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Lucky the Republic was so prepared.

Another twist...

Chapter Nineteen (cont.)

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 53753.3, USS Republic.  The revelation on the nature of the mental and emotional maturity of the Nephkyrie has complicated matters considerably.  Through the efforts of Counselor Trincullo and the crew, assisted by personnel from the Balao, we have managed to calm these . . . children taken prisoner.  In regards, their mental state has worked to our advantage, as they have provided far more information on the Nephkyrie race and their technology than an adult in a similar position would have.  Of particular interest is that not all of their elders are gone:  Speaker Typhias and his inner circle are adult members of their race, amounting to less than one hundred aboard this ship alone.  According to our POW children, there were several thousands of adults aboard when these ships departed from their home system long ago.”

“Where have those adults gone?  Typhias has never told the children how they died, or why; but our scans of the vessel did not detect any signs of a previous confrontation.  No external damage, no weapons scoring of the hull, nothing.  We do know that Typhias was not a senior member of the Nephkyrie ruling class when this migration began—but he is now the leader of his entire race; and the children have no knowledge of how this came to pass.”

“Perhaps it is my own suspicious mind at work, but I believe that Typhias removed the other adults as they lay sleeping in stasis.  I cannot prove it, but I have a nagging feeling in my gut that he murdered them.  That would explain how a ship packed with refugees had enough vacant stasis pods to house the New Columbia colonists.  But as disturbing as the mass murder of thousands of his own peers might be, for now, I am beset with the problem of retrieving the colonists while keeping as many of these children alive as I can.  Through subtle questioning, we have a basic idea of the internal layout of that vessel, and the compartment where the Speaker and his council reside.  And that information provides us with an opportunity.”

“USS Arrogant arrived three hours ago, under the command of Captain William Myers.  Bill has advocated a full-scale attack on the alien ship by our vessels and Independence when she comes out of warp in thirty-nine hours.  Fortunately, I have seniority over Bill and have overruled his proposal.   That is not the case with Captain Salok aboard the Independence; and although Vulcans deplore violence, their adherence to logic may lead him into another confrontation with tragic consequences.”

“Dr. Talbot and the medical department have managed to construct a possible treatment for the Nephkyrie genetic disorder, although its effectiveness has not yet been proven.  I have ordered Medical to administer the agent to ten of the prisoners, randomly chosen.  If all goes well, we will know in the next 24 hours whether or not we can restore their genetic code without having them harvest the New Columbia colonists.”

“Commanders Shrak and Carmichael, along with Lieutenant Beck, have finalized plans for an assault boarding of the Nephkyrie vessel in the event that we are once again forced into action.  However, this time we will endeavor to avoid the Nephkyrie children and strike instead for the head of this serpent:  Typhias.  Perhaps it is my sub-conscious desires projecting onto him, but his attitude, his arrogance, his . . . malevolence led me to the conclusion that he, and not these immature Nephkyrie, is the villain in this piece.”

“Computer, save log.”

“Log saved.”

Chapter Twenty

Matt took one step into sickbay, and then stopped as he heard the raised voices of the two doctors.

“No, you bloodless, inhuman, piece of technology,” Quincy snarled, “the key is the Xi-227 protein chain!  That single segment on chromosome 7 is what locked the changes!”

“You are mistaken, Doctor,” the holograph answered with a pained look on his face.  “Xi-227 is inverted, making it a mirror copy of the Chi-083 chain on chromosome 10!  We can’t treat Xi-227/7 without first correcting the engineering to Chi-083/10.”

Matt shook his head and then he spotted Amanda Tsien sitting on a biobed watching the argument intensely.  The captain limped over to her side, and he whispered, “How long has this been going on?”

“Hours, Captain.  I am barely following their arguments, but it is like watching Quincy argue with himself:  it’s a train wreck and I can’t make myself look away,” she whispered back, her eyes locked on the two medical professionals and their waving arms and pointing fingers.

Suddenly the noise level abated, as the scans of the Nephkyrie soldier ensconced in another biobed updated.  “Hmmmmmm?” went both Doctors at the same time.

Matt cleared his throat, and the two doctors—one human and one holographic—looked up.

“When did you come in, Matt?” asked Quincy.

“We can call him Matt now?” the hologram interjected.

“No, you collection of assembled photon particles, we can’t call him that:  I can call him that!”

“There is no reason to be rude,” the hologram replied.  “Although considering your lack of overall intelligence, I should have expected it.”

“Why you . . .”

