Dockachin, yardmaster of the Qualor shipyards, watched from a stationary position as two Federation tugs attached lines to the static form of the U.S.S. Valkyrie. It had come as a great shock to him with his orderly Zakdorn mind when the entire crew of the ship before him had been arrested. It also seemed a great waste to break up such a starship. The Valkyrie had been through a lot admittedly but even so she was still in good condition.
The tractor beams suddenly took hold of the ship on her stardrive section. This was a procedure Dockachin insisted upon. He always felt safer doing it this way. After all, many of the newer ships had been designed with detachable saucer sections. You couldn’t be too careful.
The tugs gingerly moved the great gleaming ship to what would be her last position before scrapping began. The actual date for the scrapping of the Valkyrie was some time off, Dockachin had several other ships due to be cut up before her, and he had no intention of altering his schedule, even for the President herself. At last, when the ship had been positioned to his satisfaction, he returned to his office.
To his surprise, and to some extent alarm, he discovered he had a visitor waiting for him. The man was clad in an old-fashioned dark suit, wore a cape and a broad brimmed hat. As Dockachin entered he removed his hat to reveal a young face, possibly about thirty to thirty-five human years. The Zakdorn breathed a sigh of relief. For one moment he thought the renegade Magus had decided to pay him a visit.
“Good day to you Mr. Dockachin. I have come to you on behalf of a wealthy client with a proposal.”
Dockachin seated himself. Like most Zakdorns he had an inflated idea of his own self-importance, and he now intended to teach this young man a lesson.
“What can I do for you?” he said icily.
“I represent one of the richest beings in the Alpha Quadrant. I cannot tell you whom, unfortunately, but I can provide you with excellent credentials.”
The Zakdorn sniffed haughtily.
“I am afraid your credentials mean nothing to me young man. Perhaps you could tell me why you are here. I am very busy.”
“My client is a collector of starships. He already has in his possession full-sized replicas of both the original and second U.S.S. Enterprises, as well as a first-generation Klingon Bird of Prey and a Ferengi cruiser. Now he has asked me to obtain the U.S.S. Valkyrie for him. It is not often that such a fine ship becomes available in such good condition.”
Now the yardmaster had the moment he had been waiting for.
“I am afraid young man that you are mistaken, the Valkyrie is not for sale. I must ask you to leave now.”
Without another word the young stranger left. Had Dockachin been able to see him outside the office his anxiety would have returned. The young man placed one hand on his temple and established a telepathic link across the galaxy.
“Magus, this is Mordred. They won’t sell.”
Babylon 5 was in a state of uproar and confusion. Sheridan was desperately seeking confirmation from Starfleet HQ as to the official position they were to adopt. Security was on full alert looking out for incidents between Narn and Centauri all over the station. Ambassadors for the League of Non-Aligned Worlds had been seeking an audience with him all day. Sheridan finally gave up on Starfleet for a moment and retired to his quarters. He slumped in an armchair, a stiff drink in his hand, hoping to relax.
His hope was short lived indeed. Soon Ivanova was sitting before him, relaying the details of a transmission she had received. Then Garibaldi and Franklin both arrived having received the same transmission. Sheridan checked his messages. He too had received the same transmission.
“Well I’ve gotta admit, going to the Planet of Galactic Peace is sure appealing at the moment.”
Sheridan permitted himself a grin.
“It does to me too, but I don’t think any of us can be spared at the moment. However, the message was adamant that we tell no one. A wise request. This information is not to leave this room.
Ivanova looked pensive.
“Do you think any of the Ambassadors will have received this transmission?” she asked.
Sheridan nodded.
“I’m sure of it. Whether they react, whether they go I cannot say…but for now, the way things are, out place is here. Nimbus III will have to go on without us!!
Picard sat in his ready room, Riker opposite him.
“I’ve been considering that transmission Will.” he mused. “I have a feeling that I know who it is from. The language used was of an old-fashioned nature, not the curt messages we have become used to from Starfleet under Servalan.”
“Who do you think it behind it then?” asked Riker, his eyes glittering with interest.
Picard stroked his chin and walked to the replicator.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
Riker shook his head.
“Earl Grey Tea, hot.” Said Picard.
As the replicator produced the requested beverage Picard turned back to his second in command.
“In my whole career with Starfleet I have only met three beings who used that turn of phrase: the elder James Watt, Thomas Leacock and Dr. Phineas Magus. We know that Leacock is on Cygnus Alpha, and we must assume that Watt is dead for now. I would place my money on a certain diminutive Scots mystic were I a betting man.”
