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Gonna be a long way back for the crew in the eyes of the fleet.

Chapter Six (cont.)

“Captain, we have cleared the warp safety perimeter of Jupiter,” Isabella called out from the helm.

Matt didn’t look up from the log entry he was entering.  “Thank you, Miss Montoya.  Mister Shrak, set Yellow Alert and prepare for Warp speed.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.  Setting Yellow Alert.  All hands, this is the XO—prepare for warp speed,” he paused, and then looked up from his console.  “Republic is ready for warp test, Captain Dahlgren.”

“Very good, Mister Shrak.  Miss Montoya, come to heading 177 Mark 42 on course for Alpha Centauri A and take us to Warp speed.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.  Coming about to heading 177 Mark 42 on course for the Alpha Centauri system.  Warp engines are coming on-line . . . now.”

Matt looked up at the view screen as Republic shot forward warping space and time around her as she bypassed the physical realities of her universe.

“Holding steady at Warp Factor 1,” announced Commander Shrak.

“Increase speed to Warp 7, Miss Montoya—smartly, now.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the helmsman answered as she began to slowly increase the power being fed into the nacelles from the warp core.  Matt looked down at the repeater display mounted on the arm of his command chair, and slowly nodded as the numbers steadily climbed upward.  He changed the display view and studied the warp field configurations for a moment, and then switched the display back.  Shifting slightly in his seat, he toggled the intercom to engineering.  “Mister Malik, how are we doing down there?”

“We are doing just fine, Sir.  Stress on the warp-field in within established parameters, the core is operating at 50% of rated capacity, and the temperature of the warp coils are well below their tolerances.”

“Prepare to take the core to 100%, Mister Malik.  Inform me immediately if the core temperature or coil temperature begins to spike.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the engineer answered.

“Warp 9, Miss Montoya.”

“Accelerating to Warp Factor 9, aye, aye, Sir.”

Once again, the ship surged forward smoothly.  Matt closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling the low-frequency thrum of the warp core through the ship’s structure.  Every ship—even two of the same class—responded slightly differently to warp speeds.  But Matt remembered well how Republic had performed during his time aboard her as an Ensign and a junior Lieutenant.  At last he opened his eyes and smiled, swiveling his chair to face Chan Shrak.

“We are holding steady at Warp 9, Captain Dahlgren,’ the Andorian said crisply.  “Hull vibration is very low, sir.”

“She’s always had a smooth ride, Chan,” the Captain whispered.  “Core temperature?”

“Within expected limits, Sir.”

“Very well.  Miss Montoya, hold us at this speed for five minutes and then take her to maximum.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

As the minutes ticked by, Matt stood and limped over to Shrak’s console.  There was a slight rise in core temps, but the coils were still well within their limits.  He clapped the XO on the shoulder and returned to his chair.

“Take us to maximum power, Miss Montoya,” he said quietly.

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

As Republic began accelerating past Warp 9, Matt began to feel a slight tremor through the ship’s hull.  Yes, just like he remembered, he thought.

“Warp 9.1,” the helmsman called out as she focused on her instruments, “Warp 9.2 . . . 9.3 . . . 9.4 . . .” and the ship shuddered slightly, the bridge lights flickering.

Grace Biddle was bent over her own console.  “Increasing power to main deflector dish, sir,” she spoke up, and the ride smoothed out once again.

“Captain,” Isabella said from her station, with a grin on her face.  “We are now travelling at War 9.5, at 100% of the rated capacity of the warp core.”

“Hold us at this speed for now, Isabella.”

For one minute, then two, and three Republic pressed onward.  Finally, Matt nodded, and he hit the comm stud to Engineering.  “Mister Malik, your engines seem to be working.”

“That they are, Captain,” the clearly happy Trill’s voice rang back through the intercom. 

“And the core temp?”

“Climbing slowly, but still well below the point of shutdown, Sir.  I believe we can maintain this speed for at least two hours without difficulty.”

