Intriguing. And I think I've figured out what happened to the Kobali. It'll be interesting to see if I turn out to be right - and it'll be a fun ride in either event.
Having flown the Dauntless, though, I can tell you that it's about the most useless endgame ship in the game. To say that it has military potential is to say that a thrown brick has military potential; technically true, but there are SO many better options.
But bricks are so much cheaper than starships ... if somewhat smaller in scale. I would not wish to try to hurl a starship through a window, however. The wall around the window might not exist afterward (or the rest of the building, for that matter).
I'd recommend a sword with a curved blade instead. Something like ... a scimitar. Which might more effectively not only take out the window, wall, and building, but the entire city block as well.
These non sequitur remarks brought to you courtesy of: We-care-not-whence-our-remarks-come-or-where-they-may-go, Inc.
Now back to our regularly scheduled Shevet magnum opus.
"I love it when a plan comes together," I say, as I pick myself up off the concrete floor. Hal Welti, the human who's backing me up on this one, shoots me kind of a worried look. "I mean, in general. I mean, I probably would, if a plan ever did come together."
Another explosion splits the air, this one a bit further away, so we both manage to keep our feet. Hal checks his tricorder, his dark face, already creased with age, sprouting new worry lines with every second that passes. I lean back against the wall of a warehouse. It doesn't collapse, which is something.
"I'd guess that's our allies," I say. "They reckon we didn't make it in past the blockade, so they've got some raiders through to make strafing runs of their own. Damn it, I'd hate to be shot by the wrong Kazon."
"My ambition," says Hal, in his gravelly doleful voice, "was always to die in bed."
"Well, there must be a bed round here someplace." I stand up. "How are we on the spatial charges?"
Hal checks his backpack. The backpack doesn't actually carry explosives, it holds a nice big modified transporter buffer, and that carries the explosives. Hopefully. If the patterns haven't been scrambled. Hal looks fractionally less miserable than usual, though, so maybe they haven't been.
His answer to me, though, is drowned out in a thunderclap of noise, accompanied by a flash of light that makes the whole storage depot bright as day for an instant. "I think someone just got hit," I say, once my ears have stopped ringing.
"Confirmed," says Hal. "Kazon-Wolva raider, just like you thought - heading for the stratosphere and leaking warp plasma like crazy." I can see the streak of fire, rising into the night sky. I can see bright dots moving towards it, too.
"Now might be a good time to lie down and cover our eyes," I say, and suit actions to words.
Even when I'm facing the concrete, the flash as the raider's warp core goes is bright enough to hurt my eyes, and I make quite sure not to stand up until after the sound hits, a terrific bruising rumble that pushes us both flatter against the ground. Took a while. High in the stratosphere when the core went up - with big doses of hyronaline, we should both get over the radiation exposure.
"At least it was a distraction," I mutter.
Hal rummages in one ear with his little finger, says, "What now?"
"Stick to the plan." We did have a plan. It might need to be sort of adapted, but I'll deal with that when I have to. "First charge needs to be set -" I get my bearings. The fading glow from the destroyed raider kind of helps, actually. "Over there. 'bout a hundred metres. Let's go."
We lope off, sticking to the shadows as much as we can. Bits of destroyed raider are still lighting up the night sky, and there are flashes from farther away, too, as the fighting in orbit continues. There is a lot more fighting in orbit than we'd planned on. A lot more.
We reach the corner of another warehouse, and my combadge beeps at me. I really should've put it on vibrate or something. "Pex," I say, slapping it.
"You all right?" Umaro Ajbit's voice.
"Yeah, sure, for now. Proceeding on plan, setting charges." We've found the first point, anyway. Hal fiddles with the backpack, and a spatial charge materializes on the cornerstone of a big building. I sort of throw a nearby tarpaulin over it. Anti-tamper mechanisms should blow it anyway if someone spots it and tries to defuse it, but every little helps, right? "What's things like upstairs?" I ask.
"Intense," says Ajbit. "A lot more intense than Rai Sahen said it would be."
"Many things go muchly bang," I hear Veb say in the background.
