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Nice job quartermaster!

Chapter Fourteen (cont.)

Matt limped onto the bridge and crossed the deck to his command chair, from where Chan stood and stepped aside.

“Captain Dahlgren,” he said softly, “Mister Malik reports that all breaches have been sealed, the remaining repairs will be undertaken en route.  All stations are manned, and Republic is ready to get under way.”

Matt nodded.  “I’ve spoken with Captain Garvick aboard the Endeavor, Chan.  Would you believe that she is missing thirty-four photon torpedoes from her magazine storage?  Which happens to be precisely the number that we needed to top off our own magazines?”

“Just wait until you Commodore Sampson calls and wants to know why ten quantum warheads walked away from his own ordnance storage, Sir.”

Matt jerked.  “Quantums?  Quantums?  Our tubes can’t shoot quantums!”

“Mister Malik thinks that we can adapt the Mk. 70-Q warheads to fit inside our Mk. 60 casings—we’ll lose some range and the tertiary guidance systems, and he and the ordnance specialists will have to refit each torpedo by hand; but he assures me it can be done.”

“And how, pray tell, are you scoundrels planning on priming the quantum torpedoes, Chan?  The launchers are not designed for the influx of energy it takes to arm those warheads?”

“The main deflector plasma power conduit runs just below the launchers; Mister Malik believes that he can install a new bypass that will provide the needed power in just a few days—especially with the new replicator and the horde of engineers we have onboard.”

Chan’s antennae twitched.  “Of course, we could just transport the warheads back to McKinley if you want to go through proper channels.”

“Not on your life, Mister Shrak.  I’m certain this crew stole them fair and square,” Matt answered with a smile.  “Assume your station for departure.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Matt sat, and he activated the ship-wide intercom.

“This is the Captain.  To those of you who have recently joined the crew and complement of USS Republic, I welcome you aboard ship.  As you are probably already aware, our vessel, this proud vessel, has a cloud hanging over her name.  She bears a reputation that makes our fellow spacers in Star Fleet shake their heads and make disparaging remarks.  They render insults that in truth this crew does not deserve.  You are asking yourselves what have I done to deserve this?”

“Instead, you should be asking yourself what am I going to do to restore Republic her good name.  What actions will I take to make this ship the finest in the Fleet?”

“Gentlemen, ladies; reputations can lie.  And those crew who were with me in the Cauldron will tell you that.  Comrades!  We have had our leave cut short—we are sailing once again into depths of space, with repair parties still working on restoring this ship.  We see the scorn in the eyes of our brother and sister officers of the Fleet; we see the disdain that the Council holds our ship in.”

“They do not know what you accomplished so recently; they do not know how Republic kicked the ass of a modern Klingon battle-cruiser; excuse me, a Class 10 ion storm!”

Chuckles arose across the bridge.

“They do not know, comrades, but it does not matter.  Because WE KNOW.  And the rumor mill run amuck is ensuring that even now, though the records are sealed, people are becoming aware of what this ship and her crew have accomplished.  We have shed blood together and shed tears together; we have lost members of our family who gave to their lives to protect the citizens of the Federation, and the Kraal people from tyranny.  It is up to you to show the universe that their lives were not given in vain!”

“Be proud of who and what you are!  Crew and officers of the USS Republic!  For today, we sail once more, our destination the Cygnus Sector, where we will join Admiral Hall on the frontiers of the Federation!  Our mission to explore the unknown worlds that lay beyond our acknowledged borders, to seek out new cultures and civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before!  Today we start a new era for USS Republic!  Today, we will be that shining beacon that lights the path into the future!”

“Long ago, on Earth, many years before space-flight was little more than a dream of men considered mad—the writers of fiction.  Long ago, in that world, there was a great conflict between two differing ideologies, one that would have enshrined the enslavement of our fellow man and the other representing the ideals that we as a Federation carry forward to this day.”

