Improvised Plans Are Always The Best

Posted on Thu Jul 25th, 2019 @ 2:04pm by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox & Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Commander Sonak & Lieutenant Samuel Clemens XV & Petty Officer 2nd Class Ila Dedjoy & Petty Officer 3rd Class S'Rina Wil'I'Ams

Mission: Mudd on the Souls of Mankind
Location: USS Danu, the 'Unlucky Lady', geosynchronous standard orbit above Earth
Timeline: 2063
Tags: Mudd, Time Travel

Orbiting the planet Earth on May 27th, 2063 was not anything that Rita Paris had ever planned to be doing. At least she was not in a full-sized starship- instead, she and the landing party were cloaked and under stealth. Which was good, because, in a few short days, Zephram Cochrane would achieve warp speed for the first time in human history, and make first contact with the Vulcans. Said historic meeting which, as every schoolchild knew, was the birth of the United Federation of Planets.

Currently, chronal criminal, conman and conniving cutthroat Davo Mudd, an escapee from the mirror universe of the Kelvin timeline, was below on the planet’s surface, attempting to stoke bigotry, xenophobia, and insular thinking in order to bring about the version of First Contact from his universe. Where the Vulcans of the T’plana Hath were met not with the open hand of friendship and a shaky Vulcan salute, but a shotgun blast.

The crew of the Hera were here to make sure that didn’t happen, and that history remained on course.

The daughter of Davo Mudd and Az’Prel, the other escapees of the Mirror Universe, Cleopatra Mudd was a cyborg, incorporating many advanced ad experimental technologies, many of which were gleaned from the world known as Mudd’s Planet, where complex self-replicating androids had long ago been built to serve a race now long dead. Discovered by Harry Mudd, the technology had been plundered by Davo Mudd in his universe to augment his daughter, whom he had raised to be an opportunistic deceiver and freebooter, as well as an expert in infiltration and disguise.

While he was broadcasting his messages of right-wing intolerance and xenophobia, she had been boosting the signal for him as a satellite, while she frequented the local bar relevant to where the First Contact landing would take place to work on the locals and map their appearances so that she could impersonate any of them at will.

Which might have been a pretty good plan, if not for the fact that the crew of the Unlucky Lady had discovered how to pierce Mudd’s cloaking technology through the genius of Yeoman Dedjoy. As they monitored, she dropped her shields to camouflage herself, and found herself beamed directly into stasis. A trial and due process would follow upon her return to the future from whence she had come. But for now, neutralizing her had become top priority. Which had come to pass, and using the experimental transporter inherited from Section 31, she and Petty Officer V’Nus had been beamed back to 2396, and the safety of the USS Hera.

Now came the hardest part- capturing Mudd, and undoing the damage he had done.

Monitoring the local frequencies as well as the conversations in the bar Cochrane frequented, which seemed to be a nexus point for this caper, there was some movement to his way of thinking., Humanity’s history was tribal, after all- it was easy to define themselves as ‘us’ so long as there was a ‘them’. It was not humanity’s modern outlook, but at this precarious point in their history, the people of the Earth were far more vulnerable to such rhetoric. Which they could ill afford with the pending arrival of the first step onto a much more galactic scale looming large in the near future.

Thus, at the moment, Lieutenant Samuel Clemens the XV was regaling the people of Bozeman with tales of his famed ancestor, Right now, he was reading to the people of Bozeman, in his folksy manner that had been handed down through generations, the Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. Which was being broadcast to override and jam Mudd’s Glenn Beck impression.

There was damage that had been done already, and it had to be undone to ensure the proper flow of history according to the established parameters that insured history followed its previous course. A bit more than a week from this point, the USS Enterprise 1701-E would arrive in orbit chasing a Borg sphere and greatly interfere with First Contact, enabling it to come to pass. With a little luck, those time travelers from 23 years earlier than the period the crew of the Hera had departed would not encounter them, and time could continue to flow as it should.

Which led to the current moment, with Paris, the mission commander, briefing the landing party aboard the Unlucky Lady.

“Mudd has been at it for a while now, and in desperate times like this, it’s apparently too easy to fall into blaming others for your problems who are ‘other’ or ‘alien’, instead of taking responsibility,” Commander Paris admitted. “I’m afraid this isn’t humanity at its finest. So we’re going to go down and see what we can do to sway public opinion back in favor of humanity’s better nature."

"Petty Officer S’Rina, you’ll be positioned outside Mudd’s ship. Your mission is to intercept and disable him should he escape us in town. Mr. Sonak, Miss Dox and I will go down to the surface and see what can be done to mitigate the damage Mudd has done. Miss Dedjoy, you are our overwatch, manning the sensors and the situation from orbit to be our eyes and ears and our ace in the hole. Any questions?”