"Well, it figures." One thing we all know by now, everyone's favourite Romulan spookette's plans never quite work out the way she means them to. "We've got three more charges to place. Can you hold out till then?"
"We'll try, sir, but the Kazon-Nirriz are putting up one hell of a fight. What about ground security?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. If you hear screams, they got us. Gonna do this now. Pex out."
"In space," Hal says gloomily, "no one can hear you scream." I think it's a quotation. Hal's into classical literature and stuff.
I look around. Kazon-Nirriz security is mostly predicated on the general Kazon principle of "I can't be bothered with scut work", but with armed ships from a rival faction in orbit, they might well wake up and get themselves organized a bit. On the other hand, that raider bit the dust, doing that strafing run, and the Nirriz may be running around high-fiving each other and not paying attention to little us. You pays your money and you takes your chance, I guess.
"Next one," I say to Hall, and point. We have a reasonably clear run between two decrepit looking storage buildings. There is a very visible surveillance camera on a post, but my tricorder says it's not working. So we run down the alleyway and don't worry too much about that. I try to keep an ear out for noises, but with the fires and general hoo-ha started by the Wolva's abortive raid, there's a lot of noise around and I can't sort it out, much.
We get to the second site, and plant the second spatial charge. This one should knock down one corner of the warehouse we've put it on, and the building we set the first charge on should come down on top of this one, and really the next two charges are just insurance, but we need insurance for this job anyway, and I'm starting to ramble again, which I tend to do when I'm worried. I'm one of those people who talk a lot when they're nervous. I really hope I never get interrogated, for all sorts of reasons, but that's one of them. It isn't hard to get me to talk, is what I'm saying.
The third site is an EPS grid substation, and if I was running things around here, I'd have a guard on it. But the Kazon-Nirriz are running things around here, and they don't. Easy enough for Hal to hide the explosive charge in the works of the thing, and it will go muchly bang, as Veb might say. The noises are quieting down overall, though. Don't like that. Don't like it when the enemy is quiet, but not dead. We can't run our tricorders for more than brief bursts, too, or even Kazon security will spot the active scans -
So we trust to luck as we approach the last site, at the base of a sensor pylon whose collapse might mess up their forensic analyses of the blasts, if they even bother to try them - and our luck runs out as I dash out of an alleyway and up to the pylon.
"Halt!"
Oh, boy. Good news is, only one guard. Bad news is, not Kazon. Long leather trenchcoat, sharp, feral features, and that fleshy cowl that rises from the collarbones to frame the head -
The Vaadwaur levels his gun at me, and says with a sneer, "What are you doing here, Talaxian scum?"
I decide not to dignify that with a verbal response. Instead, I lash out with my foot, connecting neatly just where humanoid males appreciate it least. He feels it. He obviously has some sort of body armour on, but my mining boots are heavy.
The gun goes off, punching through my personal shield and blowing a neat hole in my vest. Fortunately, this loose miner's uniform covers a multitude of sins, and also - in my case - concealed Hirogen body armour. Sorta cut down from the original size, because the Hirogen are a bit big compared to me, but still effective. I feel the impact, very much so, but it doesn't put me down.
The Vaadwaur snarls and leaps for me. I meet his leap with a stiff punch to the throat, following up with a judo throw that knocks the remaining wind out of him. People like this guy never expect Talaxians to fight. They certainly never expect Talaxians to fight with advanced Starfleet hand-to-hand combat training. I wham him some more in the sensitive bits before he can get up, and then Hal comes out of the alley and kicks him scientifically in the head, and he goes all of a heap and lies still.
"Plant that last charge and let's get while the getting's good." I'm going to have one hell of a bruise where that shot hit me. Never mind. I whip out the tricorder and risk a fast scan.
"What's a Vaadwaur doing here?" Hal asks as he sets the charge.
I look glumly at the tricorder. "Playing with several dozen of his pals, from the looks of it. Kazon-Nirriz, we could handle, but with this many snakeheads, I wanna get out of here like yesterday." I hit my combadge. "Pex to Ostankino. Ajbit, you there?"
"Hanging on, sir."
"Fine. We have Vaadwaur down on the ground, in force. We're retreating now to minimum safe distance and blowing these charges. How soon can you get through and pick us up?"
