Tiger- These are the Voyages

by David Smith

  ‘Could it be more left-over technology that’s showing up on your scans?’ asked Hollins.

  She lowered her voice as if concerned someone might be eaves-dropping. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve caught odd readings that look like Federation technology.’

  Hollins thought back to what Professor Hubert had said about there being ‘worse types’ than him floating around Treaty Space. ‘Ok Aisling, given the circumstances, I think that warrants further investigation. I’ll get ASBeau to look into it. Hollins out.’

  --------------------

  ASBeau sat in Tiger’s briefing room and discussed his findings with Hollins and Lieutenant-Commander O’Mara.

  ‘There’s definitely something funny going on, sir’ admitted ASBeau. ‘My team have been scanning the whole area from orbit and also at ground level and we keep picking up odd signals. It’s nothing we can put a finger on yet, but my best guess is that someone is here in orbit with us, with Federation type technology that’s at least as advanced as our own. Whoever it is, they’re going out of their way to stay undetected with top-notch signal suppression and cloaking systems.’

  ‘Are they a threat?’

  ASBeau rubbed his chin pensively. ‘Unlikely. What stray signals we pick up are one at a time. My best guess is that there’s another lone-wolf hanging around, keeping tabs on us. Damned if I can work out why though.’

  ‘Unless it’s not us they’re keeping tabs on’ suggested Hollins.

  ‘Then who else? The professor?’ asked O’Mara.

  Hollins nodded ‘Possibly. There’s only really one way to find out.’

  ASBeau sat up in his seat. ‘You want to catch them?’

  Hollins nodded. ‘Whoever’s watching us isn’t breaking any laws that I can think of, but if they are here, I want to know who it is and why. So the question is: how do we catch them?’

  ASBeau mulled it over. ‘Well the technology we’ve got isn’t helping us. Their technology is cancelling it out. We’ll have to think outside the box.’

  There was a pause before ASBeau continued. ‘If I was out hunting a stealthy animal, I’d set a trap.’

  O’Mara’s forehead wrinkled as she considered what he was implying. ‘So if we assume they’re after the professor, we dangle bait and let them make the move? How do we actually catch them?’

  ASBeau eyes narrowed as he worked out the detail. ‘They must be using a transporter of some kind: we’d certainly spot a ship or shuttle taking off or landing, even if it did have some kind of cloaking device. If we could lure them into a confined space with transport inhibitors hidden around it, we’d only have to physically pin them down.’

  ‘They must be cloaked. And whatever cloaking system they’re using is better than anything we’ve got’ sighed O’Mara.

  Hollins wasn’t deterred. ‘No cloaking system is perfect. They still have a physical presence that can’t be hidden. There must be some way of finding them.’

  ‘Bats!’ exclaimed O’Mara.

  ASBeau looked confused. ‘What, like baseball bats? Take a swing and see what you hit?’

  ‘No! BATS!’ shouted O’Mara as if saying the same thing louder would make it more easily understood. Hollins and ASBeau stared at her blankly, so she stood up and started flapping her arms up and down. ‘Bats!’ she exclaimed again.

  The penny dropped for Hollins. ‘Ultrasonics?’

  ‘Yes!’ squealed O’Mara. ‘When we set up the trap with transport inhibitors, we rig the same space with ultrasonic sound-wave generators.’

  ASBeau caught up. ‘So we fit a pad with an ultrasound detector, mount that on a phaser-rifle and calibrate it like an optical sight.’

  ‘Yes! Exactly!’ enthused O’Mara.

  Hollins smiled. ‘Sounds like a plan. Ok, O’Mara, get down to Engineering and ask Commander Romanov to assist you with the detectors. ASBeau, draw out three phaser-rifles, and get them to the engineers too. Let’s catch us a ghost.’

  --------------------

  Hollins called O’Mara, who was back down on the surface of the planet.

  ‘O’Mara, Sato and Park have broken the encryption on Professor Hubert’s personal logs. There’s a reference to a hidden space in the professor’s cabin aboard his yacht. We think he may have hidden some sensitive information there. I’m sending Lieutenant Delgado across with a team to investigate. I’d like you back on-board Tiger to go with them.’