Picard arose.
“What are we going to do Captain?”
“We are going to set course for Nimbus Three Number One. Go and take the con and make it so. Could you also send Mr Data in?”
A few seconds later Data stood before his Captain.
“Tell me. Mr. Data, what progress have you made in decoding the first of the two strange transmissions we have received?”
“As of yet Captain I have been unable to access the full transmission.”
Picard nodded.
“It is my belief Mr. Data that the second transmission is linked to the first. I want you to read ‘The Lord of the Rings’.”
“May I ask why sir?” asked the android.
“I believe that one, possibly both of the transmissions come from Dr. Magus. If he is sending information or calling a meeting it must be important. I have not read the book myself for years, but we must remember that although it is disguised as a story it is also a history of the Time of Legends. I think you may find a clue to unlocking the first transmission in it.”
With the U.S.S. Voyager docked with station Deep Space Nine Tom Paris sat aboard one of the shuttles headed for the ship. He was pleased at who was piloting the craft, the chief pilot of the Voyager, the Betazoid Lieutenant Stadi. Paris saw this as a chance to make his ‘move’.
Moving forward Paris joined Stadi in the cockpit section of the shuttle. Stadi seemed a little uneasy when he arrived.
“You know.” Paris started. “I have always thought of Betazoids as being warm and sensual.”
“I can be warm and sensual.” Stadi replied.
“But not to me!”
A wry smile formed on Stadi’s face.
“Tell me Mister Paris, do you always fly at women at warp speed?”
“Only when they’re in visual range!”
Then, before Stadi could reply to that remark, Deep Space Nine came into view.
“There she is. There’s Voyager!”
Paris peered out of the cockpit to see the ship docked with the station.
“The U.S.S. Voyager. Crew compliment one hundred and forty-seven. Sustainable maximum speed of warp nine-point-seven-five. Bio neural circuitry.”
“Bio neural?” Paris enquired.
“Yes. Some of the old circuitry has been replaced by bio neural gel packs. They organise information more quickly and speed up response times. The Voyager is probably the most advanced ship currently in service, even more so than the Galaxy-class ships.”
In the bar it seemed to Quark that all of his Christmas’ had come at once. Not since the Cardassian occupation had his bar been so busy, and he was making sure everyone knew about his pleasure.
“You know, it always pleases me to see so many young Starfleet officers in here before they go out on a mission.”
From the end of the bar Paris watched, mug of beer in his hand, watching the proceedings as Quark made his way to the opposite end of the bar where a young Oriental officer was seated.
“It does my heart good to see you all here.” Quark continued. “Especially young officers like you, just out of the Academy and about to go out on your first mission. Perhaps I may have something of interest to you young man.”
“A gift perhaps, to send home to my parents?” the officer said.
Quark reached down below the bar and took out a small case. He began to open it.
“These Bolarian gemstones are priceless. You won’t find them anywhere else in this sector. They would make a perfect broach for your mother.”
“Or cuff links for my father. No thanks.”
“And what about this necklace, which I acquired from a strange being…called a Morn!”
“No thanks. We were warned about the Ferengi at the Academy!”
Slamming the box shut a look of shock appeared on Quark’s face.
“Warned about the Ferengi? Are you telling me that Starfleet Academy are spreading lies about my noble race?”
From the opposite end of the bar Paris continued to watch as Quark picked up a small computer notepad.
“Tell me son, what’s your name?”
“Kim. Ensign Harry Kim. But I…”
“And who was it that question the good Ferengi name at the Academy?”
Young Kim was lost for words. From afar Paris could see he was having trouble. He started to make his way over there.
“Come one.” Said Quark. “Give me a name! I’m going to make an official complain to your superiors.”
Kim reached into the box and picked out a gemstone.
“I like this one. My mother would like it as a broach.”
“Or perhaps as cuff links for your father. No son, you don’t get away that easily!”
“What about the whole box? How much for the whole box?”
It was like music to a Ferengi’s ears. Quark held the data pad forward.
“Will it be cash or credit?”
It was then that Paris interjected himself, taking the gemstone from Kim.
“You know, there’s a shop on the Volnar colony selling gemstones just like this one for one Cardassian lacht. How much are you selling these ones for?”
“We were just getting around to discussing the price.” Quark replied.
