THE ENGINEERING SECTION OF THE NCC-1701; ENTERPRISE
Frank Grayson sat with his head buried in his hands. He slid his hands down his face, feeling the rough stubble along his face as he did. He blinked his eyes, again, and looked back to the tech manual the computer referred him too. He also held one of those strange three pronged devices that Scotty, or his men, could be seen using from time to time on the Star Trek TV show. He had no idea what it was, but it appeared he could manually activate the Cloaking Device with the device.
Apparently, after the events of the episode where Kirk stole the damn thing, Scotty had begun to inter-phase the Cloaking Device with the primary systems of the ship. Why Frank had no knowledge of such events, but that they had happened, inspired even more questions than those answered. Luckily Frank had spent four years in the Us Navy when he was younger. He had been an "AZ", thus he had some knowledge of basic computer technology. But would his real world knowledge help him control a fictional TV device? Somehow; he doubted it.
He followed the directions again and then stood up, taking the strange three pronged device with him, and walked over to where the Cloaking Device was. As he did he couldn't help but look around the familiar, but strange room. The sounds, the look, everything was just as it was on the show. He half expected to see Scotty coming through one of the doors to help, but there was no such luck.
He stopped for a second, realizing he was standing on the same spot where one of Scotty's men was killed while trying to do something, Frank couldn't recall. In his mind he could see the beam instantly appearing, killing the poor soul. He closed his eyes and walked past the area and over to the Cloaking Device. He breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.
He looked up at the Cloaking Device and he smiled. It sure did look like the same prop they used for a probe on another episode. Yeah, Frank surmised. The fact he could remember something like that proved, once and for all, he was a dork after all. If anything else, this whole ordeal proved that fact! Oh well, there could be worse lots in life.
NORAD COMMAND AND CONTROL DEEP IN THE ROCKIE MOUNTAINS
General Morton stood behind the men, and women, who operated various stations in the command center. He was puffing on his cigar, directly below a DO NOT SMOKE sign that was mounted to the wall above him. Maj. Irv Wilson, and Lt. Jackson, stood to either side of him.
"The MQFIT will be in position in ten minutes or so." Lt. Jackson reported to his two senior officers.
"Very good," Maj.. Wilson said.
"Now, just to be clear on this," Gen. Morton said to them, "I don't want any dumb-ass glamour shots. Just tactical photos of where this thing might be the most vulnerable, that is all I want."
"Khan centered his attack on the engineering section, as I recall. We should start there." Lt. Jackson offered.
Morton looked to Lt. Jackson. "Khan attacked? What the hell are you talking about, son? And who the hell is Khan?"
Maj.. Wilson answered for Jackson. "Khan Noonien Singh, sir. He was a genetically altered Sikh warrior who attacked the Enterprise in revenge for the death of his wife. She was a former officer aboard the USS Enterprise. Khan blamed Captain Kirk for her death and for…"
Gen. Morton shot Maj.. Wilson a stern look that could have frozen the already frozen sperm inside of a frozen dead polar-bear, covered in frozen snow!
"Ummm," Wilson began, "sorry sir, it won't happen again; sir." He added quickly.
"See to it." Morton suggested.
"But sir," Lt. Jackson said, in defense of the Maj., "what if this ship does have the same vulnerabilities as the ship in TV episodes and movies. Shouldn't we use what knowledge we have of it to our advantage?"
Morton nodded his head. "Good point," Morton said. He took the cigar out of his mouth and tipped the end of it, letting the ashes fall to the floor by his feet. He looked at a nearby fire extinguisher, and the sign next to it. CIGARS ARE A FIRE HAZARD. He wanted to flip the sign off with a bird, but decided against it. "Well, tDrake Patton's ghost I have not one, but two, Star TRACK experts right here next to me, just great." Gen. Morton said. "But the moment any of you say the word Klingons; you're both going to the brig!" Morton was practically shouting.
Both men smiled. Then they realized it wasn't a joke, and their smiles vanished instantly.
THE GRAYSON FAMILY HOME
Jennifer Grayson was in the kitchen preparing a small lunch salad, when she heard a knock at the door. She set a head of lettuce down, and rinsed off her hands, and headed for the front door. Maybe Austin was ditching school again and had got caught. She spied through the eyehole on the door, and was not surprised to see two police men. She had dealt with them before; the aforementioned ditching situation with her son Austin. She opened up the door.
"Hello officers," she said with a smile. "How can I help you?"
Officer West spoke. "Sorry to intrude ma'am, but your husband's car was found abandoned in the middle the road about a few hours ago. It was towed to the local impound. We tried contacting him at his place of work, but he hadn't made it to work. Do you have any idea where he might be?"
"Umm," Jennifer began to say, "no officers I don't. You mean he just left it in the middle of the road?"
