Fallen Heroes Part III Prologue
Posted: Fri Dec 21, 2018 10:56 pm
And here it is: the continuation of Fallen Heroes! New readers can start with Part II, which has been posted on this forum in its entirety. Where's Part I, you ask? We don't... um... talk about Part I. Just start with Part II and everything will be fine.
For those who have read Part II, you know the drill: a new chapter segment each Friday! Kicking things off is this prologue, which consists of two segments and takes place in the 2350s, when uniforms were spandex and phasers looked like dustbusters. Enjoy!
=============================================================================================================================================================================================
Fallen Heroes Part III Prologue-a
Colony New Hoorn – August 5, 2356 – Stardate 33593.4
Hidden deep within the Beta Quadrant, on the fringe of Federation space, Colony New Hoorn is nothing but a speck of dust on the interstellar map. Finding passage to this backwater colony is challenging, but being a Starfleet officer gives you certain advantages when it comes to arranging transport, no matter your destination. The SS Macon, a cargo ship that can only be described as ancient, has somehow made it to New Hoorn.
Apart from two crewmembers and a cargo hold full of construction material, the Macon carries only one passenger: a twenty-two-year-old ensign wearing a one-piece black-and-gold uniform signifying he’s either an engineer or a security officer—his stern aspect, slicked-back hair, and muscular physique suggest the latter. Ensign Stephan Rinckes’ aquiline face is reflected in one of the cargo ship’s rare portholes as he studies the lush M-Class planet New Hoorn. It has less than 400 inhabitants, and their impact on the planet’s stunning appearance is negligible; the colonists’ settlement itself can’t even be seen from orbit. The sole reason for its low population density is its remote location. By all means, it seems like an even better place to spend one’s well-deserved R&R than Risa.
Ensign Rinckes isn’t here for vacation or to enjoy the unspoiled nature of the paradisiacal New Hoorn. His reasons for visiting this faraway planet are far more serious.
Lost in thought, Rinckes is late to discover he is not alone. “We’re ready to beam you down,” the Macon’s captain, whose name has eluded the young ensign, declares gruffly before hobbling off. They won’t be sending each other greeting cards after this trip; they hardly spoke a word throughout the entire three-week journey. Also, the term captain can be loosely applied to this man. Yes, he’s in charge of the ship, but if you said he was a stowaway who’d recently woken up from an alcohol-assisted slumber behind a crate, nobody would suspect you to be lying.
Annoyed by the captain’s lackluster pace, Rinckes follows him to the Macon’s main cargo area. Once they’ve entered a random cargo bay, the captain summons him to position himself between a dozen crates that are stacked on a circular transporter pad.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Captain “Stowaway” says. “Make sure you’re at the rendezvous point at noon. We won’t wait for you.”
Rinckes mumbles an acknowledgment. Half a minute later, he and the crates around him dissolve in a transporter beam.
* * *
Experienced from its surface, New Hoorn’s majesty is even more tantalizing. Ensign Rinckes evades the surprised looks he garners when emerging from the stack of crates and starts toward the heart of the colony, ignoring the breathtaking scenery. While impressive, the planet’s exotic wildlife, tropical climate, and rich emerald flora do not interest him.
The colony resembles a 19th-century Western town made of modern yet sterile materials instead of wood. Its long central street consists of a moss-green brick road, which seamlessly blends in with the environment. The colonists, who were happily going about their daily lives, stop and stare at the Starfleet officer hurrying toward the colony’s town square.
Once Rinckes has reached the colony’s center, marked by a golden fountain sitting in a patch of grass, commemorating the first starship to arrive here, he makes a beeline for one of the abutting houses. Even though the house Rinckes has set his sights on is identical to all others—simple, yet built to withstand any type of weather—he zeroes in on it with steadfast determination. It’s his journey’s end, the reason he has been travelling for weeks.
He chimes the doorbell. People are gawking at him, which doesn’t keep him from ringing the doorbell again, and again. Before long, he starts knocking on the door—softly at first, but soon enough he’s banging on the door with his fists. His patience threadbare, he peeks in through the front window. The house’s modestly furnished living room appears dusty and deserted. “Anybody in there?” he shouts while tapping the window. “Mom? Dad?” They’re not in. This is what he had feared. If they’re not home… there’s only one other place they could be.
Rinckes approaches a bystander, a young woman, who lowers her gaze and tries to walk off. Unwilling to let her off the hook that easily, he grabs her by the arm and says, “I need you to tell me where the hospital is.”
