LEAST COMMON DENOMINATOR

Act IV:

The holoemiters in the engineering Medical Triage Center came online, and the form of a balding, middle-aged man took shape in the center of the room. He announced, "I have been informed of the nature of your medical emergency. Please place the patient on bio-bed 2." That was his standard greeting for a radiation burn victim; however, the situation he would be faced with was anything but standard.

When his eyes focused on the entryway, he spotted the trio of yellow shirts. The man in the center looked healthy and was supporting two ill looking crewmen, one on each side. The holographic doctor spoke up, "What is this?"

"Both these crewmen need attention," said the changling. It had returned to the form of Ensign Hansen. No time to improvise now - go with what works. It dropped the female technician at the door and lifted the lifeless body of Lieutenant Osborne to the nearest bio-bed.

"This is highly irregular," the doctor complained. He moved to Osborne to check his vital signs while the changeling went back to the doorway to get the female technician. The EMH ran his scanners over Osborne's dead body and furrowed his brow. "I don't understand this," said the doctor. "This man didn't die from lethal radiation."

"I know that," said the changeling, suppressing a smile. It put the female on bio-bed 3 and walked over to the nearest computer console. The changeling's first priority was to disable the medical hologram. Holding its hand a few millimeters away from the touch screen, dozens of tiny tentacles came out of its palm. It needed to work fast to not be detected by the doctor.

"My scanners were initialized for treating radiation illness," the EMH informed disgustedly. "Now they will need to be recalibrated." He quickly walked back to the medical supply shelves and picked up a standard medical tricorder.

"Maybe this was someone's idea of a practical joke," suggested the changeling.

The EMH looked at the changeling sternly and said, "There is no room for humor in medicine. I'm a doctor not a comedian." Returning to the side of Osborne's bio-bed, the doctor continued his scanning. "I can find only minute traces of radiation in this man's body. However, . . ."

By now the changeling was getting anxious. If it had sweat glands, it's face would be a river. The micro tentacles operating the computer console worked quickly.

Oblivious to the changeling's dilemma, the EMH continued, "it appears that this man's spinal cord was severed between the second and third vertibrea of his neck. But there is very little blood loss." The doctor paused and turned to face the changeling. "It is as if micro-surgery was performed on the base of his skull."

The changeling thought, 'for a hologram, you're pretty swift.' Just a few moments ago, when Lieutenant Osborne and the female technician were helping their fallen engineering chief into the medical triage center, the changeling took advantage of the situation. It's arms were across their sholders resting against the backs of their exposed necks. With micro tentacles smaller than hair folicles, it punctured the skin, penetrated the muscles, surrounded the cartilage between the virtibrae, wrapped its fibers around the spinal cord, and cut it like piano wire. How fragile and insignificant these solids were. Killing them was becoming enjoyable.

"I'll contact the main sickbay," informed the EMH. "The surgical staff can possibly repair the damage and save this man's life." Striking his holographic communicator he continued, "Engineering MTC to main sickbay. I have a patient that requires emergency surgery. Prepare to beam him . . ."

The changeling held up the hand not on the computer console. "Not so fast, baldy." The EMH stopped and looked at the changeling with a sour expression on his face. He mouthed the one word question, "WHAT?" then immediately shimmered out of existance as his holographic emmiters abruptly went off-line. The tricorder he was holding fell to the floor with a noisy clatter.

Returning to its programming of the distrucive viruses, the changelinge smiled down at the limp body of the female technician on the bio-bed next to it, and said, "you should thank me for not letting that piece of software work on you."

. . .

"All clear here, Kel. What should we work on now?" Lieutenant Laxis gave a good hearted wink to the security team member near him. They had finished searching the quarters, and besides making a royal mess, they found the cabin empty.

"One moment, Laxis," answered Donovan. Turning to Shelby, Mr. Chen, and Doctor T'lar he forwarded the question on to them. "What's our next move?"

"We know that the Changeling is already on board," said the vulcan.

Chen responded, "It will take almost 20 more hours to scan the rest of the population and find the Changeling."

"We don't have that kind of time," retorted the Admiral. "We need to anticipate the Changeling's next move and beat him to it."

