“I asked him if it were a mirage, and he said yes… it was the desert’s dream not his.”

Neil Gaiman. (2002)

Like a queen that sat an uncomforting throne, Taesin Girau fretted as she presided over the bridge of the USS Atalanta and worried over how much of the kingdom she presided over was truly subservient to her rule and how much was a façade of command?

As with many monarchs whose greatest fear was a loss of primacy that would ultimately threaten their rule, the Starfleet captain found herself wracked with doubt and the attendant insecurity that came from not actually being able to locate and identify the threat to their reign.

Adamant that the Noble – class starship was, in – fact, surely under the thrall of the Ai Superintelligence that she theorized was responsible for the deaths of the crew of the USS Condalejo and (most recently), the unexplained and unexplainable death of her own Chief Science Officer, actually proving that this was more than a paranoid delusion was proving increasing hard, so much so that the El – Aurian was even beginning to doubt herself.

Through the subterfuge of passing messages via the secure medium of Lieutenant Sivak’s mind – melds, using the newly – appointed Assistant Chief Science Officer’s inherited psychic ability to act as a secretive – courier, ferrying messages and directives between herself and her senior officers, Taesin had managed to cobble together the rudiments of a resistance – cell movement that she hoped would confound any surveillance she assumed must  be in place, if the Atalanta’s systems and ships computers were being suborned, as she assumed.

Yet of this alleged malevolent Ai Superintelligence, perplexingly seemed no actual trace.

Lieutenant Daniel Bergqvist, the Atalanta’s Operations Chief and arguably the most experienced and competent member of the crew aboard, when it came to computing systems and networks, had ran an exhaustive barrage of systems diagnostics, surrupticously conducted under the guise of routine maintenance and yet, to date, he had found no trace of malicious code, subverted programming or any untoward input or output that might indicate that the ship’s computer was compromised in any way.

It was beyond confounding.

~Had she made a mistake? Was Thierry’s bizarre death truly just an accident after all?~

Taesin set her pale lips in a thin line as she sat restlessly in the command – chair. She didn’t accept that explanation for one moment and knew that she wasn’t given over to paranoid delusion or flights of fancy. Yet the complete absence of any imperial, or even implied evidence of a computer virus challenged every part of her theory.

Lieutenant  Commander LaValle’s tragic death aside, everything aboard ship appeared perfectly normal and the vessel was still making way to its planned destination in the Zegellis system, where the crew had been tasked in assisting in minefield – clearing operations with a local polity.

Everything was normal. Humdrum even.

~Was she going mad?~

Taesin grimaced and opened a hail to main – engineering. Delusional or not, the mental image of 80 young faces, the horror of their last moments frozen there forever when they were unexpectedly & suddenly teleported into space from the familiar routine of their day aboard the USS Condalejo, was impossible to shake and she would be damned if she would expose her own crew to a similar fate.

“Bridge to Engineering.” She opened a hail.

After a moment, the genial tones of the avuncular ship’s Chief Engineering Officer, Sukhram Jassal, greeted her mordant thoughts.

=^= “Engineering here Captain. Go ahead.”=^= The Lieutenant Commander replied, keeping his tone even and atypically cheerful, even though he was one of the senior officers that she had taken into the confidence of her fears.

“Good Evening Chief.” Taesin spoke as if she kept her own outward address with a familiar candor that inwardly she decidedly did not feel.

“I was wondering how the preparations for the upcoming Langar are proceeding?” The CO asked casually, referring (in code) to the communal kitchen Sikh dining experiences that the Indian officer habitually put on for all members of the crew.

Without pause, Sukhram replied with good cheer, that must surely be forced.

=^= “Well, the gurdwara for tonight’s’ langar took a little more preparation than usual to ensure it was fit for our guests, but I’ve managed to fix the problems with the exits and can reasonably confirm that the environmental controls will be perfect to ensure that our diners are able to enjoy their time together in comfort and peace.” =^=

Taesin nodded. Implicitly, the resourceful engineer was confirming to the captain that he had managed to lock out the controls to the Transporter network and similarly secure the ship’s environmental controls against foreign influence. In that way, if she was correct and her ship was not her own anymore, whatever had killed everybody aboard the USS Condalejo would be unable to use those two systems to cause harm to her own crew.

“Sound perfect Chief. I’m sure everyone will be much relieved.” Taesin smiled, wondering if she was indeed performing to an empty audience. “And have we confirmed how many will be joining us for the festivities?” She perpetuated their subterfuge.

