pierce said, as they both followed the curving corridor. "Your eyes were obviously playing tricks on you. You couldn't have seen what you thought you saw. Nitaf Annedler is dead. He's been dead for twenty years. The history books say his body was nearly blown to pieces."

"I know that, Hawkeye," Atoz said, pausing at the doorway to the Senior Officer's Lounge. He glanced back and forth as if to make certain there was no one else in the corridor. "I was there. I saw it happen."

As they entered the lounge, Atoz went and stood beside the wide, glass steel windows. "It was before I met you. I was a Midshipman on the Lexington when the Arcturian Separatist Movement started."

Pierce mouth dropped open slightly. "I sort of knew that you were involved in that, Seven, but... well, you never talk about it."

"It's not the kind of thing you talk about, is it?" Atoz said, sitting down in one of the lounge chairs. "I mean, how do you start that conversation? What do you say? Oh by the way, I was there when Nitaf Annedler set off the nerve gas attack at Curwen. I was there when the Death Stalker slaughtered over fifty thousand civilians."

Pierce strolled over to the replicator and ordered two Saurian brandies. When the two glasses of red liquid materialized on the tray, he carried them to the chair and sat down beside Atoz. He handed one glass to his friend. "Do you want to talk about it now?"

Atoz held the glass in between the palms of his hands. "What is there to say? Annedler was a guerilla fighter, an organizer. He hated Humans. He wanted Arcturus to withdraw from the Federation. From the beginning he had a pretty decent following, but the majority of Arcturians saw the advantages of being a Federation member. So his tactics got nastier. He became what they used to call a... what was the word? A terrorist. He planted bombs on transit trains, assassinated public officials. When he started sabotaging Starfleet facilities, that's when we were brought in."

Pierce took a sip of his brandy. "Didn't you actually catch him at one point?"

Atoz still hadn't touched his drink. "Yeah," he sighed. "Our Science officers managed to trace the materials he used in his explosives. We sent in security details in conjunction with the local authorities to surround him. I actually got to see him when they brought him in. Pink skinned like most Arcturians, but the left half of his face was melted and covered with purple mottling, some said from an accident with one of his bombs. In contrast his eyes were blue and dead-looking, like a fish." Atoz paused, staring out the windows into space.

"When they interrogated him, he just smiled. He called himself the Death Stalker. He said that we were too late, that he had already set in motion the Great Culling. His followers attacked the city at several key points with a combination of rockets and timed explosives releasing a lucrovexitrin-based nerve gas. It was pure panic. In the confusion, Annedler escaped from custody with the help of his men who had infiltrated the police unit that was holding him. The attacks continued sporadically over the next 24 hours."

Atoz paused again. "The final death toll was fifty thousand men, women, and children," he said. "And Annedler gloated about it. He broke into the public video broadcasts, ranting. 'This is what happens to traitors to the Great Arcturian Destiny,' he said. 'This is what happens to Earther-lovers.'"

"But you did stop him, right?" Pierce prompted.

"Yes," Atoz said. "Captain Jurgenson used every resource the ship had. We tracked them to their headquarters and nearly flattened it with phaser fire. Then we sent in security details, room to room. Some of us Midshipmen were sent along with them, using tricorders to watch for booby traps. My detail ran into an ambush and I managed to get separated from them. I turned a corner and found myself face to face with Nitaf Annedler himself."

"You're not serious?" Pierce said.

Atoz nodded, still staring out the window. "My phaser was set on level 32, since I had just used it to phaser my way through a concrete wall which had nearly collapsed on top of me."

The doctor sat up straight. "Seven, that's up to disintegration level! Tell me you didn't..."

"Hawkeye, I was 21 years old. I was sweating. I was terrified. Annedler was a monster, that half-melted face of his grinning like some demon straight out of a nightmare. I was too scared to even pull the trigger." Atoz paused to toss off the glass of brandy down his throat. "Just then, Commander Mitchel and Lieutenant Slade arrived through a side passage. They didn't hesitate. The Court of Inquiry later determined that their phasers were both set on level 27, and they fired a maximum of three times each."

"Ouch," Pierce said. "There must not have been enough left of him to pick up with a spoon."

Atoz shrugged.