* * *
As it turns out, New Hoorn’s hospital is located on the outer edge of the colony and offers a spectacular vista of the valley below. Because of its similar construction, one could easily mistake it for another house if it weren’t for its transparent sliding doors featuring Starfleet Medical’s emblem.
Ensign Rinckes rushes in and storms toward the reception desk. The receptionist, a corpulent nurse in her fifties wearing civilian clothing, is startled by the unannounced arrival of a Starfleet security officer and tosses aside a PADD she was reading. Before she can ask anything, Rinckes cuts to the chase. “Alan and Holly Rinckes. Where are they? What’s happened to them?”
She is too perplexed to do anything but stammer unintelligibly.
Rinckes slams his hands onto the desk and leans in on the stuttering nurse. “I have to know if they’re okay. Where can I find them?”
“I’m not… I can’t let you…”
“Please! I’m their son, Stephan.”
Mortified, the nurse shakes her head, all the while shooting nervous glances to her right.
Rinckes looks at where she’s looking. “Will that corridor lead me to them?” The nurse refuses to answer, but he knows he caught her out. “Thanks.” He pushes himself away from the desk and sprints into the corridor.
* * *
Ensign Rinckes kicks open the first door he encounters and enters a small office. Except for a desk, a cabinet, and an ugly painting, it is empty, so he turns back and kicks in the adjacent door, only to find another vacant office. One by one, Rinckes forcefully opens every door in sight while advancing through the corridor, uncovering small offices and storage spaces—all unoccupied.
Having explored the area, revealing nothing to suggest his parents’ presence, he slaps a nearby wall in frustration and stops to get his bearings. Over his heavy panting, he hears muffled sounds of running and shouting coming from a far corner of the building and closing in on his position. Whoever they are, they’re after him.
He swivels around and spots a pair of sliding doors, tucked away at the end of the corridor and mostly obscured from view because their drab color is identical to the surrounding wall. The ensign dashes toward the mysterious entrance. It doesn’t open for him, so he rubs his fingertips against its cold alloy to search for a way in. Without knowing or caring how he did it, the doors open, unveiling a spacious elevator. Not exactly what he expected, but there’s no time to think; rapid footfalls of his pursuers prompt him to jump into the elevator and press a balled fist on the only button there. The doors close and the elevator starts its slow descent.
Save for the gentle hum of a moving elevator, it is remarkably quiet now, and Rinckes cannot hear his chasers anymore. Unable to hold still with so much adrenaline coursing through his veins, he paces back and forth like a caged tiger. Drawing in deep breaths, he suddenly becomes aware of the pervasive chemical odor of antiseptic cleaning products. Before he can ask himself why that is, the elevator comes to a stop and opens its doors, allowing its lighting to shine into a dim chamber. Rinckes shivers, though he’s unsure if that’s because of this place’s low temperature or its ominous aspect—possibly both.
He takes a hesitant step into the chamber, triggering the lights to activate and cast desaturated light into a room barely larger than the offices he rummaged through. There’s a metal table in the back, a freestanding console on the right, and eight metal drawers embedded in the left wall. The elevator doors close behind him as he inches toward the drawers. Six of them have red indicators, presumably to signal their emptiness; two of them are marked by green indicators instead.
It’s as though someone has punched him in the stomach. He has clearly entered the hospital’s morgue, and there are two corpses stored here. “No, please don’t let this be true,” he whispers, and he hurries over to the console. The young ensign is so upset that he hardly notices the morgue’s elevator leaving the floor to bring him his pursuers. Due to his unfamiliarity with the console’s exact functions, it takes him a few seconds to figure out what to do; surfacing tears aren’t helping either. He bites his lower lip and forces himself to stay focused.
After accessing the correct subsystem and typing in the proper commands, the two green-lit drawers slide open, their macabre contents hidden by water vapor hissing out. As the steam dissipates and cold mingles with the smell of death, the cadavers’ outlines sharpen. Rinckes hastens toward the metal slabs and realizes with a shudder that the two corpses are each covered by a greasy Federation flag.
Only two Starfleet officers are stationed at this civilian-operated colony: Alan and Holly Rinckes. As if to protect him from the emotional blow, his mind immediately conjures up alternative explanations. For instance, it might be a local custom to replicate Federation banners for each deceased individual, as a nod to the very organization that enabled this colony’s existence. Perhaps they simply had two Federation flags lying around and saw it fitting to use them here. For the briefest of moments, he almost believes the implausible, if only to nurture false hope just a little longer.
