ST:TMG

Star Trek: The Malton Group
Abbreviation:	ST:TMG
Group Numbers:	Unknown.
Leadership:	Beverly Crusher.
Goals:	Getting off this mudball!
Recruitment Policy:	Any and all Star Trek characters.
Contact:	[1]

Preview

It was supposed to be a routine shore leave.

We were home.

Earth.

We were done visiting strange, new worlds. Finding new life forms. Boldly going where no one had gone before. We wanted the familiar, the comforting, the restfull tranqility of Earth. And, hey, if we had a Tropical Zombie or four, that's what the anti-hangover pills were for!

A group of "intrepid explorers" decided to revisit Captain Kirk's memoirs for clues to notable bars. We noticed that many mentions in his personal logs happened to note the city of Malton...

If only we had known.

The beamdown was strictly one-way. Perhaps O'Brian was stupid; Perhaps he was Q; Perhaps he was completely innocent. We'll never know until we phasor his body into oblivion.

(And perhaps not even then, satisfying though it may be.)

Regardless, once dirtside, we knew one thing was clear: That bar we sought in Malton was now a death trap -- literally.

The phasors worked quite nicely, for a while. Now, however, the charges have run out, even though the targets have not. As the venerable Spock once said, we are working with stone knives and bear skins.

Known Members

[Beverly Crusher]

Potential recruits

• Lt Commander Data
• sp0ck
• dr mcoy jr

Beverly Crusher's Personal Log

Day 1

What a nightmare! I don't know if this will ever make it to StarFleet... I don't know if I'll make it back...

After whipping through time to stop the Borg Queen's plan to re-wright history, we made repairs and recovered as best we could. The Captain authorized shore leave for "parties whom agree to take care and do nothing to even slightly alter history."

Data stopped by Riker's quarters -- we were playing poker -- and remarked at one point that a certain bar in Malton (mentioned several times in Captain Kirk's personal logs) was in existence at this time. "Would it not be amusing to visit it before it became famous?"'

Yes, turns out that it would not.

Geordi, Riker, Worf, and I met at the transporter to beam down when Westley popped in. "I'm coming with you," he said, stepping onto a pad. "I heard about your trip from Data, who also informed me that I could drink there according to the local laws. I want to go."

That damn Data! But before I could even open my mouth to object, Riker was saying, "Are you sure? It could put hair on your chest..."

"I'm not afraid of a little chest hair!"

And Worf rumbled, "Then it is agreed. We will make a man of you! ENERGIZE!"

O'Brian's next physical will be something he will remember for the rest of his life.

We materialize in a secluded park, me in mid-whirl about to disembowel Worf with my eyes when we were suddenly under attack!

Worf, never without his phaser, saved our skins; But was surprised when the stun setting did nothing. We were being surrounded by creatures right out of those ancient B-movie flicks! For some reason -- we would later learn that the cobbled-together survivor communications system was at fault -- our communicators weren't working. It was the kill setting, or death. (We don't dare vaporize them.)

There were three of the "creatures" left -- they were human, but not human -- when Worf's phaser ran out of charge. Just as we were about to flee, the shocking sound of primitive "small-arms" projectile weaponry sounded -- loudly -- from the bushes. Several people burst forth.

"Got here just in a nick of time!" said one. "Hurry! Follow me before they stand up again!" And ran off back the way he came. We followed.

Catching up, we burst out of the park; And into devastation.

The histories don't include this! We're supposed to be beaming down to a thriving settlement. But there are abandoned -- destroyed -- primitive ground shuttles all over! Building after building is derelict and empty. Windows smashed. Doors ripped off their hinges!

We travel for blocks, when the leader of the band announces "This is a safe house. Get in."

Day 2

I awoke to shouts of "The barricades! Re-enforce the barricades!" Some of the creatures were inside! After a deafening barrage of those primitive weapons, the "zombies" -- as I heard one person say -- were tossed out the windows.

"We don't have much time," said one of the humans. "Look around. This is a police station, you need to find some guns."

It took some doing, but we found some.

One man, wounded in the battle, approached me. "You're obviously a doctor, heal me." I did what I could.

"Man! You got First Aid skills like I've never see before!" he said. I was about to say "Don't you know it!" when Riker said, "Beverly..."

I looked up and saw glowing letters: "Beverly Crusher: 47 AP, 110 XP." They followed me! What the... I looked at Worf and saw he had "3,000 XP."