  ‘Very good sir. I’m in the field at the moment. I’ll head back to the duck-blind, shed my gear and be back on-board in thirty minutes.’

  ‘Ok. I’ll tell Delgado to wait for you in the Transporter Room. Hollins out.’

  --------------------

  The familiar tingling, jangling sound of a transport beam played to itself, although oddly there wasn’t the usual light show that accompanied it.

  In the silence of Professor Hubert’s empty yacht, soft foot-steps padded down the corridor accompanied by a slight rippling in the air, as if something almost, but not entirely transparent was passing by. The ripples left the hold that doubled as a Transporter Room and headed for the cabins at the forward end of the ship.

  There was a beep and the door to the only cabin that been used in recent memory opened.

  The ownerless footsteps padded into the cabin and paused, taking in the darkened environment. Quietly a voice whispered ‘Lights!’ and the cabin’s overhead lighting came on. The footsteps headed to the bunk in the cabin and with no apparent motive force, the mattress on the bunk flipped into the air.

  Not revealing whatever was being sought, the mattress dropped again and nearly invisible hands moved on, carefully exploring the bulkheads of the cabin by touch.

  The invisible hands carried on exploring until they came across something decidedly unexpected. They were trying to reach down the back of a chair, but there was something in the way. Something that prevented the invisible hands from reaching down between the cushions of the chair. Something invisible was on the chair.

  A second voice said very calmly ‘You’ll find that your transporter won’t work in here’ and with that there was a rippling visual disturbance in the seat of the chair that = cleared to reveal a man in a black Starfleet adaptive-camouflage suit.

  There was more rippling movement in three corners of the cabin, as other camouflaged people powered down their suit’s systems. They revealed themselves to be similarly black-suited figures, although each of these three were carrying very large and very dangerous-looking phaser rifles.

  All of the rifles were pointed at an apparently random spot in space, or more accurately they were pointed at the same spot in space which was decidedly un-random.

  ‘We’ll shoot if we have to’ chided the man in the chair.

  There was a fifth rippling of the air, which faded to reveal a tall figure completely encased in a tight-fitting silver suit, topped by a silver helmet with no obvious openings. The suited figure held its hands up in a gesture of surrender, before very slowly moving to remove the helmet. There was a puff of escaping gases as plates on the face of the helmet popped outwards and slid to one side to allow the occupant to lift the helmet off.

  Long auburn hair cascaded out and down across broad but distinctly feminine shoulders. The woman looked around at the three phaser-rifles which never wavered from their aim, directly at her. The fourth black-suited figure stood up and lifted his visor to address her.

  ‘My name is Captain David Hollins, and I’d be very interested to know who you are and why you’re prowling around Professor Jacques Hubert’s yacht.’

  --------------------

  Hollins sat staring at her, having achieved nothing more than the First Officer had.

  They’d both interviewed the strange woman, and found out exactly the same, very limited information.

  Her name was Professor Rhiannon Shaw. She’d spotted the professor’s yacht in low orbit and recognising that it belonged to a fellow archaeologist she’d merely transported across to make sure that he was safe and that
everything was ok.

  She was merely following the protocol dictated by her employers in keeping all her cloaking systems operational whilst in the vicinity of a pre-industrial civilisation and hadn’t been observing the Starfleet personnel on the ground.

  She refused to reveal the location of her own vessel, or allow them access to it as she had not broken any Federal laws. She correctly pointed out they had no reasonable justification to insist otherwise.

  She did agree to stay aboard Tiger, although she was not legally obliged to do so, but this was merely to assist with their enquiry into the actions of Professor Hubert.

  She was a closed book.

  A beautiful, intelligent, charming, but very, very closed book.

  Dave had escorted her down to the security complex himself and had tried very hard not to notice how attractive Professor Shaw was.

  Her silver suit was absolutely skin-tight and left very little to his imagination. She was tall, slim, and strikingly athletic, with only enough body fat to smooth out her very feminine curves. A utility belt on the suit hugged her narrow waist, emphasising the flare of her hips and the considerable bosom the broad shoulders supported.