"But this is just what I've been telling you," the doctor insisted, getting up and going to the replicator for another round of Saurian brandy. "The guy is dead. You couldn't possibly have seen him today, twenty years later and a hundred parsecs away. Or do you think somebody cloned him or something?"

"Don't be absurd, Hawkeye."

"Let me tell you, sometimes the way memory works is funny," Pierce said, handing the captain another brandy. "Remember what we were talking about just before? We were watching the skydivers and talking about how when we were their age, we would have done anything to get girls, right? So it's obvious. You were unconsciously thinking about your days as a Midshipman. And when you looked across the stands, something struck you as familiar enough to trigger that memory. It may not have even looked like him. It could have been an expression, the way someone turned his head, the clothes he was wearing. It could be anything."

Atoz took a sip of the new drink. "I hope you're right, Hawkeye."

His comm badge chirped. "Communications to Captain! This is Ensign Garrett. I just now uploaded the video from the skydiving demonstration, sir. Petty Officer Ziffel said that you wanted to see it."

"Thank you, ensign," Atoz replied, scooting forward in his seat. "Arachne! Give me a viewscreen, please. I want to see the ship's social media page, specifically today's skydiving demonstration."

The pleasant, female voice of the ship's computer resonated through the room. "Working, Captain," Arachne said, as a flat viewing screen slid upright on the table in front of his chair. The video which Ensign Garrett had uploaded started to play, beginning with shots of the crowd filing into the stands, talking excitedly among themselves about the exhibition they were about to see. Understandably enough, Garrett concentrated mainly on the Odysseus crewmembers, exchanging greetings here and there, but she did get some good shots of the stands with the Epsilon Carinae colonists. There did seem to be a few Arcturians present.

"Slow down the video to half speed," Atoz instructed the computer. He and Pierce leaned closer, anxiously scanning faces. "Computer, freeze. Scan left just a bit." It was the face he had seen -- the Death Stalker! "That's the face." He touched the screen, drawing a circle around it with his finger. "Arachne, can you scan the entire video for a clearer picture of this same face?"

"Working, Captain," the computer AI said obligingly. Images rapidly flitted past as the computer ran through the video at ultra-fast speed. Every few moments a single frame was copied as a smaller image and placed temporarily around the edge of the screen. When Arachne was done, she had twenty or so of these thumbnails, which she scanned again until she had narrowed it down to the one clearest picture. Atoz and Pierce both stared in silence at that face -- pink skin with purple blotches on the left cheek, aquiline nose and blue eyes.

"Alright, Arachne," Atoz said, conscious of his pulse beating a little bit faster. "Open your historical database and locate a picture of Nitaf Annedler of Arcturus, circa twenty years ago. Compare this picture with that one."

It took a moment for the computer to locate the picture of Annedler. The similarity between the two was striking to both Atoz and Pierce, although the historical picture was disappointingly grainy. "This is the best image available in my current database, Captain," Arachne said apologetically. "Scanning facial recognition parameters." Rapidly lines and circles appeared on both images as the computer tried to match them. It took perhaps two seconds.

"The faces match twenty-five out of thirty-two facial recognition points," the computer said. "Not enough for a conclusive match."

Pierce let out a relieved breath. "You had me going for a minute, Seven," he said, as he slumped back in the lounge chair. "I have to admit he looks a lot like your guy. But it's not him."

Atoz frowned. He should feel relieved, so why didn't he? "Not so fast, Hawkeye. An Arcturian's facial characteristics sometimes change as he gets older. We'd have to take a DNA comparison to be completely certain."

"Seven, will you give it a rest?" the doctor said wearily.

"Arachne, run this gentleman through the Epsilon Carinae planetary directory. Who is he?"

Again there was a lapse of about two seconds before the computer replied. "File not found, Captain. This gentleman does not seem to be in the identity archive."

[Atoz 77]

"The total population of Epsilon Carinae is about four million, Captain," Lieutenant Blackadar said, checking the display on her console on the bridge of the Odysseus. "Most of them are Human. About thirty thousand are Arcturians."

"Why can't we identify this one individual?" Atoz asked.

"For identification purposes," the auburn-haired Scot replied, "every citizen is required to have a facial image on file, along with a DNA sample and a fingerprint or retina scan. But the facial image can be waived for cultural reasons. About a quarter of the Arcturians don't have one on file for that reason. Our mystery man is apparently one of those."