"We'll start an approach run now, sir, but it'll attract attention. Could get rough." The night sky is still alive with transient flashes of light. Looks like it's plenty rough already.
"OK, see you soon. Pex out." I turn to Hal. "Let's get moving." I point. "No snakeheads that way."
So that's the way we move, and fast. Vaadwaur. Intelligence thought the Kazon-Nirriz were getting cosy with the Vaadwaur, and now we have proof for sure. Admittedly, the Vaadwaur Supremacy is kind of in disarray at the moment, what with its top leadership being exposed as puppets for the bluegills, and their main forces getting curb-stomped by the alliance at Vaadwaur Prime... but they are still trouble, and trouble big time.
And the Kazon-Nirriz, like so many Kazon sects, is on the lookout for strong alliances... fortunately, it took Intelligence only a few minutes to find a rival sect of Kazon who would act as cover while we pulled this little raid. Except this smooth in-and-out operation is proving anything but. Something is seriously amiss here, I think to myself. I don't let the thinking stop me running, though.
"Minimum safe distance," gasps Hal, "I think -"
"So let's find out." I hit the transmit icon on my tricorder, and stuff starts to happen.
First, the brilliant flashes of the spatial charges, and then the sound hits us, and I do mean hits. Once again, I'm knocked off my feet and sprawling on the concrete, which is jumping up and down as the shockwaves run through the ground. There is the rumble and the crash of falling buildings, and from my position flat on my back I can see that sensor pylon topple and fall - not, fortunately, in my direction. There are alarms. There is gunfire, though what anyone's shooting at, I couldn't tell you.
Then, the screaming starts.
I get to my feet, help Hal to his, slap my combadge. "Pex to Ostankino. Good news, it worked. Good news, the Nirriz really were getting biotech weapons from the Vaadwaur. Bad news, those weapons were ready to roll, and when we blew them, the goop got loose. I reckon we've got about two minutes before the all-new biological action digests us like a pair of stubborn stains, so, y'know, get a shift on, huh?"
"On approach now." Ajbit's voice. "Keep your comms channel open, and stand very still, because we're only going to get one shot at this."
The screaming in the distance is awful. And there is a whiff of something unspeakable in the air. Hal and I exchange glances. If this doesn't work, I hope the angry Vaadwaur get us before the bio-agent does -
Then everything sparkles with blue light and goes away, and I'm back, with a jolt, in the Ostankino's transporter room. "Yay!" I shout at Voesyy, who's handling the transporter. I take a quick glance - yes, Hal's there beside me, and yes, all of him's there. "Nice work, hotshot!"
"We have company," the Rigelian grunts at me. "Better get to the bridge."
Good thing the Ostankino's a small ship, but she shakes several times as I charge up to the bridge. I vault into the command chair almost before Ajbit's out of it. "Let's have the news."
"Kazon-Wolva forces are regrouping in high orbitals," Ajbit says tersely. "They seem to be getting the better of it now, but there were easy twice as many Nirriz ships as we expected. We picked up a Nirriz carrier on our tail when we came in, but I think we lost it -" The ship rocks from a sudden impact. "Or not," Ajbit adds in sour tones.
"OK, let's go play with the big boy. Hard about, one seven niner mark two, and ready all cannons!"
Ajbit looks at me, concentrating on the singed hole over my heart. "You up to this?"
"Oh, slightly shot, scorched, shaken and irradiated, but it'll keep." I punch up the tactical display on my armrest console. We are altogether too close to a walloping great Kazon-Nirriz carrier, right enough, and it is already sending its own raiders out to give us a hard time. "Reinforce forward shields, set rapid fire on the cannons, get ready to roll the fun stuff."
The carrier's forward beam arrays lash out towards us, a volley of energy that should smash a normal Kazon raider into a billion flaming pieces -
The beams hit our Starfleet-standard Aegis shields, and splash almost harmlessly away. Ostankino judders, and a few flash-bangs go off on the bridge, but nothing we can't handle. "Attack pattern omega! Cannons, open fire!"