  She moved with cat-like grace, the close fit of her suit revealing the gentle movement of her lithe, supple muscles. She held herself with the poise of a dancer, and every movement was measured and precise, with no energy wasted.

  Infuriatingly, everything about her seemed the same. Every answer was, calm, rational, and perfectly delivered, without consideration or hesitation.

  She wore no make-up but wouldn’t have needed it anyway. Her skin was flawless and lightly tanned, her dark, full, lips caressing her words with their natural pout, all of which was only subliminally noticeable.

  Above perfect, high cheek-bones sat pale piercing green-grey eyes, which never seemed to blink, and turned each phrase she spoke into a daunting game of cat-and-mouse. When those eyes looked into yours, it was near impossible to look at anything else.

  Dave realised that she was playing with him. There was the vaguest hint of a smile on that beautiful face: the disconcerting smile of person who was in charge of the situation.

  He excused himself and went to the Officer’s Mess to discuss his options with the senior staff.

  ‘Ok, team, as it stands, we’ve got nothing. Sato and Park are still trying to access Professor Hubert’s files. They’ve got the secondary data storage unit from the professor’s yacht hooked up down in the Cryptology suite on Deck 3, but the whole thing is secured with exotic encryption algorithms unlike anything we’ve ever seen before. We still don’t know what Professor Shaw is up to, and we can’t legitimately keep her here. Even if we did, I’m pretty certain we’d get nothing more out of her. She seems happy on stay aboard Tiger to help with our enquiry into Professor Hubert’s actions, but even then, I’ve got no idea why she’d want to. Suggestions? Anyone?’

  The First Officer, Ramon Ruiz, said ‘She’s as cool as a cucumber that one. After I interviewed her, I went to the Brig and asked Hubert about Shaw. He was dismissive of her. He claims that he barely knows her, and that she’s nothing more than a thief of antiquities, “a tomb-raider” as he put it, but that’s not the impression I got. I think there’s a lot more to her than meets the eye.’

  The ship’s Liaison Officer, Commander Isobelle Grosvenor added her thoughts. ‘I’ve been doing a bit of research on Professor Shaw. If she’s a thief it appears she’s a proficient and competent one. Aside from the fact that she graduated from Harvard at the top of her class, and has built a reputation as a first-class field-archaeologist, she’s got serious financial backing. Her vessel, wherever it is, is the SS Rosetta Stone, a private yacht financed by the Alexander Foundation.’

  Hollins shook his head. ‘I’m not familiar with that organisation.’

  ‘Not many people are. The Alexander Foundation funds scientific missions to under-developed areas of the galaxy. The organisation is represented by a lot of very high profile politicians, and is very slick and business-like. What’s not generally known is that the funding for the Alexander Foundation comes from several very large and shady interplanetary conglomerates, mostly specialising in advanced technology. Weapons technology.’

  That took Dave by surprise. Even with the surprising appearance of modern weaponry in the hands of the indigenous population surely there could be nothing of interest to a major weapons tech firm in this system?

  ‘Interesting to know, but it doesn’t answer any questions’ sighed Hollins. He paused. They weren’t going to get anything out of Hubert until they unlocked his files, and they weren’t going to get anything out of Shaw as it stood. It occurred to him that she wasn’t going to reveal anything under current circumstances, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find anything out.

  He made his decision. ‘Ok team, for a lack of better ideas, we press on. The science team still have a week’s work to do on the surface, and Sato tells me that her and Park should crack the encryption of Hubert’s files in that time. I suggest we take a different tack with Professor Shaw and cosy up to her. She’s a piece of work under questioning, but if we can get her to talk more freely, she might let something slip.’

  He looked around the table wondering who might find common ground with the Professor. She was clearly well-heeled so the person she probably had most in common with was Izzy. Izzy was also a skilled negotiator and communicator, and he suspected, had the low cunning some human females seem to reserve for special occasions.

  He looked at Izzy, but noticed that she seemed reluctant to make eye contact. ‘Commander Grosvenor, it’s a little outside your usual brief, but I’d like you to give Professor Shaw a tour of the ship. Get closer to her, try to win her confidence.’