“And from that conflict, there arose a song, ladies and gentlemen.  Comrades, that song is OUR SONG.”

Matt pressed another stud and over the ship’s loudspeakers, a robust baritone voice began to sing.

“Mine eyes have the seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; he hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword; His Truth is marching on.”

“Glory, glory, hallelujah!  Glory, glory, hallelujah!”   

Matt spoke up, even as the song continued to play throughout the ship.  “This is our anthem, this is our legacy.  This is the Battle Hymn of our own Republic!  And if you will not live up to the promise of this ship, then so help me God I’ll kick your ass so fast and hard that you will achieve warp without a starship!”

More chuckles erupted as the song reverberated across the bulkheads and decks of the ship.

“Miss Montoya!  Ahead dead slow, until we clear the berth, and then set course for the Cygnus Sector—Warp Seven.”

“Aye, aye, Sir!” she barked in answer.

Chan held one hand to his ear-piece.  “Captain, Commodore Sampson and Lt. Commander Adrian are hailing us.”

“On speaker,” said Matt.

“Shall I discontinue the music, Captain Dahlgren?”

“No.  Let it sing out, Mister Shrak.”

The Andorian’s antennae twitched, but he only said, “On screen.”

The station commander’s eyes grew wide as he heard the song thundering over the intercom.  “Matt, we’ve got a problem.”

“Commodore.  If you are referring to the missing quantum warheads, there is no problem.  Sign them out to Republic—they are already in our magazines.”

The angry looking junior officer standing beside the Commodore slammed down his fist.  “I’ll file every charge against you I can, you bloody thief!  How dare you . . .”

“LIEUTENANT COMMNANDER!” barked Matt as he stood.  “Speak to me in that insubordinate tone of voice again, and I will have you broken, Sir.  I can—and will—transfer your ass aboard this ship and assign you every shit detail I have.  Commodore, check with Admiral Parker and you will find we are authorized for a full magazine load—an authorization that this p’tahk ignored.  We had to scrounge torpedoes from the Endeavor, although with the permission of Captain Garvick.”

After the fact permission, Matt thought, but permission nonetheless!

“He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; he is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat!”

Sampson nodded.  “God speed, Captain Dahlgren; I’ll have the paperwork cleared up retroactively—don’t do this again at my station.  Is that understood, Captain?”

“Crystal, Sir.”

“We have cleared the berth, Sir,” Isabella called out from the helm.

“Then bring us about, and take into Warp, Miss Montoya,” Matt said as he sat once more.

Republic leaped forward as shot away from Earth, even as the voices continued to crescendo.  “Glory, glory, hallelujah!  Glory, glory, hallelujah!  His truth is marching on!"

Looking forward to more!

Interesting.

Lock and Load The Borg have arrived maybe

Those youngsters do hit the high notes

Chapter Fifteen (cont.)

“Good seal, Mister Roberts?” asked Chief Bronson as he latched the helmet in place.  Chris nodded and then gave the older NCO a thumbs up, but then he saw the chief chuckling through the visor of his own EVA helmet.

Chris blushed.  “All green, Chief,” he said over the built-in comm.

“That’s the spirit, Sir.  Keep your sense of humor and you’ll go far in this Star Fleet.  First time wearing this setup for real?”

“Well, we did practice in a depressurized cargo bay aboard the training ship Kongo at the academy . . .” Chris’s voice trailed off.

“Take it slow and easy, Sir.  White Cloud has internal gravity and atmosphere—but we don’t know about the composition of that atmosphere.  Your air flow good?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Give me a 360 rotation, Sir,” Bronson said as he backed away and set a wall monitor in Transporter Room 3 to display mode.  As Chris slowly turned around in a circle, the camera built into the suit’s helmet showed the rest of the twelve-member away team making their own final preparations.  “Good, good.”

“You are set, Mister Roberts.  Got your tricorder and phaser?”

“Yes, Chief,” Chris answered in a slightly exasperated voice.