He has to know. With bated breath, he peels away the Federation flag covering the left corpse and reveals a middle-aged man’s scorched face. Burned skin may render identification troublesome, but for Ensign Rinckes there is no doubt about it: these are the remains of Commander Alan Rinckes.
Though this confirms what he had feared ever since his parents dropped off the radar, the consequences of this discovery don’t register with him yet. Dizzy and nauseous, the ensign turns to the other corpse. There’s no escaping the truth; these must be the remains of his mother. He has to make certain, so he reaches to lift the flag… and cannot bring himself to go through with it. As a security officer, he has witnessed tragedy and violent ends to innocent life; he should be used to this, be able to keep functioning under the harshest of circumstances, but he feels as helpless as a frightened child.
Rinckes stands frozen between his parents’ charred remains until his legs buckle and he collapses onto the tile floor. Struggling to find the right words to bid his parents farewell, he cannot say anything coherent. Despite his best intentions and his desire to be strong, he lets the tears flow and cries bitterly.
That’s when the elevator doors open and two men come rushing into the morgue. In reflex, Rinckes springs to his feet and assumes a defensive stance: chin tucked, knees bent, fists raised. The two men stop dead in their tracks, but the confrontation is far from over.
“We’re too late. What do we do about him?” one of the men—a thirty-something, short but thickset nurse—says while cracking his knuckles.
The other man is dark-skinned, an imposing six-and-half-feet tall, presumably in his late fifties, and wearing doctor’s robes. In a commanding voice containing hints of a Central-African accent, he says, “You are not supposed to be here, Ensign.”
Rinckes quickly wipes his tears and sizes up his opponents. The nurse could easily double as a nightclub bouncer, and the doctor is muscular enough to barely fit into his robes. They have him cornered, but Rinckes is not giving up without a fight. In spite of the more primal parts of his brain running the show, he manages to ask, “What have you done to my parents?” Without waiting for an answer, he lunges for the doctor.
The nurse tries to intervene, but Rinckes uses the nurse’s weight and momentum against him by grabbing his arm and giving his shins a swift kick, causing the nurse to lose his footing and crash headfirst into one of the closed metal drawers.
Before Rinckes can follow up, the rounded tip of a hypospray injects something into his neck. Within seconds, everything goes blurry and fades to black as his limp body sags to the floor.
For those who have read Part II, you know the drill: a new chapter segment each Friday! Kicking things off is this prologue, which consists of two segments and takes place in the 2350s, when uniforms were spandex and phasers looked like dustbusters. Enjoy!
=============================================================================================================================================================================================
Fallen Heroes Part III Prologue-a
Colony New Hoorn – August 5, 2356 – Stardate 33593.4
Hidden deep within the Beta Quadrant, on the fringe of Federation space, Colony New Hoorn is nothing but a speck of dust on the interstellar map. Finding passage to this backwater colony is challenging, but being a Starfleet officer gives you certain advantages when it comes to arranging transport, no matter your destination. The SS Macon, a cargo ship that can only be described as ancient, has somehow made it to New Hoorn.
Apart from two crewmembers and a cargo hold full of construction material, the Macon carries only one passenger: a twenty-two-year-old ensign wearing a one-piece black-and-gold uniform signifying he’s either an engineer or a security officer—his stern aspect, slicked-back hair, and muscular physique suggest the latter. Ensign Stephan Rinckes’ aquiline face is reflected in one of the cargo ship’s rare portholes as he studies the lush M-Class planet New Hoorn. It has less than 400 inhabitants, and their impact on the planet’s stunning appearance is negligible; the colonists’ settlement itself can’t even be seen from orbit. The sole reason for its low population density is its remote location. By all means, it seems like an even better place to spend one’s well-deserved R&R than Risa.
Ensign Rinckes isn’t here for vacation or to enjoy the unspoiled nature of the paradisiacal New Hoorn. His reasons for visiting this faraway planet are far more serious.
Lost in thought, Rinckes is late to discover he is not alone. “We’re ready to beam you down,” the Macon’s captain, whose name has eluded the young ensign, declares gruffly before hobbling off. They won’t be sending each other greeting cards after this trip; they hardly spoke a word throughout the entire three-week journey. Also, the term captain can be loosely applied to this man. Yes, he’s in charge of the ship, but if you said he was a stowaway who’d recently woken up from an alcohol-assisted slumber behind a crate, nobody would suspect you to be lying.