At the helm, Lieutenant Mnhei'sahe Dox was nervous but focused. In her childhood, she had been surgically and genetically altered to appear half-human, but as a young teenager that got stuck on Earth at the age of 16, she was well acquainted with how xenophobic even modern humans could be in the 24th century. And since having her appearance altered to restore her Romulan heritage months ago, she knew she, like the Vulcan Sonak, was a potential target of the vitriol Paris described if discovered, in spite of the hair extensions and cap worn to hide her large and prominently pointed ears.

But Dox was, above all else, a Starfleet Officer and she would not allow her anxiety to affect the performance of her tasks as she replied, allowing none of her concerns to show, "No, Commander. The Danu's orbit is set and autopilot is engaged on Yeoman Dedjoy's control."

Standing up from the helm and adjusting her civilian pilot's jacket, the red-headed Romulan continued. "Though, I was thinking that considering the locals had just gotten through extended military conflict with what was called the Eastern Coalition, referring to ourselves by rank might serve to inflame the population even more."

“Ohhhh yes. Just Rita for me. You okay with Melanie, Miss Dox?" It was her 'human' name her mother had given her to camouflage the young woman from the Tal Shiar in her youth. While it had been abandoned since then and she had returned to her native Romulan name, it could still serve a purpose. "Not your favorite I know, but it will make you easy to identify and easier to blend in. As for Mister Sonak, we’ll just go with... Mister Son,” Paris offered.

''Sun sounds close enough and is the Anglicization of a traditional Native American name,'' Sonak suggested. ''With my Vulcan complexion, hair color and facial features, it should provide a believable alternate identity; with grey eyes betraying some distant Northwestern European ancestry.''

Taking the good suggestion in stride and incorporating it into the plan, Paris pressed on. “Given how this appears to have played out, I think I’ll go in alone. I can draw attention and not be outed, while you two cover the exits to intercept Mudd when he tries to escape. Not the firmest of plans, but winning over the hearts and minds is seldom a concrete activity.”

"Aye. 'Melanie' it is, Comm... Rita. Ahhh, I hate doing that on duty." Dox replied, adding a slight smile to bolster her own confidence and an affirmative nod.

''I suggest we hide our communicators in passive mode only and on vibration signal,'' Sonak suggested. ''Thus we will be in permanent contact and aware of each other's situation in real-time, yet no unforeseen transmission will be heard to betray us.''

“Always one step ahead, Mr. Son,” Rita replied with a smile. Years of working with the stoic and brilliant Vulcan had taught her that whatever details she might overlook, Sonak would suggest. Never was it a lecture, never was it condescending, and always a suggestion. Which of course set the bar for her- if the smartest man she’d ever met could manage to bolster weak points of a plan without being arrogant or patronizing, so too could anyone less intelligent than he, at least in her book.

“As for professional decorum, think of this as undercover work, Miss Do- ah, Melanie,” Paris caught herself, rolling her eyes at her own gaffe. “If it helps, chronologically speaking, I won’t outrank you for another 202 years…”

Allowing herself a smile and a light chuckle to scatter the nerves, Dox nodded and checked the cochlear earbud comm unit that they would be using for the mission one last time.

“Well, we can’t risk the Unlucky Lady being spotted planetside, so we’ll have to beam down if Dedjoy is to remain on overwatch,” Paris explained, a few tell-tale beads of sweat forming on her forehead at the thought of stepping into a transporter. While Paris was leery of transporters to say the least, for good reason given her history with them, times like this called for her to suck it up and put on her game face. “I’ll transport down last, so if there is a… mishap… you two can still complete the mission.”

The number of bizarre and unusual experiences Paris had encountered over the years led her to make such decisions, because if there was a fluke, an accident or a chance of malfunction with a transporter, it would happen to Rita Paris. Her grip on the console upon which she was resting her rear gave her the impression of a casual air, but any who knew her could see the white-knuckled grip she had on the edge of the console. It was an old habit she maintained, which only manifested itself during stress- the propensity to grip solid objects in a deathgrip in order to hold onto reality, which had the habit of giving her the slip in a rather cosmic sense.

Watching, Dox had to virtually bite her tongue. She was extremely aware of the cause of Rita's white knuckles, but as an officer, knew she was right. The safety of the mission was vital. The entire future depended on it and they all knew it.

"What about me? I am of no use up here, Commander. What is my role in your plan?" the musclebound and aggressive Kilingon petty officer practically demanded. S'Rina had held her tongue, but she was not going to be left out of this mission.

"Oh, Miss S'Rina, I have a very special assignment for you..."

To Be Continued...