"This is weird."

"Don't you know it!" said someone under their breath.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Look, I don't know who you are, but you just used two First Aid Kits, of a type I've never seen before, and are at 110 XP, He <points to Worf> killed 10 zoms but has no firearms and 3,000 XP. What's going on?"

"I'd like to know that too," said Riker.

We now know that Malton is under siege by "zombies." Worf and I have been trained by the "survivors." He is now a master of combat, and I have -- ahem -- "basic" skills as a "Necro Tech." Whatever that means.

We duck out of the building, after some searching, and travel to a mall.

Day 3

Is this some weird alternate reality?

Geordie has been declared "The Super Shopper" by many of those gathered here. His VISOR, seems to be viewed as a symbol of "blindness" by those gathered here; Yet they are amazed by his ability to find whatever he wants. We explain that it is a prototype device being evaluated to restore sight to the blind. (Which is true.) Fortunately, some people read what pass as 'Medical Journals' in this time frame and decide to believe us when I tell them that the project hasn't been reported yet owing "to the current situation."

We continue to be frustrated by our attempts to contact the Enterprise.

We learn, later in the day, that a "group of folks in pajamas" has been slaughtered. They must have been a Security Team sent to rescue us. The regs state that there will be no others. We are on our own.

Westley believes that he can break through the interference preventing our contact with the Enterprise. We leave Riker and Geordie to learn more from our benefactors, and Worf, Westley, and I travel to a mall store that specializes in technology.

We reach the Radio Hut, and Westley finds what he says he needs when, suddenly, we hear cries of "Breach! The mall is breached!"

Swiftly there are ten, twenty, fifty "zombies" -- the number increases with every second -- and they are between Worf and I and Westley.

He goes down. My son.

Dead.

"Doctor, we must leave. Now!"

I look back, Westley rises! But he looks at me with dead eyes. "Mhrarm!" he says, and lurches towards me.

I can't get the image out of my mind.

Worf shouts, "We must leave!" grabs me around the waist and Free Runs to another building.

My son...

Day 4

The CDF, the group sheltering us, has let me know that they have spotted Westley. Shockingly -- considering the somewhat barbaric things that pass as "medical treatment" in this era -- they reveal that they can revive him!

This is astonishing! In private conversations over the past few days, we have come to the conclusion that the epidemic may well be a form of Borg biological warfare which was not detected by our scanners.

The zombies seem to incorporate the basic Borg philosophy: "Resistance is futile." They absorb the innocent into their "collective." They are tireless, nearly unstoppable. Will has uncovered disturbing stories of their adaptation to attacks which is positively chilling.

We are very concerned.

How is it possible that it can be dealt with by these people?!? It shouldn't be possible! They don't have near the technology... We decide to learn all that we can.

We had a couple tense moments involving Worf today. The prosthetics that allow him to pass as human, though good, are not meant for extended wear, not to mention combat. He's seen a lot of combat.

His prosthetic came off today. Some quick thinking on Riker's part saved the day. "He was revived during the early days of the Revivication Project. Things weren't nearly as good as they are now, and he suffered some permanent after-effects from the many ax blows he took to the head."

Fortunately, our protectors bought it.

That damn Klingon world-view caused another incident though. He now insists on howling the undead into the afterlife! As though his missing prosthetic wasn't making life interesting enough...

Damn that Klingon honor!

"They are outclassed. Have no weapons. They know they will die, yet they attack anyway," he said to me. Booming on -- as only he can -- he declared, "They are warriors! Worthy foes! They battle without fear. That MUST be honored!" He then rumbled, "Even if they are humans under Borg influence."

I don't think the CDF folks nearby heard that last. But they did hear what he said before, and suddenly raised their projectile weapons and surrounded us! I heard the words 'zombie spies' from several mouths.

Fortunately Geordi leaped forth and said, "Wait! Please! He is from Asia and follows a peculiar religion that demands that one respects one's enemy: Sun Tsuism."

He glanced at Worf. (How he can manage a 'disapproving look' with that VISOR is beyond me, but he did.) "It makes life interesting at times, but hasn't he proven his worth in battle? <Worf rumbles> Haven't we healed many of your wounded? Haven't I tirelessly minded the barricades? Are those the acts of spies?"

Though we still get the occasional sideways-glance, we're alive.

Where is my son???