Annoyed by the captain’s lackluster pace, Rinckes follows him to the Macon’s main cargo area. Once they’ve entered a random cargo bay, the captain summons him to position himself between a dozen crates that are stacked on a circular transporter pad.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Captain “Stowaway” says. “Make sure you’re at the rendezvous point at noon. We won’t wait for you.”
Rinckes mumbles an acknowledgment. Half a minute later, he and the crates around him dissolve in a transporter beam.
* * *
Experienced from its surface, New Hoorn’s majesty is even more tantalizing. Ensign Rinckes evades the surprised looks he garners when emerging from the stack of crates and starts toward the heart of the colony, ignoring the breathtaking scenery. While impressive, the planet’s exotic wildlife, tropical climate, and rich emerald flora do not interest him.
The colony resembles a 19th-century Western town made of modern yet sterile materials instead of wood. Its long central street consists of a moss-green brick road, which seamlessly blends in with the environment. The colonists, who were happily going about their daily lives, stop and stare at the Starfleet officer hurrying toward the colony’s town square.
Once Rinckes has reached the colony’s center, marked by a golden fountain sitting in a patch of grass, commemorating the first starship to arrive here, he makes a beeline for one of the abutting houses. Even though the house Rinckes has set his sights on is identical to all others—simple, yet built to withstand any type of weather—he zeroes in on it with steadfast determination. It’s his journey’s end, the reason he has been travelling for weeks.
He chimes the doorbell. People are gawking at him, which doesn’t keep him from ringing the doorbell again, and again. Before long, he starts knocking on the door—softly at first, but soon enough he’s banging on the door with his fists. His patience threadbare, he peeks in through the front window. The house’s modestly furnished living room appears dusty and deserted. “Anybody in there?” he shouts while tapping the window. “Mom? Dad?” They’re not in. This is what he had feared. If they’re not home… there’s only one other place they could be.
Rinckes approaches a bystander, a young woman, who lowers her gaze and tries to walk off. Unwilling to let her off the hook that easily, he grabs her by the arm and says, “I need you to tell me where the hospital is.”
* * *
As it turns out, New Hoorn’s hospital is located on the outer edge of the colony and offers a spectacular vista of the valley below. Because of its similar construction, one could easily mistake it for another house if it weren’t for its transparent sliding doors featuring Starfleet Medical’s emblem.
Ensign Rinckes rushes in and storms toward the reception desk. The receptionist, a corpulent nurse in her fifties wearing civilian clothing, is startled by the unannounced arrival of a Starfleet security officer and tosses aside a PADD she was reading. Before she can ask anything, Rinckes cuts to the chase. “Alan and Holly Rinckes. Where are they? What’s happened to them?”
She is too perplexed to do anything but stammer unintelligibly.
Rinckes slams his hands onto the desk and leans in on the stuttering nurse. “I have to know if they’re okay. Where can I find them?”
“I’m not… I can’t let you…”
“Please! I’m their son, Stephan.”
Mortified, the nurse shakes her head, all the while shooting nervous glances to her right.
Rinckes looks at where she’s looking. “Will that corridor lead me to them?” The nurse refuses to answer, but he knows he caught her out. “Thanks.” He pushes himself away from the desk and sprints into the corridor.
* * *
Ensign Rinckes kicks open the first door he encounters and enters a small office. Except for a desk, a cabinet, and an ugly painting, it is empty, so he turns back and kicks in the adjacent door, only to find another vacant office. One by one, Rinckes forcefully opens every door in sight while advancing through the corridor, uncovering small offices and storage spaces—all unoccupied.
Having explored the area, revealing nothing to suggest his parents’ presence, he slaps a nearby wall in frustration and stops to get his bearings. Over his heavy panting, he hears muffled sounds of running and shouting coming from a far corner of the building and closing in on his position. Whoever they are, they’re after him.
He swivels around and spots a pair of sliding doors, tucked away at the end of the corridor and mostly obscured from view because their drab color is identical to the surrounding wall. The ensign dashes toward the mysterious entrance. It doesn’t open for him, so he rubs his fingertips against its cold alloy to search for a way in. Without knowing or caring how he did it, the doors open, unveiling a spacious elevator. Not exactly what he expected, but there’s no time to think; rapid footfalls of his pursuers prompt him to jump into the elevator and press a balled fist on the only button there. The doors close and the elevator starts its slow descent.