“Doctors!” Matt snapped, causing both of the physicians to turn around and face him.  “What is the status of your research?”

“We have . . .” Quincy began, as the hologram uttered at the same time, “There has . . .”

Both stopped and glared at each other.

“One at a time, gentlemen,” the captain said gently.  “Quincy?”

“It’s going to take time, Matt.  The engineered changes are extremely subtle in many cases and we have to go through and find those changes before we make any recommendations on a treatment.”

“Having a living Nephkyrie to examine, Captain,” Dr. Woolsey continued, “has only opened more questions.  If we try to remove the modifications without examining all of the implications, it might have the effect of causing wide-spread genetic mutation—possibly fatal levels of mutation.”

“I concur,” Quincy snarled.  “And no, Matt, we won’t have an answer before Independence arrives, not without the actual medical data on exactly how the Nephkyrie made these modifications and an example of the pre-modified genetic coding.”

“We can infer the species original genetic coding through the modification markers, Doctor,” the hologram added, “but it will take time to do an examination of each individual protein chain—the order of modification is more difficult to interpolate and remains quite open to interpretation.”

Quincy glared at the hologram, but then he at last nodded.  “The protein chains are a like a key, Matt; we can pick the lock, but doing so might damage it at the same time.”

“How long?” Matt asked.

“Days?  Weeks?” answered Quincy with a shrug.

“Months?  Years?” Woolsey glumly whispered.

Matt nodded and he limped over to the intercom on the wall, pressing a stud.  “Bridge, Dahlgren.”

“Go ahead, Sir,” Chan answered.

“Plan C, Mister Shrak.  Inform Arrogant that she is to accompany us.  And patch me through to Sam.”

“Carmichael.”

“Sam, we can’t count on the medical treatment; so we are going to try the third option.  I want you and Balao to remain here on station.  Use the probes to keep that vessel under observation and inform me at once if there are any changes.”

“Understood, Sir.  Good hunting.”

Matt released the comm stud and he turned back around to face to the Doctors.  “Gentlemen, continue your research; perhaps we will get lucky.  Miss Tsien, we will need you on the bridge.”

And with that Matt limped out, trailed by the Science Officer.

Robert Woolsey pursed his lips. “He should really consider a prosthetic if the leg is bothering him that much.  Why doesn’t he just go ahead and have the procedure?”

Quincy frowned and he shook his head.  “He’s stubborn, Robert.  And he wants to keep his natural limb, as irrational as that is when it’s been damaged this severely.  We’ve tried every conventional treatment and nothing works:  damn the Jem H’dar and their polaron radiation weapons.”

The hologram nodded.  “Have you tried an inverse replication transplant?”

Quincy stopped in his tracks and he turned around to face the hologram. “That only works on Klingons with their redundant internal physiology.”

“He has two legs, Doctor.  From a certain point of view, he has—in this case—redundant internal physiology.”

Quincy slowly nodded, and then he shook his head.  “We’ll discuss this later, Robert.  For now, I want to map out Chromosome 12.  Are you okay, son?” the doctor asked his Nephkyrie patient nee guinea pig.

“This is boring,” the child in a man’s body answered.

“If you are lucky, then life is boring, son,” the doctor answered.  “You get used to it.  I’m not so lucky.  Start new mapping routine, computer, Chromosome 12.”

“Acknowledged.”

Chapter Twenty (cont.)

Matt finished signing off on the final piece of paperwork in the PADD that Yeoman Sinclair had given him as the turbolift doors opened and Grace Biddle walked onto the bridge.  She walked across to stand in front of Matt.

“Permission to return to duty, Sir?” she asked.

Matt nodded crisply.  “Permission granted, Miss Biddle.  It’s good to have you back on the bridge—assume your station.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” she answered, walking briskly over to the newly repaired Operations console and sitting down.

“Captain, we are being hailed by Arrogant,” Chan called out.  “Captain Myers is asking to speak with you in private.”

“On screen, Mister Shrak.”

The Andorian shrugged and he adjusted a few controls, and then the image of Captain William Myers appeared on the main viewing screen.  The Starfleet officer frowned as he saw the bridge behind Matt on his own display.

“Captain Dahlgren, may we speak privately?” he asked.

“Captain Myers, we will be heading out in a few moments.  I don’t have time to waste, not if we are to make contact another Nephkyrie vessel before the arrival of Independence.  What’s on your mind?”