There was a slight pause before the CEO responded.

=^= “Such gatherings are always popular, yet alas we haven’t been able to put our fingers on a definitive guest list yet, Captain. I have Lieutenant Bergqvist assisting me with trying to narrow down the guestlist, but at this time we can’t really account for everyone that may be coming to the party.” =^=

Taesin tried not to let her frustration show. In this roundabout farce, Sukhram was telling her that whilst those two key systems were under their control, he could not confirm what other of the multitude of the Atalanta’s functions were still under their control. The search for the virus (if there even was one) was still proving fruitless.

“Very good Chief.” She replied. “Keep on trying to narrow that list down. It wouldn’t do to be over capacity. We’ll turn guests away if we think the table is overcrowded. Girau out.”

Taesin sat back on her throne, pensive and full of self – doubt.

~Was there really a threat to her ship? Was she looking for spectres in shadows where there was just the plain light of just another normal day?~

The cold, crushed, lifeless body of Thierry LaValle said otherwise and the recent, awful memory of having to console his husband, Jonathan, was a duty that no commander ever hopes they must face, yet are duty bound to do.

And still the stars streamed by upon the main viewscreen as the ship made way through an unconcerned cosmos, as if all way well.

~Was all well?~

It was possible to subjectively and figuratively lose one’s mind when faced by the taunting normality of the situation, when such a dearth of compelling evidence remained to confirm her fears. Sivak may be right. Maybe her fears were actually founded on the circumstantial alone?

Maybe there was no causal link between the Holographic – mutiny aboard the USS Lexington, the warp – core breach that destroyed the USS Arsenio and the tragic loss of the crew from the USS Condalejo? Maybe her fears of a Machiavellian and malign Ai Superintelligent virus, hidden from plain view and permeating its way through every intelligent system in known space, was really just the delusions of her mind.

~Maybe the Turbolift doors really did malfunction and somehow Thierry failed to notice there was no car there, when he stepped inside?~

She felt as if she were going mad.

Just then, her gnawing introspection was interrupted by Lieutenant Nema Kas, the ship’s Helmsman.

“Captain?” The petite Trill woman interrupted her. “May I have a moment of your time please?”

Frowning, but glad for the respite from her own unhelpful thoughts, Taesin gladly abandoned her current state of mind and rose from the captain’s chair and made her way down the shallow dais where she sat and made her way over the shining, polished metal deck towards the helm station.

“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Taesin asked, looking down to the gently curved console, alive with LCARS data that gentle assured the user of the ships’ course and speed.

Nema looked up at her, a look of puzzlement expressed in a frown that slightly tugged at the distinctive pattern of mottling that framed the skin at her temples and neck. She bit her lip tentatively, then spoke

“Well if this is to believed, nothing at all Captain.” She explained, nodding to the telemetry flowing across the shining surface of the console.

Taesin had only involved the XO, CEO and Ops Chief in her surreptitious circle of trust this far, using Lieutenant Sivak as her mule. This was, in part, due to the fact that a resistance cell was more effective the smaller it was. The less people she exposed to the truth (as she imagined it) then the less chance there was of a breach of protocol and their resistance being discovered.

Taesin peered down at the flight data. The Junior Lieutenant was indeed correct. Nothing seemed out if the ordinary at all.

“I’m sorry Nema, what are you saying here?” The CO frowned.

Lieutenant Kas shook her short, blonde locks and tried to frame her sense of discomfiture.

“It’s hard to put my finger on, Ma’am.” The young Trill woman explained. “The data here confirms that we are currently pursuing the correct course and heading for our destination in the Zegellis system.”

Taesin crossed her arms.

“I’m assuming that there’s a ‘but’ due along at some time. Lieutenant?” She challenged.

Nema swivelled in her seat so that her vibrant, blue eyes locked with the El – Aurian’s pale own.

It was hard sometimes, looking at that youthful face, so unblemished by the cruel march of time, to remember that, whilst Nema was in her early 20’s, the Kas – symbiont that dwelt inside her was actually several hundred years older than Taesin’s own twin – centuries spent in the galaxy.

“Ma’am. I’ve piloted all sorts of ships over my lifetimes and every one of them is different.” The pilot assured her. “After a while you just develop a ‘feel’ for a ship. How she handles. What her moods are. What she does when she’s happy. How to steer her when she’s upset.”