Save for the gentle hum of a moving elevator, it is remarkably quiet now, and Rinckes cannot hear his chasers anymore. Unable to hold still with so much adrenaline coursing through his veins, he paces back and forth like a caged tiger. Drawing in deep breaths, he suddenly becomes aware of the pervasive chemical odor of antiseptic cleaning products. Before he can ask himself why that is, the elevator comes to a stop and opens its doors, allowing its lighting to shine into a dim chamber. Rinckes shivers, though he’s unsure if that’s because of this place’s low temperature or its ominous aspect—possibly both.
He takes a hesitant step into the chamber, triggering the lights to activate and cast desaturated light into a room barely larger than the offices he rummaged through. There’s a metal table in the back, a freestanding console on the right, and eight metal drawers embedded in the left wall. The elevator doors close behind him as he inches toward the drawers. Six of them have red indicators, presumably to signal their emptiness; two of them are marked by green indicators instead.
It’s as though someone has punched him in the stomach. He has clearly entered the hospital’s morgue, and there are two corpses stored here. “No, please don’t let this be true,” he whispers, and he hurries over to the console. The young ensign is so upset that he hardly notices the morgue’s elevator leaving the floor to bring him his pursuers. Due to his unfamiliarity with the console’s exact functions, it takes him a few seconds to figure out what to do; surfacing tears aren’t helping either. He bites his lower lip and forces himself to stay focused.
After accessing the correct subsystem and typing in the proper commands, the two green-lit drawers slide open, their macabre contents hidden by water vapor hissing out. As the steam dissipates and cold mingles with the smell of death, the cadavers’ outlines sharpen. Rinckes hastens toward the metal slabs and realizes with a shudder that the two corpses are each covered by a greasy Federation flag.
Only two Starfleet officers are stationed at this civilian-operated colony: Alan and Holly Rinckes. As if to protect him from the emotional blow, his mind immediately conjures up alternative explanations. For instance, it might be a local custom to replicate Federation banners for each deceased individual, as a nod to the very organization that enabled this colony’s existence. Perhaps they simply had two Federation flags lying around and saw it fitting to use them here. For the briefest of moments, he almost believes the implausible, if only to nurture false hope just a little longer.
He has to know. With bated breath, he peels away the Federation flag covering the left corpse and reveals a middle-aged man’s scorched face. Burned skin may render identification troublesome, but for Ensign Rinckes there is no doubt about it: these are the remains of Commander Alan Rinckes.
Though this confirms what he had feared ever since his parents dropped off the radar, the consequences of this discovery don’t register with him yet. Dizzy and nauseous, the ensign turns to the other corpse. There’s no escaping the truth; these must be the remains of his mother. He has to make certain, so he reaches to lift the flag… and cannot bring himself to go through with it. As a security officer, he has witnessed tragedy and violent ends to innocent life; he should be used to this, be able to keep functioning under the harshest of circumstances, but he feels as helpless as a frightened child.
Rinckes stands frozen between his parents’ charred remains until his legs buckle and he collapses onto the tile floor. Struggling to find the right words to bid his parents farewell, he cannot say anything coherent. Despite his best intentions and his desire to be strong, he lets the tears flow and cries bitterly.
That’s when the elevator doors open and two men come rushing into the morgue. In reflex, Rinckes springs to his feet and assumes a defensive stance: chin tucked, knees bent, fists raised. The two men stop dead in their tracks, but the confrontation is far from over.
“We’re too late. What do we do about him?” one of the men—a thirty-something, short but thickset nurse—says while cracking his knuckles.
The other man is dark-skinned, an imposing six-and-half-feet tall, presumably in his late fifties, and wearing doctor’s robes. In a commanding voice containing hints of a Central-African accent, he says, “You are not supposed to be here, Ensign.”
Rinckes quickly wipes his tears and sizes up his opponents. The nurse could easily double as a nightclub bouncer, and the doctor is muscular enough to barely fit into his robes. They have him cornered, but Rinckes is not giving up without a fight. In spite of the more primal parts of his brain running the show, he manages to ask, “What have you done to my parents?” Without waiting for an answer, he lunges for the doctor.
The nurse tries to intervene, but Rinckes uses the nurse’s weight and momentum against him by grabbing his arm and giving his shins a swift kick, causing the nurse to lose his footing and crash headfirst into one of the closed metal drawers.
Before Rinckes can follow up, the rounded tip of a hypospray injects something into his neck. Within seconds, everything goes blurry and fades to black as his limp body sags to the floor.