"I see," the captain said disappointedly. "So short of showing his picture around to the whole colony and asking people if they know him, we have no way of finding him."

"I wouldn't say that, sir," Blackadar said. "I believe we can narrow it down a wee bit. The landing field is in a fairly remote area. I ran a security check of shuttle busses that brought spectators out to the event." She paused, her fingers dancing across her control panel as one of the auxiliary view screens displayed images of passengers boarding -- including one figure wearing that distinctive hat. "And there he is, big as life, boarding the shuttle to Villa Nueva. It's a village about forty kilometers away from the field. It has a population of about three hundred, with only a handful of Arcturians."

"Excellent work, Mr. Blackadar," Atoz said, once again feeling his pulse racing.

"Shall I put together a security team then, Captain?" the Scot asked.

That was the question, wasn't it? Atoz had no legal grounds for detaining the man or demanding a DNA sample from him. That would require going through the local police, and all he had to offer them was a vague resemblance to someone he had seen twenty years ago, which his own ship's computer had failed to confirm. Blackadar was radiating nothing but her usual cool efficiency, but Atoz was very much aware of the curious stares he was getting from both Dr. Pierce and Commander Fawkes, who was still ensconced in the command chair. So far none of his officers had questioned their captain's sudden obsession with this nondescript Arcturian, but that could change if he gave that order.

"I think that I can handle it alone, Mr. Blackadar," he said. "I just want to talk to the man."

"The two of us want to talk to him," said Pierce. "You don't think I'm going to let you go off half-cocked, do you?"

"The more the merrier, Hawkeye. Change into civilian clothes, so we don't draw too much attention."

***

Atoz and Pierce beamed down to Santiago, a large riverside town which was popular for shore leave. From there they took the shuttle bus to Villa Nueva, which turned out to be a sleepy little village which seemed to be made up mainly of artists and artisans, nestled snugly on a mountainside overlooking a gorge. The two of them disembarked and pretended to be tourists, taking in the view of the mountains and the waterfall to the east of the town.

They strolled down the main street, looking at least briefly into every artisan's shop they passed. Once or twice they glimpsed Arcturians, but none of them were the man they were looking for. Finally they stepped into a cafe for tea and scones. Atoz showed the woman who served them the man's picture on his data padd.

"Oh that's Mr. Theo!" she said brightly. "We call him that; his real name is one of those tongue-twisters. He stops in every now and then. Keeps to himself mostly."

"We were told," Atoz began cautiously, thinking back on some of the shops they had visited earlier, "that he made some good slow glass. A real artist, they said."

"Mr. Theo?" the woman said, frowning. "I don't think so." She turned to one of the other patrons, a grizzled older man. "Hume? Have you ever heard that Mr. Theo made slow glass?"

"Who's asking?" the older man grumbled, taking a suspicious look at the two strangers.

"Frick and Frack, the Red Herring brothers," Pierce muttered under his breath.

Atoz said, "We just came in on the Astral Queen, and somebody told us that this guy had some beautiful slow glass."

The older man frowned as he glanced at the image on the data padd. "Mr. Theomugdeo keeps to himself and minds his own business," he said dismissively. "If you're looking for slow glass, Bob Shaw on Brass Street is the one to see."

"Thank you very much," Pierce said. They finished their tea and went back outside onto the street.

"At least we have a name now," Atoz said, as the two of them strolled on down the main street in a leisurely way. "Atoz to Odysseus. Run the name Theomugdeo, Mr. Blackadar."

It was only a few moments before the tactical officer replied, "Ah, here it is, sir. Nushul Theomugdeo. Emigrated from Triton nine years ago. Before that he lived on Jazra and then Diblos. No record of him before about twenty years ago, but that's not too unusual. Some of the smaller colonies don't keep accurate birth records. His address is Number 16 Copper Lane."

"Thank you, Mr. Blackadar."

Atoz and Pierce turned around, walking back toward the center of the village. "What are you going to do when you meet this guy, Seven?" Pierce asked. "What do you think's going to happen?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure," Atoz said thoughtfully. "I expect you're right about all this. It's probably just a delusion brought about by a trick memory. When I meet him face to face, I'll see how ridiculous the whole thing is. In the meantime it nags at me like an itch."