Bill frowned and he sat back in his command chair.  “Captain Dahlgren, I wish to log a formal protest of your orders.  As difficult as the Nephkyrie ships are to detect and the sheer volume of space we must examine gives us little hope of finding another vessel.  Furthermore, even if we do manage to locate one, what makes you think that they will respond any differently than the first one did?  Right now, we have a face only a thousand or so awake Nephkyrie—a difficult situation but one that we can handle once Independence arrives.  We risk this second ship—if we locate it—providing reinforcements to this vessel, which will change the equation from something we are equipped to deal with to being drastically outnumbered.”

“Your protest is officially logged, Captain Myers.  My orders, however, still stand.  Is Arrogant prepared to move out?”

“We are, but I have an additional . . . request, Captain Dahlgren.”

“Go ahead.”

William leaned forward, his expression pained.  “I would rather discuss this private, Captain Dahlgren.”

“Spit it out, Captain Myers.”

The Captain of the Arrogant sighed and sat back.  “I want you to relinquish command.”

Matt sat perfectly still, and then tapped one finger on the arm of his command chair.  “For what possible reason would I do that, Captain Myers?”

“You have four months seniority over me, Matt.  Four months.  And almost a year of that seniority you spent in hospital wards and running a desk at Starfleet Headquarters, not sitting in the commander’s chair.  You aren’t physically in any condition to deal with the stress of command, and your ship . . .” William Myers paused and he grimaced.  “Matt, the only reason Republic is even in service is that they hope you might pull off some miracle of turning that garbage scow into a Starfleet Starship!  Between your crew, that relic, and your physical lack of well-being, Sir, I submit that aren’t up to making the hard choices anymore.  Hell, Admiral Parker sent you on a two-month trip to the Cygnus Sector, Matt!  Admiral Hall doesn’t need more ships out there; he did it to get you and that mutinous rust-heap out of the way!”

“Are you done, Captain Myers?” Matt asked in a soft voice that made even Chan Shrak shiver with the chill he conveyed.

“I did ask to say my piece in private, Captain Dahlgren.  You forced my hand on this, however.”

“I will log your statement for the record, Captain Myers, but your request is denied.”

“Matt, just think about this for a . . .”

“Captain Myers!” Matt snapped.  “You will address me as Captain Dahlgren, or Sir.  Do you understand me?”

“I do,” William replied through clenched teeth.  “Sir.”

“Whether my seniority over you is a matter of four minutes, four days, four weeks, four months, four years, or four decades, Captain Myers, it remains that I am, in fact, senior to you; and the senior officer on this station.  Is that not correct, Captain Myers?”

“It is, Sir.”

“As I have been cleared by Starfleet Medical, Starfleet Command, and this ship’s surgeon for duty, my physical health and well-being is none of your concern, Captain.  I will note your objections and your statement in my log, but just so we are clear on this issue, Captain Myers, do you intend to follow my orders or must I order your executive officer to relieve you of command and place you in confinement within your own brig?”

William inhaled sharply.  “You wouldn’t dare . . .”

“Don’t think that for one second, Captain Myers,” Matt interrupted.  “You and I are both aware that Captain Salok can recite verbatim the exact text of the regulations you are on the verge of breaking, without once resorting to reading the information from a PADD.  You know that he will endorse my relief of you—for cause, Captain Myers!—and he will recommend you stand a general court-martial.”

Arrogant’s captain sat heavily back, but he finally nodded.  “I hoped to convince you, for the good of the service, Captain Dahlgren.  I will, of course, follow regulations and obey your orders until the arrival of your senior officer, Captain Salok.”

“Good.  Is there anything else you need, Captain Myers?”

“No, Sir.”

“Very well.  Let me make one additional thing crystal clear to you, Bill.  If you ever refer to this ship and her crew in those terms again, either in public or in private, then by God, Sir, I will see you broken out of the service, after which I will track you down when you set foot on a planet where dueling is still legal, and then, God as my witness, I will put either a foot of cold steel or a slug through your heart.  Is that understood, Captain Myers?”

“Yes, Sir,” William whispered as he stared at the screen.

 â€œGood.  Then let us put this . . . conversation behind us, Captain Myers.  Have you received the coordinates my helmsman transmitted?”

“We have, Captain Dahlgren.  Why aren’t we splitting up to search for the Nephkyrie ship—and why are we starting so close?  Those coordinates are just over a third of a light-year away?”

“Because we have already located the second Nephkyrie ship, Captain Myers; or did you forget that Republic has deployed in excess of two dozen high-speed probes over the past few days?”

The other captain sat sharply upright.  “You didn’t inform me that you located them!” he barked.