Kim stared at Quark and closed the box. Standing up he joined Paris as they headed towards the exit. Paris smiled and turned to Kim.
“Didn’t they tell you about the Ferengi at the Academy?”
The tractor beams suddenly took hold of the ship on her stardrive section. This was a procedure Dockachin insisted upon. He always felt safer doing it this way. After all, many of the newer ships had been designed with detachable saucer sections. You couldn’t be too careful.
The tugs gingerly moved the great gleaming ship to what would be her last position before scrapping began. The actual date for the scrapping of the Valkyrie was some time off, Dockachin had several other ships due to be cut up before her, and he had no intention of altering his schedule, even for the President herself. At last, when the ship had been positioned to his satisfaction, he returned to his office.
To his surprise, and to some extent alarm, he discovered he had a visitor waiting for him. The man was clad in an old-fashioned dark suit, wore a cape and a broad brimmed hat. As Dockachin entered he removed his hat to reveal a young face, possibly about thirty to thirty-five human years. The Zakdorn breathed a sigh of relief. For one moment he thought the renegade Magus had decided to pay him a visit.
“Good day to you Mr. Dockachin. I have come to you on behalf of a wealthy client with a proposal.”
Dockachin seated himself. Like most Zakdorns he had an inflated idea of his own self-importance, and he now intended to teach this young man a lesson.
“What can I do for you?” he said icily.
“I represent one of the richest beings in the Alpha Quadrant. I cannot tell you whom, unfortunately, but I can provide you with excellent credentials.”
The Zakdorn sniffed haughtily.
“I am afraid your credentials mean nothing to me young man. Perhaps you could tell me why you are here. I am very busy.”
“My client is a collector of starships. He already has in his possession full-sized replicas of both the original and second U.S.S. Enterprises, as well as a first-generation Klingon Bird of Prey and a Ferengi cruiser. Now he has asked me to obtain the U.S.S. Valkyrie for him. It is not often that such a fine ship becomes available in such good condition.”
Now the yardmaster had the moment he had been waiting for.
“I am afraid young man that you are mistaken, the Valkyrie is not for sale. I must ask you to leave now.”
Without another word the young stranger left. Had Dockachin been able to see him outside the office his anxiety would have returned. The young man placed one hand on his temple and established a telepathic link across the galaxy.
“Magus, this is Mordred. They won’t sell.”
Babylon 5 was in a state of uproar and confusion. Sheridan was desperately seeking confirmation from Starfleet HQ as to the official position they were to adopt. Security was on full alert looking out for incidents between Narn and Centauri all over the station. Ambassadors for the League of Non-Aligned Worlds had been seeking an audience with him all day. Sheridan finally gave up on Starfleet for a moment and retired to his quarters. He slumped in an armchair, a stiff drink in his hand, hoping to relax.
His hope was short lived indeed. Soon Ivanova was sitting before him, relaying the details of a transmission she had received. Then Garibaldi and Franklin both arrived having received the same transmission. Sheridan checked his messages. He too had received the same transmission.
“Well I’ve gotta admit, going to the Planet of Galactic Peace is sure appealing at the moment.”
Sheridan permitted himself a grin.
“It does to me too, but I don’t think any of us can be spared at the moment. However, the message was adamant that we tell no one. A wise request. This information is not to leave this room.
Ivanova looked pensive.
“Do you think any of the Ambassadors will have received this transmission?” she asked.
Sheridan nodded.
“I’m sure of it. Whether they react, whether they go I cannot say…but for now, the way things are, out place is here. Nimbus III will have to go on without us!!
Picard sat in his ready room, Riker opposite him.
“I’ve been considering that transmission Will.” he mused. “I have a feeling that I know who it is from. The language used was of an old-fashioned nature, not the curt messages we have become used to from Starfleet under Servalan.”
“Who do you think it behind it then?” asked Riker, his eyes glittering with interest.
Picard stroked his chin and walked to the replicator.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
Riker shook his head.
“Earl Grey Tea, hot.” Said Picard.
As the replicator produced the requested beverage Picard turned back to his second in command.
“In my whole career with Starfleet I have only met three beings who used that turn of phrase: the elder James Watt, Thomas Leacock and Dr. Phineas Magus. We know that Leacock is on Cygnus Alpha, and we must assume that Watt is dead for now. I would place my money on a certain diminutive Scots mystic were I a betting man.”
Picard arose.
“What are we going to do Captain?”