Atoz and Pierce climbed up a flight of masonry steps to Copper Lane, which was a narrow, pedestrian-only lane overlooking the main street as it wound back and forth along the mountainside. They soon found number 27 and began following the house numbers backwards. As they passed number 19, which appeared to be unoccupied, they came to a square bastion which had been constructed as a support for this section of the cliff. The bastion had another level above it reached by a winding stair, providing an observation point to view the scenery.

As they passed through the archway underneath the overlook, two fairly young men came up suddenly behind them, almost catching them by surprise. Pierce felt an arm snake around his neck just as what felt like a metal rod was pressed against his kidneys. Atoz turned just in time to see the second man take a swing at his head with a two foot long club, apparently made of brass. The Captain managed to block the blow with his forearm, but his assailant pressed his attack, this time aiming lower toward his abdomen. Atoz parried the blow and evaded, countering with a lateral kick which caught his attacker in the stomach. He twisted and retreated quickly out of reach as the man returned a backhand swing. Then for a few seconds the two of them just watched one another warily.

"Hey what's going on, guys?" Pierce asked nervously. "What have we done? Is there a toll for using this bridge?"

"Just shut up; I don't want to hear it," said the man who was holding him prisoner, keeping his eye on the fight while pressing his rod more firmly against the small of Pierce's back.

The other man turned a ring which was set into the handle of his club. Now the upper half of the weapon radiated a soft, white glow. Atoz narrowed his eyes as he recognized the operation of a stun club. The glowing part of it would release a neural shock on contact which would effectively paralyze him. The younger guy took a second to brace himself and moved in, swinging.

This time there was little chance of Atoz blocking or parrying. He dodged the first swing, swaying deftly on his feet and dodging the second as he tried to keep his distance. At the same time he couldn't retreat very far without being backed against the parapet of the bastion, which would mean a sheer drop of about twenty meters to the street below.

"Seriously, guys," Pierce said. "We can talk about this. There's no need for broken bones over a simple misunderstanding."

"Didn't I tell you to--"

His partner rushed at Atoz. The Starfleet captain stepped forward to meet him, catching his assailant's wrist and then spinning quickly to the left and smacking the younger man against the stone arch of the bastion. They grappled for a moment and then Atoz flipped the younger man to the floor, catching his weapon arm in an armlock. There was a metallic sound as the stun club clattered to the flagstones. Atoz' knee came up into the man's neck, propelling him backward, sprawled halfway over the parapet with his head and shoulders dangling over the precipice and the Captain's arm pinning him there.

The other man involuntarily loosened his grip on Pierce. The doctor suddenly pivoted, knocking his arm aside and diving forward out of reach. His attacker activated his stun club as he turned toward Atoz -- but found himself looking into the barrel of a type I phaser which the Starfleet officer was now holding in his hand. A narrow beam of energy lanced out and caught him in the chest, dropping him to the floor.

"Now I think we both might be a little bit more open to conversation, don't you?" Atoz said to the young man he was holding pinned against the parapet. "Who sent you?"

The young man shook his head. "No. I can't tell you--"

"Better think about that," Atoz said, pushing his a little further along the parapet. "It's a long way down."

"Stop!" said another voice. "There's no need to harm Sousa. I'm the one you want."

Atoz and Pierce looked up and saw an Arcturian man standing in the other archway, wearing a long, dust-colored coat and a wide-brimmed hat. On his left cheek was purple mottling. Nushul Theomugdeo, the man they were looking for.

Atoz released his prisoner and walked closer, keeping the Arcturian covered with his phaser. From the moment he saw those blue, fish-like eyes, he knew beyond a doubt. "It really is YOU, isn't it?" he said.

The Arcturian expelled a resigned sigh. "I suppose I always knew that someone would eventually find me."

[Atoz 77]

Theomugdeo ignored the phaser which Atoz still held pointed at him as he and Dr. Pierce kneeled beside the young man sprawled across the flagstones. The young man was already starting to sit up as the light stun charge wore off. The other young man sat up on the parapet, rubbing his throat and keeping his eye respectfully on Atoz' phaser.

"Are you alright, Mulcahey?" the Arcturian asked solicitously. "Why don't you and Sousa run along back to the foundry? I'll be safe with these gentlemen."

The two young men cautiously picked up their stun clubs, which had automatically deactivated. Still keeping their eyes on Atoz, they backed slowly toward the archway.