“Excellent.  Bring the core to 125% of rated power, if you please, Mister Malik.”

There was a distinct pause over the intercom.  “Sir?  Did I hear you correctly?  You want me to increase the fuel feed to the Warp Core to 125% of the rated maximum capacity?”

“That is correct, Mister Malik.”

“I cannot recommend that course of action, Sir.  Star Fleet Regulations prohibit exceeding 100% of power except in times of war.”

“I am aware of the regulations, Mister Malik and I will log your objections.  Take us to 125% power on the core.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the Trill answered slowly, and then Matt thumbed the intercom off again.  “Miss Montoya, increase speed.  Take her up until she won’t go any faster or I tell you otherwise.”

She stared at Matt, who nodded his head and cocked one eyebrow.  Isabella blinked and she turned back to her console and began to slowly press the acceleration controls forward yet again.  “Increasing warp power, aye, aye, Sir.  Warp 9.51 . . . 9.52 . . . 9.53 . . . 9.54 . . .”

“Warp core temperatures are climbing, Captain Dahlgren,” interjected Chan Shrak.  Warp coil temperatures are in the caution zone as well, and rising.”

“Understood.  Miss Biddle, have the Main Deflector increase power to maximum—I don’t use to hit a small rock at this velocity.”

“Main Deflector is now at full power, Sir.”

“. . . 9.55 . . . 9.56 . . . 9.57 . . .”

Republic shuddered again and her ride was noticeably rougher.

“. . . 9.571 . . . 9.572 . . . 9.573 . . . 9.574 . . . holding at 9.574, Sir!” Isabella called out.

“Steady as she goes, Miss Montoya,” Matt said as he activated a timer above the main viewer.  “Hold her at this speed.”

The ship lurched, and Chan had to grab hold of his console to avoid being knocked off his feet.  “Temperatures still rising in core and coils, Captain Dahlgren.  We are now past the caution zone and into recommended shutdown.”

“Understood, Mister Shrak.  Continue as you are, people.”

The intercom beeped.  “Bridge, Engineering!  The engines can’t take this, Captain!  We need to reduce power!”

“Steady, Mister Malik, these ships are tougher you think.  Miss Tsien, give me a voice count on the time at this velocity, and continue every ten seconds.”

“One minute, thirteen seconds,” the science officer said.  “twenty seconds . . . thirty seconds . . .”

“Core temperatures are now approaching auto-shutdown, Sir!” called out Shrak.

“Computer, override shutdown, authorization Dahlgren Alpha Two Two Three Seven Beta Delta Four.”

“Authorization code aceepted.  Auto shutdown sequence aborted,” the computer replied.

“forty seconds . . . fifty seconds . . . TWO MINUTES . . .”

“Miss Montoya, throttle down to Warp 7,” Matt said as he activated the engineering comm link again.  “Mister Malik, reduce fuel feed and bring us back to nominal power conditions.  Mister Shrak, how are the temperatures looking now?”

“Dropping, Captain, coils are back in caution and still dropping.  Core temperature . . . core temperature is now within limits.”

“Very well.  Secure the ship from Yellow Alert.  Miss Montoya, maintain Warp 7 until we arrive in the Alpha Centauri system and then  bring us about on course back to Earth—at Warp 9.  Mister Shrak, I’ll be in my ready room.  You have the conn.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the XO answered.  “I have the conn.”

Chapter Six (cont.)

Matt woke with a start as his comm badge beeped, and he sat up from the couch in his ready room.  Swinging his legs over the side, he went to stand—and swore as his right leg collapsed, sending what felt like a red-hot poker tearing through his thigh.  He gasped, and tried to stand again, but the leg simply wouldn’t take his weight.  He tapped the comm badge.

“Dahlgren.”

“Captain we are approaching Earth and are about to drop out of warp,” Chan’s voice came across loud and clear.

“Very well,” Matt said, fighting to keep the pain out of his voice.  “Take the ship to impulse power and set course for Mars.  Star Fleet is supposed to sending a ship out that way to conduct maneuvers against us.”