“We are going to set course for Nimbus Three Number One. Go and take the con and make it so. Could you also send Mr Data in?”
A few seconds later Data stood before his Captain.
“Tell me. Mr. Data, what progress have you made in decoding the first of the two strange transmissions we have received?”
“As of yet Captain I have been unable to access the full transmission.”
Picard nodded.
“It is my belief Mr. Data that the second transmission is linked to the first. I want you to read ‘The Lord of the Rings’.”
“May I ask why sir?” asked the android.
“I believe that one, possibly both of the transmissions come from Dr. Magus. If he is sending information or calling a meeting it must be important. I have not read the book myself for years, but we must remember that although it is disguised as a story it is also a history of the Time of Legends. I think you may find a clue to unlocking the first transmission in it.”
With the U.S.S. Voyager docked with station Deep Space Nine Tom Paris sat aboard one of the shuttles headed for the ship. He was pleased at who was piloting the craft, the chief pilot of the Voyager, the Betazoid Lieutenant Stadi. Paris saw this as a chance to make his ‘move’.
Moving forward Paris joined Stadi in the cockpit section of the shuttle. Stadi seemed a little uneasy when he arrived.
“You know.” Paris started. “I have always thought of Betazoids as being warm and sensual.”
“I can be warm and sensual.” Stadi replied.
“But not to me!”
A wry smile formed on Stadi’s face.
“Tell me Mister Paris, do you always fly at women at warp speed?”
“Only when they’re in visual range!”
Then, before Stadi could reply to that remark, Deep Space Nine came into view.
“There she is. There’s Voyager!”
Paris peered out of the cockpit to see the ship docked with the station.
“The U.S.S. Voyager. Crew compliment one hundred and forty-seven. Sustainable maximum speed of warp nine-point-seven-five. Bio neural circuitry.”
“Bio neural?” Paris enquired.
“Yes. Some of the old circuitry has been replaced by bio neural gel packs. They organise information more quickly and speed up response times. The Voyager is probably the most advanced ship currently in service, even more so than the Galaxy-class ships.”
In the bar it seemed to Quark that all of his Christmas’ had come at once. Not since the Cardassian occupation had his bar been so busy, and he was making sure everyone knew about his pleasure.
“You know, it always pleases me to see so many young Starfleet officers in here before they go out on a mission.”
From the end of the bar Paris watched, mug of beer in his hand, watching the proceedings as Quark made his way to the opposite end of the bar where a young Oriental officer was seated.
“It does my heart good to see you all here.” Quark continued. “Especially young officers like you, just out of the Academy and about to go out on your first mission. Perhaps I may have something of interest to you young man.”
“A gift perhaps, to send home to my parents?” the officer said.
Quark reached down below the bar and took out a small case. He began to open it.
“These Bolarian gemstones are priceless. You won’t find them anywhere else in this sector. They would make a perfect broach for your mother.”
“Or cuff links for my father. No thanks.”
“And what about this necklace, which I acquired from a strange being…called a Morn!”
“No thanks. We were warned about the Ferengi at the Academy!”
Slamming the box shut a look of shock appeared on Quark’s face.
“Warned about the Ferengi? Are you telling me that Starfleet Academy are spreading lies about my noble race?”
From the opposite end of the bar Paris continued to watch as Quark picked up a small computer notepad.
“Tell me son, what’s your name?”
“Kim. Ensign Harry Kim. But I…”
“And who was it that question the good Ferengi name at the Academy?”
Young Kim was lost for words. From afar Paris could see he was having trouble. He started to make his way over there.
“Come one.” Said Quark. “Give me a name! I’m going to make an official complain to your superiors.”
Kim reached into the box and picked out a gemstone.
“I like this one. My mother would like it as a broach.”
“Or perhaps as cuff links for your father. No son, you don’t get away that easily!”
“What about the whole box? How much for the whole box?”
It was like music to a Ferengi’s ears. Quark held the data pad forward.
“Will it be cash or credit?”
It was then that Paris interjected himself, taking the gemstone from Kim.
“You know, there’s a shop on the Volnar colony selling gemstones just like this one for one Cardassian lacht. How much are you selling these ones for?”
“We were just getting around to discussing the price.” Quark replied.
Kim stared at Quark and closed the box. Standing up he joined Paris as they headed towards the exit. Paris smiled and turned to Kim.
“Didn’t they tell you about the Ferengi at the Academy?”
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