"Not only that, he left it running. Anyone could have stolen it," the other officer, Gordon, said. "Do you have any means of getting a hold of him? Perhaps he has a cellphone with him?"
"Yes," she said snapping her fingers, "please come in." She told them.
The two officers came inside the house as Jennifer searched for her purse. She brought the two officers a plate of cookies as they sat at the kitchen counter. She continued to look for her purse as the two officers ate their cookies.
"This is a pretty damn good cookie." officer West said, as he savored the chocolate chip laced cookie in his mouth.
"Mighty fine, I agree." officer Gordon said with a nod in approval.
FIVE MILES ALWAYS AT JEFFERSON HIGH SCHOOL...
Austin Grayson jumped the fence near the back of his high-school, skateboard in hand, and joined his three friends, and skated off toward their usual hang out spot when they ditched; Kathy Sobada's house. She had graduated last semester, but she still liked to chill with them. Her, and her three horny girlfriends too!
"Did you bring them?" Lance Tripp, one of Austin's friends, asked, skating at the front of the pack.
Suddenly Austin, who was forth in the line, skidded to a stop. "Ah fuck," he said to his three other friends. "I forgot them in the kitchen. My stupid ass sister dropped some eggs after breakfast, and I left the cookies on the counter to help her clean them up. Shit, I hope my mom doesn't throw them away."
"That's brilliant," Lance said. "We were supposed to go to Kathy's place, get stoned off your specially made cookies, and then get it on with her and her three friends. Good going, jackass."
Austin gave them all a defeated look. "Okay, okay," he said, "I'll go home and get them. I'll meet you guys and Kathy's. But," he said to them, "no one touches Trina, she's mine!"
Austin pushed off, and headed back home while his three friends headed off in the other direction. He had to figure out a way he was going to sneak in, get the pot stuffed cookies, and not be seen by his mom. It was going to be a challenge. Moments later, as he rounded the bend toward his house, he froze in place at what he saw. A black-and-white cop car was parked in the driveway of his house.
"Oh shit!" He said to himself.
NORAD COMMAND AND CONTROL
General Morton, Maj. Wilson and Lt. Jackson, and the rest of the assorted command crew, watched the main screen as the MQFIT high-res satellite was brought into position.
"All right, men," Gen. Morton said to them all, "show us what we got."
Displayed on the screen was the unmistakable image of the USS ENTERPRISE. The alpha-numerical numbers NCC-1701 were painted proudly on the underside of the giant saucer section. The entire assembled crew became silent. The image from the earlier feed was grainy; this one wasn't. The magnification did not blur, or become fuzzy at all. They were actually looking at the USS ENTERPRISE, from TV's Star Trek. It was massive.
"What do we do now sir?" Maj. Wilson asked, in a quiet tone.
Morton puffed on his cigar, as he pondered the next move. He reached down for the handle of a red-phone that was situated on a nearby control panel. He spoke to someone on the other end.
"Are you seeing this?" Morton asked the person on the other end.
Morton nodded his head as he listened to the voice on the other end. After the conversation was over, he hung the phone back up.
"Prepare to launch a DiVAQ." Morton said.
Maj. Wilson looked to Jackson, then back to Morton. "Sir," Maj. Wilson said, "if that missile hits that ship, even the USS Enterprise, and it is unprotected, a DiVAQ will blow a hole in it the size of a canyon, and kill anyone on board."
General Morton turned to Wilson and nodded his head. "Precisely, Maj.." He then looked back up at the Enterprise. "That is the plan."
At that instant, Frank Grayson flipped the lever on the Cloaking Device, having prepped it with the three-pronged doohickey thing. He smiled as the top of the Cloaking Device hummed to life, and the few lights on it began flash.
He flicked another switch on the consol.
"Okay, computer, did the Cloaking Device engage?" Frank asked.
"Negative." The computer replied.
Frank's happy expression turned sour. "Are you sure? Are we still visible?"
Suddenly the alert klaxon began to sound, and it was as loud as hell.
"What's going on?" Frank asked the computer.
The computer made the familiar clicking noise, and then it replied. "Automatic Deflector shields have been activated."
Frank shook his head. "Why?"
"Sensors have detected the launch of a missile from the planet the below."
"What is the trajectory?" Frank asked as became worried what the answer would be.
"Current trajectory of the missile is a collision course with USS ENTERPRISE." The computer replied, with absolutely no emotion.
"Ummm," Frank said softly, "is it a nuclear missile?"
The computer clicked then replied.
Frank stood up in a panic.
"How long will it be until the missile will get here?" Frank asked quickly.
The computer clicked again, and then responded.
"The missile will arrive in approximately 90 minutes and thirty-seven seconds."
"Holy shit!" Frank replied. "What the hell am I suppose to do?"
"Insufficient data; insufficient data."