At that moment the doctor's communicator came to life with a chirp. "Sickbay to Doctor T'lar."

Getting the silent aproval from the Admiral, the vulcan answered, "go ahead."

"The station's EMH program is off-line and can't be restarted," informed the metalic voice.

The vulcan almost sounded irritated as she instructed, "we can diagnose the computer malfunction at another time. Right now. . ."

The vulcan was interrupted, "But there is currently an emergency in the engineering MTC. Chief engineer Sorenson was being treated for radiation burns and then all contact with the MTC went dead. We thought it best to seek your advice before proceeding."

"Very well," replied the vulcan. "I will go to the engineering medical triage center immediately. T'lar out."

As the doctor excused herself, Shelby offered, "Take a security officer with you." T'lar turned and raised an eye-brow ever so slightly as Shelby continued, "we can't be too careful."

Donovan spoke up as the doors of the turbo-lift closed on the doctor, "With Sorenson injured, who is taking care of engineering?"

"That's a good question," said Shelby. Her lips formed a smile as she continued, "and it sounds like the perfect opertunity for Laxis to flex his engineering muscles." Donovan returned the smile as Shelby ordered, "have him, the security team, and the Bynars go to engineering and take charge."

"Aye, sir," voiced the first officer. Kelly knew that Laxis was dying to use his engineering skills. Back in their academy days, Laxis had built a personal hover-craft in his spare time. He and Donovan got into trouble with grounds-keeper Boothby when the vehicle malfuntioned over his prize orchids. There were stems and petals scattered everywhere. That year they both learned more about gardening then they had ever wanted. Donovan felt that Laxis was so much more than the helmsman of a scientific research vessel. If given the chance, Laxis might be able to request a transfer, and Donovan would enjoy spending some quality time with his former academy friend. "I'll let him know," said Kelly. But there was one thing in the admiral's order that confused Donovan. "Sir, why the Bynars?"

Shelby's smile was replaced with a look of determination. "Call it woman's intuition."

. . .

"What is this stuff?" asked Ensign da Silva. He lifted the small glass of red liquid to his lips again and drank it down quickly.

"I knew you'd like it." said Leah Brahms with a thick, sultry drawl. She poured the rest of the bottle's contents into Emmerson's glass and then placed the empty bottle on the floor with the four others.

"No I mean it," said the ensign between gulps, "I want to know what this is."

"Dance with me first," commanded Dr. Brahms. Turning to address the ceiling, "Computer, we need some romantic music."

An obedient chip was followed by some soft saxophone jazz. No explination of the term 'romantic' was required because just a month before, Commander Donovan had spent hours programming the holodeck for a special evening.

Leah stood and reached for da Silva's hand. "Come on Brazil boy." Her reach was just a little off target and pushed the half full glass of Chardonnay into Emmerson's lap.

"Oh joia!" exclaimed da Silva. The Portuguese phase not loosing anything in the translation. He stood quickly and revealed a large red stain on his uniform. "You wasted the last of it."

"Don't worry so much," insisted Leah. "I can take care of that messy shirt." She lifted the uniform tunic up over da Silva's head revealing his bronze chest. Leah sighed audibly as she embraced the ensigns tan body and began moving slowly to the music. "And there are so many more things that we can do besides drinking," she said invitingly.

Emmerson dropped his shirt to the floor, and pulled Leah against him. Her soft curves were warm against his exposed chest, and her hair tickled his neck and the underside of his chin. He placed his hands on her back and slowly moved to the rythm of the music.

"This is nice," said Ensign da Silva. He was referring to the music.

"It sure is," answered Leah. She wasn't referring to the music. It felt so good to be held again. It had been so long since she felt like this. Months ago when she left Utopia Planetia, Leah and her husband quarreled about her leaving. He didn't want her to go saying that the trip was too dangerous. How ironic. How stupidly ironic. She held Emmerson closer to keep from breaking down and crying.