"It's all right. Go!" Theomugdeo said. "You'll have to forgive them," he added as the young men left quickly. "They were expecting assassins."

"How do you know I'm not one?" Atoz said harshly, still keeping him covered.

"Because you haven't killed me already," the Arcturian said without smiling. "More's the pity." He began to walk down the narrow lane toward number 16.

"My name is Ben Pierce," the doctor said, keeping pace with him. "His is Seven Atoz. We're officers in Starfleet. I just want to make sure we're all on the same page here. You're claiming to be Nitaf Annedler of Arcturus, the so-called Death Stalker?"

The Arcturian grimaced a little bit at the name, but he nodded. "That's what they used to call me."

"I'm sorry, but how can that be? Nitaf Annedler was blown to pieces twenty years ago. If you'll pardon the expression."

"You forget that in my heyday I was a biochemist," the Arcturian said. "Before I started researching ways to kill people, I made one extremely interesting discovery." He paused. "Now don't get excited, young man," he said to Atoz. "I'll keep my movements slow." Cautiously he reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small clasp knife, which he carefully unfolded. Holding the implement in his right hand, he raised his left hand slightly in order to shake his sleeve down, exposing the pink flesh of his forearm. Then, abruptly he slashed the razor-sharp knife blade across his arm! Red blood welled up out of the deep cut.

"Why did you do that?" Pierce gasped in alarm.

"Wait," Theomugdeo said calmly. As they watched, the blood stopped oozing of its own accord. Annedler dropped the knife back into his pocket and ran his fingers over the cut, smearing the half-congealed blood away. The gash was already knitting together, closing up, healing itself!

"That's extraordinary," Pierce said. "Complete cellular regeneration?"

"Like you said," the Arcturian said, "my body was blown to pieces, but the cells regenerated. It took one or two weeks, but I found myself inside the mortuary and I broke out." He paused to roll his sleeve down again. "I suppose that the immortality formula would be worth something to the medical community... if only I could remember how I did it." He continued walking down the lane.

Pretty soon they came to number 16, which was a small house at the intersection of another lane. Theomugdeo waved to a neighbor. Atoz slipped the phaser into his pocket, but kept his hand on it. The old man opened the door to his house and went inside, with Atoz and Pierce following him.

"You see, a large percentage of my brain cells must have been destroyed," the Arcturian resumed, filling a small pot with water from the sink and starting to water the flower box on the window sill. "The cells regenerated of course, but the knowledge, the memories contained in them... well, there are huge gaps in what I remember from that time period. In a very real sense, I'm not truly Nitaf Annedler any longer."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Atoz said. "I was there on Arcturus. I was there at Curwen when you and your followers killed fifty thousand people with lucrovexitrin nerve gas. Do you expect me to believe that you don't remember any of that?"

The old man winced, closing his eyes as if in pain. "Oh no, young man," he said slowly. "THAT I remember. The screams of the dying, the pleas for mercy, the helplessness of the survivors, their howls of impotent rage... all that I remember. Those ghosts haunt my every waking moment. Whatever stroke of chance erased the memories of half my life, it didn't have the mercy to allow me to forget that." He turned to Atoz, his blue, fish-like eyes brimming with tears. "What I don't remember is WHY. They say that I proudly called myself the Death Stalker. But whatever political or ideological motive I must have had for doing those horrible things, whatever insanity might have possessed me... that is lost to me. If you don't think that is torture..."

He carried the pot back to the sink. "I still had one or two contacts who smuggled me off the planet, to Diblos. I tried to settle there but I couldn't bear living among my people. I immigrated to Jazra, then to Triton, then to here. The ghosts of my past would not let me rest. So if you want to arrest me, young man, if you want to lock me up in a rehabilitation center... I won't resist. There's nothing you can do to me that wouldn't be a relief."

***

On the bridge of the Odysseus, Commander Fawkes was playing a word game on his data padd and trying to look busy when he heard the turbolift door hiss open behind him. He half turned and looked over his shoulder at the Andorian Chief Engineer, Vho Vespis, as she strode to the command module with her own data padd in hand.

"Here you go," she said. "Engineering status report for last month. Two days early for a change."

"You must have been bored to pieces," Fawkes said, taking the padd.