  Izzy nodded ‘What am I trying to find out?’

  Hollins shrugged ‘If you find out what she has for breakfast you’ll be doing better than we’ve managed so far. Anything. Anything at all. We need anything at all to have clue as to what the hell is going on here.’

  --------------------

  Dave watched their progress discreetly from the Bridge via the security camera system. The two women seemed to hit it off perfectly, and it was apparent there was a fair amount of joking and banter in their conversation as Izzy showed the Professor around USS Tiger.

  When Professor Shaw retired to her guest cabin to freshen up and change, Izzy reported back to Hollins.

  ‘How’s it going Izzy? Getting anywhere?’

  ‘No, not really’ she admitted. ‘I’ve found out that the two of us have a good deal in common, although I’d have to admit she’s far more of a go-getter than I could ever hope to be. Did you know that she’s competed at the Badminton Horse Trials? And she’s an Olympic-class fencer? She’s also represented Ireland at downhill skiing and snowboarding, and got a class win in the Paris-Dakar rally!’

  Dave had noted all of that in the Professors biographical notes, but before he could say anything, Izzy carried on gushing. ‘Of course, those aren’t her real achievements: they’re just hobbies. No, her real achievements in life are the fact that she holds doctorates in Terran archaeology, xeno-archaeology, and computing. She practically invented the science of comparative xeno-archaeology and is a fellow of the Royal Institute of Great Britain.’

  Dave couldn’t help but smile. ‘You sound like you’ve got a bit a crush on her.’

  She looked at him as if she wanted to say something, and for the first time in several weeks, made eye-contact with him. For a moment, Dave hoped they’d continue a conversation that had ended in less than perfect circumstances some time ago.

  To his disappointment, she seemed to have a change of heart. She looked down and with a sigh she replied ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that she’s so bloody . . . brilliant. At everything. I’ve met people who are one or other of all of those sort of things before, but never one person who’s all of them. I suppose the real kicker is that anyone I’ve ever met who is any of those things is a terrible stuf
fed-shirt or is completely full of themselves. She’s all of those things . . . and much more . . . but you’d never tell from talking to her. She’s such a nice, friendly, genuine person.’

  Dave nodded and tried to get back on topic. ‘Did she show any particular interest in anything as you went around the ship?’

  ‘Oh’ said Izzy blushing again ‘I didn’t really notice.’

  Hollins rolled his eyes, and Izzy tried to redeem herself. ‘Ah, well, you could always ask her yourself. I’ve suggested that we all meet for dinner in the Officer’s Mess. I’ve just asked the Steward to make the arrangements.’

  ‘Sounds like a reasonable idea. If nothing else I’d like to sound her out, see if I can get a feel for what sort of person she is.’

  Izzy smiled warmly, clearly quite excited. ‘Great! It’s date!’

  She noticed the Captain’s raised eyebrows and added ‘That is, um, we’ll continue to question her discreetly over dinner at 2000 ship’s time.’

  ‘Yeah, good’ said Hollins who couldn’t help but smile as his Liaison Officer skipped away gleefully.

  --------------------

  The Steward took the suggestion of a formal dinner as a challenge. Tiger was a large ship but there were limits to what could be done even aboard such a well-equipped vessel.

  He decided to tackle to most obvious problem first. Eating aboard USS Tiger normally required a strong stomach and a sense of adventure. He headed to the Galley, where the Chief Burns and his team were in the process of preparing an evening meal for the larger part of the crew.

  The Galley was a hive of activity as he’d expected, but the chef was as easy to find as ever, slumped in old chair hidden behind a row of lockers just off the main servery, with his feet up and a bottle of cheap whisky for company.

  He was wearing checker-pattern trousers and a tunic top that the Steward assumed had once been white. It was a source of endless astonishment to the Steward that the chef’s uniform was so liberally coated in spilt food when he never actually seemed to do any sort of food-related work at all.

  He was dirty, unshaven and even at a distance of ten paces, the Steward could smell the alcohol that somehow failed to sanitise the chef’s foetid breath.