Emmerson felt Leah's fingernails dig softly into his back. It triggered a memory from his Academy graduation party. 'What was that Bajoran girl's name?' thought the ensign. She was so excited about being posted on Deep Space 9, that during their intimacy she drew blood and almost left a scar on Emmerson's chest. It was a wild night. He was as loaded as he felt right now. The wine, or whatever it was that Leah offered, gave him a happy kind of buzz.

Leah thought of all the friends she had. Her associates on the theoretical propulsion team. The energetic young engineers that designed and built the Prevaricate class. The people at the deli shop where she always had lunch. So many people. So many memories. Now they would never be anything more than that. Her life really was starting over, and this moment -- right here with this ensign -- was her starting point.

Emmerson leaned down to nuzzle Leah's neck. He was almost 15 centimeters taller than she was and had to arch his back significantly. This gave Leah an opening to reach up and wrap her arms around the ensign's neck. She turned her head and met his lips with hers.

The kiss was electric. Emmerson's head swam and pulsed at an even faster rate. He let his hands slide down. Lower and lower. Leah didn't pull away. Emmerson felt the elastic waistband of Leah's pants slide beneath his palms as his hands explored undiscovered territory. Leah deepened the kiss and ran her fingers through the ensign's short dark hair.

Emmerson's fingers felt a line underneath the soft fabric of Leah's pants, and at that point he paused. The bump was the hem of her shirt. It was the division between friendship and intimacy. Even in his cloudy state, he knew this was a point of no return.

. . .

The security guard put a hand on Dr. T'lar's arm keeping her from entering the Engineering MTC. He raised his phaser and crossed the threshold first. Dr. T'lar entered close behind.

The room was dark except for the multi-colored buttons on the control pannels and bio-beds. Even in the dim light, Dr. T'lar recognized humanoid forms lying on the medical beds. She quickly made her way to the nearest bed while the security guard stood at the open doorway.

The vulcan's hearing sensed another presence in the room - a raspy, feral breathing. She was about to say something but stopped. The security guard took two tentative steps into the room, but halted when his foot kicked a tricorder left on the floor.

"Computer, lights," ordered the security guard.

A blinding whiteness filled the room as the lights illuminated the triage center at full intensity. In the half a second it took for Dr. T'lar's eyes to dialate, she heard a roar, the scraping of claws against the metal flooring, a short phaser blast, a human scream, and the grissly sound of tearing flesh. She crouched down behind the bio-bed for shelter. If she weren't a vulcan, she would have been both terrified and astounded at sight before her.

What appeared to be a kligon targ was violently ripping flesh away from the the security guard's neck. All struggle was gone from the security guard's body as his blood spurted out the gaping wound in what used to be his neck.

The targ, satisfied with the kill, quickly raced out of the medical room into the corridor. It had gambled with the form of a klingon targ. It had used that form for months back on Utopia Planetia to avoid security. It hoped there were such animals on board this starbase as well. That was it's first error.

The changeling commited its second error by not noticing Dr. T'lar behind the bio-bed occupied by Lieutenant Osborne. It took a few seconds for the vulcan to regain her composure. She was lucky to be alive and she knew it. Knowing that there were no kligon targs on the station, she realized the true identity of the attacker. Dr. T'lar stood, hit her comm badge, and announced, "T'lar to Admiral Shelby. I've found the intruder."

. . .

"I'm late, so sorry," hissed the Companion.

A hooded figure emerged from the dark recess. "You're lucky I didn't kill you where you stood," warned the hooded individual. His clothes were a drab dark grey and brown, and he carried a grey sack over his shoulder. "Such carelessness will not be tolerated. Is that understood?" he barked in a gravely voice.

"What do you mean?" recoiled the Companion. "I've been very careful, and have taken in double the profits promised." Although acting brave, his forked tongue darted in and out of his mouth indicating his anxious mood.

"The profits will come in time," said the hooded being. "I'm expecting an even stronger shipment in the next week. But the greater concern is that you were discovered by a Starfleet officer." The being revealed a stubby bent finger with a short, but sharp claw at the end. The finger shook back and forth in a scolding manner.

That made the companion angry, "I still don't believe you."

"Then see for yourself," said the hooded being. He reached beneath a fold in his garment and produced a small video display unit. After selecting the appropriate segment, he handed the device to the companion.