Kas smiled. “In the old – days, they called it ‘Flying – by – the – seat – of – your – pants.’ ”

Taesin’s look must have adequately conveyed that she wondered where all this was going, so the helm – officer pressed on.

“This may be the most modern, most advanced vessel I have ever worked with, but she’s not so different.” Nema explained. “And whilst my eyes are telling me that we are on course for the Zegellis system, I guess my butt is telling me that we have been making course corrections that don’t align with that course and heading. Something just feels….wrong!”

She shrugged at the anomaly, putting the ball squarely back in Taesin’s court.

~But what could it mean?~

To say that Nema Kas (or Kas really) was an experienced pilot would be a monument to understatement. If she said that she could sense the ship making minutes course corrections (a claim she would scoff at, had anyone else made them), then Taesin was an experienced enough ship’s captain to put her trust in her helmsman’s evaluation.

Yet the data insisted that nothing was amiss. Taesin’s mind was adrift on a sea of consternation, when her previous thought came hurtling back at her with the sickening creep of realization.

~Maybe the Turbolift doors really did malfunction and somehow Thierry failed to notice there was no car there, when he stepped inside?~

She cast her eyes around the bridge, where her bridge – crew were busily engaged in the mundanity of everyday, familiar tasks.

~No! Could they have been so blind?!~

A grim set overcame her fine features as the idea took hold. It was insidious. It was compelling.

Taesin turned to where Lieutenant Carver stood working at one of the standing Holo – stations to the portside of the bridge. She approached the Security Officer and quietly demanded in a sotto – voice.

“Chief. I’m going to need your sidearm.”

Chief Carver looked at the CO for a long moment, but to her credit she did not question the order. She withdraw the handphaser she had holstered at her hip and handed it to her commanding officer, butt first.

Taesin looked down at the weapon, adjusting its power output to its lowest possible beam – intensity. Then, praying to all of the Gods in Creation that she was wrong, she spun quickly on her heel, took aim and let a lancing sizzle of phasic – energy fly across the bridge, where it impacted with a shocking shower of bright sparks from the main Holo-emitter that served the bridge.

Dotted throughout modern contemporary 25^th Starfleet vessels (and retrofitted to most older models), an intricate network of holographic projects and maniple forcefields existed to accommodate any number of functions, from supporting the operations of holographic crewmembers like an EMH (without the need for a mobile emitter), to providing holographic projections to accompany subspace comms, to reconfiguring utility spaces within the vessel to act as triage stations or concert halls.

~Or draw a veil of normalcy in front of unsuspected eyes!~

With the holoemitter destroyed in such spectacular manner, a more mundane transformation took place aboard the bridge of the USS Atalanta.

As if a stage magician had suddenly revealed the misdirection that fuels the subterfuge behind their trick, the view of the bridge altered subtly, yet also stayed the same. The duty positions remained where they were, yet the data their consoles displayed seemed to shimmer and then alter radically. The view of the onrush of space depicted in the main viewport seemed to deviate, still showing the stars, yet of a noticeably different starfield formation.

~It used our own Holograms against us!~ Taesin realized with growing horror.

The sense of confusion was palpable as it washed over everyone aboard the bridge, as it must surely be doing for the crew throughout the ship, who were coming to the difficult realization that they had been riding an inexplicable mirage.

It was Lieutenant Korlax, the ship’s Tactical Officer that raised the first note of dismay.

The normally phlegmatic Saurian cried out in sudden alarm.

“Captain!! This data is telling me that all torpedo tubes are primed and loaded with armed Quantum Torpedo’s! Full yield!”

Taesin’s heart sank as she barked.

“Countermand that order ! Stand those weapons systems down and lock out all systems!”

But it was too late.

“I can’t, Ma’am! The system is not responding to my commands! I’m locked out!!”

A yawing pit of panic opened up in her stomach that she tried to quell as she made her way to the Tactical station. Feverishly she entered her command codes into the board. Finite failsafe’s that should be able to easily countermand any order entered into the ship’s computer or issued by it.

A mocking warble told her that her codes had been rejected! She tried again, but once more her codes were not recognised.

~I’ve lost control of my ship!~ The realization hit her like a hammer blow and she felt her legs sag beneath her, her head swam.

Yet the worse was still to come. Far, Far worse, as it would prove. Disastrous.

Just when she was at her lowest ebb, a horrified report came issuing from Nema’s mouth and Taesin felt her blood run ice cold.

“Captain! We’re not headed for the Zegellis system. Our current course and heading will take us directly into BREEN SPACE !!!”