“Yes, Captain Dahlgren.  We received confirmation fifteen minutes of our planned rendezvous with the Defiant-class USS McHale.  You aren’t coming to the bridge, Sir?”

“No, Mister Shrak.”  Matt bit his tongue, and then continued.  “I’ll join you after we meet up with McHale.”

“Very good, Sir,” the XO said and the transmission cut off.

Matt slammed his fist into the carpeted deck and tried to get up again, but still his leg refused to obey his commands.  Finally, he tapped his own comm badge.  “Dahlgren to Sickbay.”

“Sickbay, here.”

“Let me speak with Dr. Talbot.”

After what felt like several painful minutes, a new voice came on line.  “Talbot.”

“Dr. Talbot, could you bring your kit to my ready room please.”

“Is something wrong, Captain?”

“Just bring your kit, Doc.  And use the turbolift off my ready room—don’t go through the bridge.”

A few very real minutes later, the doors to the Captain’s ready room slid open and Quincy Talbot, M.D., stepped inside.   He sighed as he saw Matt lying on the floor and shook his head as he crossed the deck.

“I warned you,” he said put an arm around Matt and helped him up and to the couch.  “I told you you were pushing yourself too hard, but no, what do I know?  I mean I’m the only one in the room who attended and graduated medical school, the only one who has treated patients for thirty-seven years, so obviously I know less about medicine and rehabilitation than a stubborn starship skipper who won't follow instructions."

Matt winced with pain as the older man pressed his fingers deep into his thigh, and the doctor nodded.  He took his tricorder and it hummed as he ran it over the still healing wound.  “You’re running a fever and the muscles are strained—again, Matt.  You’ve been doing the exercises?”

“Every night.  I’m up to sixty pounds of dead weight.”

“Sixty?  I told you forty, and every other night.  And you haven’t been taking your pain medicine either, have you?”

“They make me foggy, Quincy.  I don’t have time for that.”

“Listen to me, Matt.  You keep pushing this leg and not letting it heal at its natural pace, and you will lose it—after ten months of rehab, you will lose the leg.  I swear, you are doing more damage to yourself than that Jem H’dar Stormtrooper did with that fire axe aboard Kearsage.”

The doctor with the big pug nose and white hair took out a hypo and injected Matt directly atop the old wound, and Matt bit his lip, doubling over with the pain.

“There, that should relax the muscles and tendons and ligaments that you have wrenched again.  But if you don’t give that bone time to heal, it never will.  Pain meds?”

“No,” said Matt as the Doctor shrugged and hit him with another hypo injector, causing the ship's captain to jerk again.

“Damn it, Quincy, I said NO.”

“It was the wrong answer, Captain Dahlgren.  You are this close,” the surgeon held up his thumb and one finger with the barest hint of space between the two, “to me declaring you medically unfit for command!  Besides, that hypospray is something new.  Is it working?”

Matt began to breathe easier and he sat back as the pain faded away.  But his mind wasn’t blurred or fogged the way the other medications had made him.  “Yeah.  That works.  You could have been giving me that all along?”

The doctor chuckled.  “Hell no.  It hasn’t been approved for human trials yet by Star Fleet Medical.”

Matt jerked.  “Republic is officially a part of Galaxy Exploration Command, as you are aware, Captain.  That means we qualify as an institution that can administer experimental pharmaceuticals as part of the trials.  Well, congratulations, sir.  You’ve just begun the first trials on Ladoculkaine VII.  And no, you can’t give it yourself.  I will be by your quarters every morning from now own so you get a dose before you start your day and in your quarters every night for another before you go to bed.”

Matt tried to stand again, and this time he managed to get up with the help of the Doctor and his cane.  “And no weight exercises for at least a week, Captain.  I’m not joking.  You need to get some rest.”

“After these maneuvers, Quincy.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Matt.”

“Quincy?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.  And stay off that damned leg, Sir."

Good stuff!

And so we have our first mission.

Irish in space 

WHoops!