The display revealed the Rendezvous Lounge bar. There was no sound, and the video quality was very poor. Static and granulation washed over the display screen at random intervals. The image was taken from above and had the companion centered on the screen. The companion's back was to the recording device and the hairy maintenance worker was to his right. The video image ran for a few seconds, then paused as if rewinding, and started again. The companion noticed the Starfleet officers passing by but couldn't see any evidence of surveilance.

"This proves nothing," snapped the companion angrily. There was a fire in his eyes that grew out of the distrust he had for the hooded being. When he came to a nogotiation with more profits than promised, he expected to be rewarded, not rebuked. The hand not holding the video device tightened into a fist.

"Ah but it does," countered the being. He pointed to the display and instructed, "notice the andorian on the far right."

The companion took his eyes off of the being and scrutinized the andorian as suggested. The andorian's antenna was purposefully turned his direction. It moved and twitched with the companion's conversation. With a white-hot rage building inside, the companion hissed, "that good for nothing andorian."

. . .

'It sure is a good feeling to be putting my talents to use again,' thought Laxis. A smile crossed his face as he entered Main Engineering. The Bynars were already here and were obediently waiting for instructions. "Alright! I need to speak to the one in charge here."

Several heads appeared from behind pannels and consoles. One of them stepped out from behind an open access pannel and sheepishly said, "Uh, I ... I am. Uh, sir." The bolian only briefly took his eyes from the floor as he recognized Laxis' presence.

"I'm Lieutenant Laxis," began the andorian as he extended his hand.

The bolian shook it like a dead fish, "I'm Jake ... Lieutenant Jacco J.G. ... in charge of things while the Chief is away."

"Hmmm," said Laxis. He didn't want to share too much information about what's been going on. He didn't really know very many of the details himself. But he didn't want to give the night crew any reason to fear. "The Chief will be away longer than expected, and the Admiral asked me to fill in for the now." Jake looked relieved to hear that, and that made Laxis curious. "So tell me, what's been going on around here?"

"Oh, everything's under control," lied Jake. And to add emphasis to the fib, the control pannel Jake was just working on exploded in a shower of sparks. Jake shrank at the sound and turned partially to face the andorian. Fear and shame written on his face.

"Here's a hint," said Laxis as he hurried past the bolian to survey the damage. "Poker is not your game." The smoke cleared to reveal several charred EPS power modules. "Computer, shut down power to this entire EPS grid," ordered Laxis as he punched in the proper grid parameters on the console.

Turning back to Jake, Laxis asked, "Tell me exactly what you were doing after the Chief left you in charge."

"Well," started Jake, "we cleaned up the trinelton spill and replaced the affected flooring. We finished scrubbing the deuterium injectors, and began the nightly diagnostic cycle."

Laxis' eyes showed interest. "Diagnostics," he spoke under his breath. He placed a hand on Jake's shoulder and addressed the computer, "What diagnostic routines are currently running?"

"Level 4 diagnostic are currently being run on the following systems: deuterium control, EPS power regulators, main computer processor, auxillary computer processor, library retreival system, life support, station security, stellar cartargraphy, subspace relay switches, . . ." As the computer's list of affected systems continued, Laxis shook his head.

"I can't believe you put the whole station in a diagnostic cycle," said Laxis through clenched teeth. He didn't look at Jake when he spoke.

"No!" exclaimed the Bolian looking even more nervous. "The nightly cycle doesn't include all those systems. We didn't do it! Honest!"

Laxis got a serious look on his blue face. The look surprised Jake and the Bynars, and everyone else in engineering for that matter. His eyes became cold. His antenni stood straight up. He spoke in a calm even tone. "The first thing we need to do is to shutdown all the diagnostic routines. That job is for the Bynars. Jake, myself, and the rest of the nightly crew will visually verify every mechanical system down here. If anyone encounters anything out of the ordinary, I am to be notified immediately. Is that understood?"

Laxis quickly looked every individual in the eyes. He knew that a person could say anything with his lips, but a person's eyes will always tell the truth. Laxis saw conviction, understanding, and a little fear. He liked what he saw. "Then let's get to work!"

. . .