The engineer's antennae twitched. "Main engineering feels like a ghost ship. This was the only thing I could think of to keep from brooding over the fact that half of my people are on shore leave."

"Our turn will come," the First Officer assured her. "Where are you planning on going?"

"Skiing on the Tuleg Glacier," Vespis said. "I still don't understand you pinkskins' fascination with running around on a beach in the hot sun."

Just then there was a light chirping sound as "Weir to Odysseus!" came in over the comm system.

"Give me a visual on that," Fawkes ordered. The main viewscreen activated, showing a closeup view of Science Officer Diane Weir, who was standing on a beach wearing a very small aquamarine bikini swimsuit. A flowered sarong was knotted loosely around her slender waist, fluttering in the sea breeze which also tugged at the flowers twined in her tousled brunette hair.

"I think I'm beginning to understand it now," Vespis whispered into Fawkes' ear.

"Hola, everyone!" the Science Officer said brightly. "We're having a marvelous time!" In the background, the rest of the Sciences department, along with most of Operations, could be seen energetically enjoying themselves with some kind of game using a beach ball.

"We can see that," said Fawkes.

"You didn't call us up just to rub it in, did you?" Vespis added.

"Not entirely," Weir smiled. "We've met some officers from the Orion, and some of them know the Captain. Can you put him on, please?"

"I'll pass on the message the next time he checks in," Fawkes said.

"He's not on the ship?" Weir said, frowning.

"He and Pierce beamed down a little while ago," the First Officer said, "doing some sight-seeing I expect. But I'll pass along the message."

"Okay then," Weir said, looking disappointed. "Weir out."

As the main screen went blank, Lt. Blackadar glanced up from her tactical console. "Mr. Fawkes, I'm seeing some unusual activity around that Rigelian trader vessel."

"How unusual?" the First Officer asked.

"That's just the thing, sir. I'm not quite sure what to make of it."

***

"You don't buy this, do you, Hawkeye?" Atoz said.

"I have to say it makes a certain amount of sense," the doctor replied carefully. "It's our genes that make us people, but it's our experiences that make us the individuals that we are. There was a court case a while back that ruled that clones are not legally responsible for crimes committed by their originals."

"But he's not a clone."

"In a way, he is. This individual grew, or regenerated, from the cells of the original Nitaf Annedler. But he doesn't have the full lifetime experiences of Nitaf Annedler. He's not quite the same person, so he's not responsible for the things that Nitaf Annedler did."

"I think that's for a court to decide," Atoz said. "Alright, Mr. ... Theomugdeo, I'm going to take you to my ship until we can arrange a DNA comparison. Are there any clothes or personal effects you'd like to take with you?"

"Give me a minute," the Arcturian said. He moved around the small, three-room house, stuffing articles of clothing and other odds and ends into a small duffel bag. It took him less than ten minutes, and with one final look around, all three of them went outside into the lane.

Atoz tapped his comm badge. "Atoz to Odysseus."

"Fawkes here, Captain," the First Officer replied promptly.

Before another word could be spoken, suddenly there was a bright flash in the sky overhead. The carrier wave of Atoz' comm badge abruptly cut out. He pressed the device again but there was no response. Five seconds later, a red shimmering effect erupted out of thin air a few meters along the lane, as something materialized by transporter.

The thing that materialized was about the size of a human although thin and bird-like in build, its body supported by two wide, three-toed feet. It was covered in a black synthetic bodysuit with various hand weapons slung across its shoulders or hanging from its belt. Its head was narrow, tapering to a beak, with pale brown skin and two broad tufts of dark brown feathers sweeping upward almost like small wings on either side of its skull. Its two large, alert eyes were constantly in motion, taking in the scene.

"The life of the Arcturian is forfeit," it said calmly, its speech sounding stilted as it came through its translator. "Step aside and you will not be harmed."

[Atoz 77]

Atoz aimed his phaser straight at the alien's chest. "My name is Captain Atoz," he said. "I'm an officer in Starfleet. What has this man done to draw the attention of a Nazulian assassin?"

The alien did not seem to be at all concerned at having a weapon pointed at it. "If you know my people," it said, "then you also know that it is poor etiquette to speak of a contract. Step aside and you will not be harmed. This is the last warning you will receive."

"He's under my protection," Atoz said. "I can't do that."