Matt stared at the screen in cold contempt until William finally relaxed and uttered one more word.  “Sir.”

“The probes detected the second ship less than fifteen minutes ago, Captain Myers.  Right where the children we have prisoner stated it would be, if it were launched four months after the first according to the schedule as they understood it.”

“But we don’t even know their relative measure of hours or days; how did you . . .”

“We talked to them, Captain Myers.  And we found out how long their hours were, approximately, and how many of their hours were in a day, and how many of their days in a week; in short we used our brains and our humanity to gently ask questions instead of interrogating them as if they were Jem’Hadar shock troops.”

“I want you to hold Arrogant at two million kilometers, Captain Myers.  From there, you will act as my reserve in the event these Nephkyrie prove as hostile and intractable as those of the first ship.  Republic will make contact and attempt to initiate a discussion.  You are to take NO hostile action, regardless of provocation, unless either I order you to do so, I am incapacitated, or Republic has been destroyed.  Is that understood, Captain Myers?”

“Yes, Sir,” William answered sourly.

“Very well.  We warp out in two minutes, Captain.  Get your ship ready.”  Matt didn’t wait for a reply and he cut the transmission from his own panel on the arm of his command chair.  And then he frowned.  He rotated his command chair to look at Chan.

“Mister Shrak.  It appears that this conversation was just broadcast throughout the entire ship—with the exception of the bridge loudspeakers.”

Chan’s antennae quivered.  “I must have accidently activated it, Captain Dahlgren,” he answered with a sly smile.  “All-ship broadcast is now terminated.”

“Thank you, Mister Shrak,” the Captain said as he rotated his command chair back forward.

“Miss Montoya, is our course plotted?”

“Yes, Sir, and the engines are ready.”

“Mister Malik, set transporter inhibitor to full-strength.”

“Full strength, aye, aye, Sir.”

“Mister Shrak.   Sound General Quarters and set Red Alert throughout the ship.”

“Sounding General Quarters . . . all compartments report secure for action.”

Matt sat back in his seat.  “We will show that arrogant son-of-a-bitch just how much difference there is between our Republic and a rusting out garbage scow of mutineers,” he whispered just loud enough that the bridge crew could pretend that hadn’t heard him utter the words—but Matt saw the wide grins on their faces.

“Engage, Miss Montoya."

Enjoying this MA! Keep it going. 

Chapter Twenty (cont.)

Republic came out of warp some six hundred thousand kilometers distant from the second of the Nephkyrie ships, her hull barely showing as a small dot in the depths of the view screen.

“Magnify,” Matt said, as he secured his restraining safety belt.  The screen flashed, and the sleeper ship grew much larger.

“Miss Montoya, match velocity and vector with that ship.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

The Starfleet cruiser altered her heading and began to parallel the ancient vessel.

“Captain Dahlgren,” Chan said from his station, “we are being scanned.  Their weapons are off-line.”

“Hail them, Mister Shrak.”

The Andorian pressed a few controls and then he shook his head.  “No response.”

“Very well.  Miss Montoya, take us in to a range of 400,000 kilometers—slowly and smartly.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Matt rotated his command chair, to face his science officer.  “Miss Tsien.  Scan that vessel, stem to stern, if you please.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.  I have altered the sensor beam modulations based on the data from our first encounters; we should be able to get a clearer picture with this one.  Configuration identical to the first ship, weapon systems identical, hull composition identical . . . sir, I am detecting close to fifty thousand life-forms, but all of them appear to be in stasis.”  Amanda frowned.  “Make that thirteen thousand adult life-forms and thirty-five thousand juveniles.  The majority of interior compartments are in vacuum, with no power and no life support.”  She paused.  “Correction, the ship is diverting power and life support to a cluster of compartments—and I am now detecting several dozen active life signs.”

Matt nodded and he rotated his seat back to face the main viewer.  “Let’s give them a moment to wake up, shall we.  Miss Montoya, what is the range to that ship?”

“484,000 kilometers, Sir.”

“Hold position.”

“Aye, sir; holding position relative to the Nephkyrie vessel.”

For two long minutes, there was absolute silence on the bridge, other than the hum of the instrumentation.  And then Chan looked up.

“Captain Dahlgren, we are being hailed.”

“On screen.”

The viewer flickered and then the image of a Nephkyrie appeared.  “Greetings.  I am Shipmaster Voltanis, representing the Nephkyrie Solidarity.”

Matt unbuckled his belt and he stood.  “And I am Matthew Dahlgren, commander of the Federation Starship Republic.”