“You have loaded the schematics of the White Cloud into your tricorder?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“And your phaser is locked on stun?”

“Yes, Chief!”

“Check it, please, Mister Roberts,” Bronson half-suggested and half-ordered.

Chris pulled the phaser from his belt holster, keeping it pointed away from the rest of the crew.  Yes, it was set on stun, and yes he had it locked to prevent the setting from being changed.  “Yes, Chief, phaser is set.”

“Is it armed, Sir?  Or do you still have it on safe mode?”

Chris blushed; no, he hadn’t armed the weapon—which meant it wouldn’t fire if he pressed the stud.  “Yes, Chief; it’s armed now,” the ensign whispered as he pressed the priming key and placed the weapon back into its holster.

“Don’t worry none, Sir.  My first away mission I forget to arm my phaser and got the surprise of my life when it didn’t work against two Nausicaan smugglers on Deneb Kaitos III.  Got four broken ribs, a shattered scapula, and fractured skull from those two before the rest of my team could react—but I’ve never forgot to arm my phaser since, Mister Roberts.”

Grace Biddle stepped up onto the transporter pad with the first beam-in section.  “Energize,” she said, and six sparkling waterfalls of light appeared and they vanished.

“Our turn, Mister Roberts,” the NCO whispered over the comm as he mounted the platform.

Chris followed and he turned around to face the transporter chief.  And then he heard Isaac Bronson’s quiet voice again as the chief cleared his throat.  “Mister Roberts, you are the senior officer of this section.”

Chris blushed, and he quickly looked to make certain everyone was on their assigned pad.  “Energize,” he ordered, and the transporter hummed and came to life, beaming him across to the bridge of the White Cloud.

And then he materialized into a scene out of Hell.  Chris gagged as he saw the bloody mass of twisted and distorted tissue and bone that oozed out of the captain’s chair.  He quickly averted his eyes, but the helm, the navigation station, the tactical console, the engineering station—all of them were occupied by those . . . things.

He retched, seeing the trails of blood and feces and urine that covered the deck and bulkheads, and then Chief Bronson stepped up directly in front of him and took hold of his EVA suit.

“Deep breath, Mister Roberts!  Don’t you vomit into that helmet, Sir!” he said quietly, his voice stern, but gentle—and filled with unease.  “I’m increasing your O2 flow by 5%, take a deep breath, relax . . . and be glad we can’t smell this, Sir.”

Chris felt the cool, crisp airflow into the helmet increase slightly, and he nodded slowly.  “Sorry, Chief; I wasn’t expecting . . .” his voice trailed off.

“Easy, Sir.  Easy.”

Grace tapped her comm badge.  “Away Team Two to Republic.”

“Go ahead, Miss Biddle,” Chris heard the Captain’s voice.

“Sir.  We’ve found the remains of part of the White Cloud’s crew.  Sir, they appear to have been caught in a transporter malfunction—their patterns . . . their patterns must have shifted and collapsed during materialization.  It’s a mess over here, Sir.”

“Understood, Miss Biddle; we are receiving your video transmission," the Captain replied in a tight clipped voice.  "Do you need assistance?”

“Negative, Captain.  We will begin sweeping the ship.  Away Team Two, out.”

“Mister Zapata,” she said quietly.  “It appears their main computer interface is on Deck 2; take Harrison and see what you can find there.  We’ll divide into teams of two, people, and conduct a compartment by compartment search—including Jeffries tubes.  Maintain communications with me and the ship.  Leave the . . . bodies . . . alone for now—but get full tricorder scans for medical.  She’s only got six decks, so this shouldn’t take long.”

As the away team divided up and began to move towards the turbolifts, she turned to the ensign.  “Chris, you all right now?”

“Yes, ma’am.  Sorry ma’am; it won’t happen again.”

“All right, then; get cracking Mister Roberts—Deck Three.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Chris answered.  “Chief, shall we?”

“After you, Mister Roberts.”