With one smooth movement, the Nazulian detached a short rod from its belt and ignited a one-meter long laser sword blade. Atoz responded by pressing the trigger of his phaser, and he wasn't very surprised when nothing at all happened. He guessed that the flash of light they had seen earlier was a short-range electromagnetic disruption impulse, which would temporarily shut down transtator-powered devices in its area of effect.

"Run, Hawkeye!" Atoz shouted, planting himself in the alien's path. The Nazulian pivoted gracefully on one foot and brought the laser sword around in an arc at about the Human's chest level. Atoz ducked, feeling the heat of the blade as it immediately swung back and downward, forcing him to drop even further. He barely eluded the slash by tucking his body into a roll across the cobblestones, very much aware that the assassin wasn't even trying very hard to hit him. Nazulians had a code of honor when it came to unarmed adversaries. It was merely trying to intimidate Atoz by impressing upon him the futility of fighting an opponent armed with a laser sword.

Alright, consider me impressed, Atoz thought as he squatted on his haunches.

Meanwhile Pierce had grabbed hold of Theomugdeo's sleeve and taken off running down the side lane on the other side of the house. The Nazulian's eyes flicked in that direction and began to move unhurriedly in pursuit.

Atoz sprang to his feet and charged, catching the assassin from behind -- very nearly. The alien anticipated the maneuver and spun at the last second, swinging his laser sword behind him. The blade extinguished just as the rod smacked Atoz across the ribs with a blow which nearly knocked the breath out of him. At the same time its other arm came around as retractable talons nearly as strong as steel slid into place in its hands, slashing across the Human's thigh. Atoz collapsed, sprawling across the cobblestones.

"Do not try my patience, Earthling," the Nazulian said. Then he turned and strode after his prey.

***

"What happened? Get him back!" Fawkes ordered.

"Negative contact, Mr. Fawkes," Blackadar said. "I'm not even reading his location transponder, his or the doctor's."

"One random comm badge malfunction I can almost buy," the First Officer said, "but not two. We know their approximate location, in Villa Nueva. Can you scan the village for their specific life signs?"

"That will take a couple of minutes, sir."

***

The narrow lane was cluttered with the decaying hulks of machinery, relics of the planet's early colonization period which the local artisans were now using as raw materials for works of art. At times there was only enough room for one person at a time to squeeze through.

"In here," Theomugdeo said, unlatching a door and gesturing for Pierce to follow him. As he shut the door behind them, they found themselves inside a cavernous, warehouse-sized building. The labyrinthine interior was full of shadows since the only source of light seemed to be a huge crucible built into the floor which was half full of red-hot molten metal.

"We call this the foundry," the Arcturian said. "It's where the artisans melt down scrap metal for reuse." Pierce glimpsed vague shapes as he followed his guide through the darkness, until they came to a metal stair. "You should leave me. The Nazulian will not pursue you."

"Why is he after you?" Pierce asked. "I thought everyone believed that you were already dead."

"Everyone except Relwie Tahd, the woman who smuggled me from Arcturus twenty years ago. Apparently Nitaf Annedler had promised to give her the immortality treatment. She wouldn't believe that I barely knew who she was, let alone how to make the formula. She thought that I was deliberately holding out on her. All these years, I have managed to stay just one step ahead of her."

Two shadowy figures suddenly loomed out of the dimness. They turned out to be the two young men who had attacked Atoz and Pierce earlier. "Sousa, Mulcahey, what are you doing here?" Theomugdeo said irritably. "The Nazulian will be here any moment. It will kill the two of you without blinking. Get out of here, and take this fool with you."

"Not a chance," Pierce said. "I'm not running off and abandoning you."

"Neither are we, teacher," Sousa said. Mulcahey nodded his approval.

"All three of you are idiots," the Arcturian muttered. "Don't you understand? It doesn't want you. It wants--"

Just then, they heard a sizzling sound as something cut through the mechanism of the door which they had sealed behind them. The portal fell to the floor with a crash.

"There's plenty of shadows to hide in," Pierce whispered. "Let's scatter and try to make it to the rear door. There is a rear door?"

Theomugdeo was shaking his head. "A Nazulian can see in the dark. Heading toward the crucible would be a better strategy. The bright light may dazzle its eyes. Sousa, Mulcahey, you two just hide and stay out of its way. Do you understand me?" The two young men nodded reluctantly as the Arcturian quickly climbed the metal stair to the catwalks above. Pierce followed him.