Voltanis bowed his head.  “Forgive me for asking, Matthew Dahlgren, but my sensors indicate that this ship remains in deep space .  . . how did you manage to locate us?”

“Yours is not the first Nephkyrie vessel which we have encountered, Shipmaster Voltanis.  And that first contact was . . . a difficult one which we wish to ask your assistance in resolving.”

“Difficult, Matthew Dahlgren?”

“Your Speaker, Typhias, has not been willing to . . .”

The Nephkyrie jerked on the screen.  “Typhias is not Speaker!  He is a clerk to the Prime Speaker!”

Matt waited and then he nodded.  “Regardless, he claims to be Speaker of the Nephkyrie Solidarity.  The government of races that I represent—the Federation—did not understand your markers, Shipmaster Voltanis, and we placed a colony upon the world which your ships are travelling to, a world we call New Columbia.  My ship discovered that Typhias abducted all twelve thousand of our citizens, beaming them aboard his ship, and placing them in stasis.”

“Has he gone mad?” A second Nephkyrie voice came across through the viewer, and a regally attired being stepped forward.  “How may I address you, Matthew Dahlgren?  I am Belagon, and I Speak for the Solidarity upon Ark Two.”

“My proper title is Captain Dahlgren, or simply Captain, mister Speaker,” Matt said with a bow of his own.

“What you say cannot be true, Typhias’s action would never be permitted by those chosen to lead Ark Prime.”

“Mister Speaker, he did beam aboard our entire colony—claiming that my species was compatible with the Nephkyrie and could serve as a means to cure your genetic damage.  Unlike this vessel, there are only a few hundred adult members of your race aboard his ship—and they had sufficient stasis pods to place my people in hibernation sleep.”

Belagon’s shoulders slumped.  “Compatible?  He follows the teachings of the Gathering then.”

“The Gathering?”

“Long ago, Captain Dahlgren, when our race discovered that our genetic diversity had been lost and the damage to our chromosomes proved too wide spread to treat, a small cabal of the Solidarity refused to wait on the advances of science to find a cure.  They called themselves the Gathering, and they took samples from all of the species that surrounded our dying sun.  They altered them and they distilled them, and they found a way to negate—for a time—our damage.”

“But then the Solidarity learned of their methods in finding this treatment, and they were tried as criminals of the first order.  We thought them long dead and gone from our society.”

“Your vessel carries at least as many crew as you claim Typhias has, Captain Dahlgren.  And of multiple species, no less.  Impressive.  Why have you not recovered your colonists from him?  Why have you sought out the Solidarity, risking that we would be like him?”

“His crew consists of only a few hundred adults, it is true.  But there are many thousands of other Nephkyrie awake aboard the ship.”  Matt paused.  “Your stasis pods appear to stop the physical aging process; are they the same as the ones installed aboard your Ark Prime?”

“Yes.  He has waked the children?  They children are not mature—surely you can handle them?”

“Mister Speaker, he has, to the best of our knowledge, changed the pods so that those within still age physical.  Your children on Ark Prime are physically mature—and he is arming and training them as soldiers.”

“You lie!” Voltanis snapped.  “Not even a Gatherer would dare do such a thing!  It . . . it . . . it is incomprehensible!”

“I am sorry that I must be the one to convey this information, Shipmaster, mister Speaker.  But we have ninety-nine of your children—mature in body, but not in mind—that Typhias trained, armed, and sent aboard my ship to capture it.  You are welcome to speak with them.”

The Nephkyrie Shipmaster began to speak, but Belagon touched his shoulder and shook his head.  “I will beam aboard your ship, then, Captain.  I will see for myself what horrors Typhias has committed.”

Matt shook his head.  “We are well aware that your race can deliver fusion warheads via the transporters; however, I will allow you to beam aboard one of our shuttles, which will then carry you back to this vessel.”

“That is a reasonable precaution, Captain Dahlgren.  I shall await your shuttle and I will bear witness.”

The screen blanked, and Matt let out a deep breath, and sat back down, wincing as his leg sent a deep stabbing pain into his thigh.  He rotated the seat and faced his executive officer.

“Mister Shrak.  Launch the shuttle Ross and prepare to receive Speaker Belagon.  Have a detail standing by to render full Presidential honors, Mister Shrak.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Dahlgren.”

Matt punched a stud on his chair.  “Doctor Talbot, meet me in my ready room,” he said.  He stood up, and took his cane.  “Miss Biddle.  You have the conn.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” she answered as Matt limped across the bridge.