"I don't know what you think you can do to help," Theomugdeo said bitterly as the two of them moved across the catwalk. "You don't even have a weapon."

"I can be another target," the doctor said. "Maybe confuse him."

As they looked down they could see the dark figure of the Nazulian moving stealthily from one group of shadows to another as it picked its way across the foundry. It had sheathed its laser sword and seemed to be holding one arm out in front of it as though to shade its keen eyes from the glare of the molten metal. Pierce and Theomugdeo froze where they were, clutching at the railing, not daring to make a sound.

But suddenly Sousa and Mulcahey sprang from out of nowhere with their stun clubs. In a flurry of motion, the assassin eluded both their weapons and counterattacked with only its natural talons, stabbing into their unprotected flesh. The boys cried out and fell to the floor.

"NO!" the Arcturian cried, unable to suppress his dismay. The Nazulian looked up and saw the two of them on the catwalk above it. Swiftly it darted to the stair.

Pierce and Theomugdeo separated, running around the metal catwalk to reach the other side of the room. But the Nazulian was quick. Homing in on the sound of running boots, it seemed to fly up the stair and leaped the railing, landing in front of the doctor and cutting off his escape. Its hardened talons slashed through the catwalk supports. The platform twisted under Pierce's weight, his boots sliding as he desperately grabbed hold of the railing, dangling above the red hot crucible below him.

"Where is the Arcturian?" the assassin asked, its sensitive eyes squinting against the glare.

"Long gone," Pierce gasped, feeling his grip slipping. "Do you mind giving me a hand?"

The Nazulian paused to consider. It was dishonorable to kill an unarmed opponent, but there was nothing in the code that said it had to save his life either.

Suddenly there were footsteps ringing on the metal catwalk as Theomugdo charged, wielding a metal pole which smacked into the assassin's stomach, sending it stumbling backward a few paces. Again he swung the pole, this time at chest height. The Nazulian ducked, whipping a dagger from its belt as it whirled, its left arm slashing with its talons and knocking the pole out of the way as the dagger found its mark, thrusting inerringly into the Arcturian's chest, right into his heart!

For a moment, a peculiar expression of astonishment appeared on Theomugdeo's face. Then he sagged backward and fell to the catwalk. At virtually the same instant, two bright blue phaser beams caught the Nazulian in the chest, dropping it.

Pierce looked down in astonishment and saw Atoz at the foot of the stairs, leaning on the railing to support his injured leg. Beside him stood Blackadar and another security officer. "Emergency!" Blackadar said, tapping her comm badge. "Eight to beam up. The Nazulian is to be suspended in transit. All others directly to Sickbay." The shimmering transporter beams captured them all and dissolved them away.

***

Nushul Theomugdeo opened his pale blue eyes. His body felt strangely cold, lying here in what was clearly a Federation starship's Sickbay. But there was no pain. Wasn't that peculiar?

"How are you feeling?" asked Dr. Pierce, looking somber. Behind him stood Captain Atoz.

"Sousa? Mulcahey?" the Arcturian asked. "Are they...?"

"They're fine," the doctor said. "They sustained some internal injuries, but they're fine. They're in the waiting room now. I'll let them in to see you in just a minute. But before I do that... The Nazulian's dagger was a poison injector. An acid-based recombinant poison. I'm afraid you're dying. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

The Arcturian closed his eyes for a moment. "The Nazulian? Where is it?"

"In the brig," Atoz said. "Charged with murder."

"Please don't, Captain. It was only doing what it was bred and trained to do."

"But it killed a Federation citizen."

"I died twenty years ago," the Arcturian said. "It just took me this long to stop moving around."

"You could have run," Pierce said. "While I was dangling over that pool of molten metal, you could have skipped out the back door and gotten away."

"Where would I have run to?" the Arcturian said. "And if I can make another request... please don't tell Sousa and Mulcahey who I was. They think I'm a retired philosophy professor. That's the reason they call me 'teacher'."

"If that's the way you want it... Mr. Theomugdeo," Atoz said.

The Arcturian managed to smile, then he closed his eyes and lay back in the bed with a sigh.

>>THE END>>>>