Corrosive plasma bolts yammer out of our forward cannons, burning through the carrier's shields, slamming into its side as it turns to present its energy broadside to us. The bolts are tuned to interfere with structural integrity fields, and under their impact huge sections of the carrier's outer plating buckle and break away. Another volley, and we've darn near carved another docking bay out of the Nirriz ship. Not that I want to dock with it. But it is a nice place to send a quantum torpedo, straight through shields and armour and into the carrier's guts.
"Three eight zero mark three seven! Vent theta radiation! Turrets to independent fire!"
Sickly green murk floods out of the Ostankino's belly, swallowing the stricken carrier in a destructive fog of charged particles, engulfing two raiders that were coming in close on our tail. A third one crosses our path, and Veb nails it with the forward cannons, spraying the wreckage of it across space. More impacts, more flash-bangs, more damage lights.
One raider down, two wallowing in the murk, there should be a fourth somewhere - that carrier may be hurt, but it's still shooting - I spot the fourth raider. "Steer three seven mark three two four, target that last raider, hit the isometric charges!"
Ostankino turns and swoops, the Aegis shields flaring under the barrage from the Kazon ships. The last raider whirls into the targeting reticle on my display, and Veb lets fling with both the cannons and the isometric charge. The Klingon-designed weapon lights up the sky with its electrical flickering, and it leaps, from one target to another -
The raider in the viewfinder explodes. The two in the theta cloud suddenly find that greenish fug lit up by clean white electrical light, and then they explode too. And the combination of theta radiation, and the mauling we gave it, and the nearby warp core breaches - it's all too much for the carrier, and the cloud of charged particles is suddenly blown away as that goes up, too, in a blast of flame.
"Muchly bang," says Veb with satisfaction.
"Pex." It's Goyar; I turn around and give him a cheery grin. "Got Majje Galvik on comms for you."
"On screen." The leader of the Kazon-Wolva appears on the main viewer. He looks, well, like any other Kazon, actually. A species so grubby even the Borg wouldn't take them. Galvik has tried to improve his appearance by tying a lot of parti-coloured feathers to his matted hair. He's failed.
But he's a happy Kazon, anyway. "Victory!" he shouts. "The Nirriz filth are in full retreat! The Kazon-Wolva prove their strength! Victory!"
"Great news, Majje Galvik," I say tactfully. I'm all about the tact. "And we've accomplished our objective on the ground - and given the Nirriz a bloody nose there, too. We couldn't have done it without your help." Which is true enough. I decide not to mention the idiot who did the strafing run and nearly got us killed. Tact, again.
"You fought well, for a Talaxian," Galvik says. There is a noise behind him on his bridge. "We will fight together again! Now, I celebrate with my warriors!"
"Glad to hear it, Majje," I say. "Good for you." The screen goes blank. I fiddle with the console, and the tac display comes back. The Kazon-Nirriz are cutting their losses, from the looks of it. Their remaining operable ships are warping out of the system in every direction. The Wolva cruisers are closing in on the non-operable ones... and I am very glad I'm not aboard one of those ships right now.
"Sickbay," Ajbit says firmly. "What was it, shot, scorched and irradiated?"
"You forgot shaken," I say. I stand up. "OK, sickbay. And, well, it's not for my own sake, y'know, it's for a friend... but I better have a chat with someone about incontinence, too."
"What?" says Ajbit.
"Incontinence. You know. Leaks." I give her one of my serious looks. "Twice as many Nirriz ships as we expected, and a ground detachment of Vaadwaur at the weapons depot. That sounds like precautions to me, precautions you don't take unless you know something's coming. Someone on the bad guys' side knew this operation was in the works. Maybe not the details, not enough of the details to stop us... but they knew, all right."
"We'll call him Gerald," says Hal Welti, "it's just a name." I think it's another quote.
Sounds to me like someone released a compound or agent that f*cked up the Kobali virus's process, like they NEED that virus to survive and the weapon stopped it from working.
Really cool. Serves the Kobali right for being Space Netanyahu as a species.
As for our latest chapter...yup, that Talaxian is a complete incompetent like any other Talaxian. As I've said before, being better than the Kazon is like being better than bacteria, especially with top Starfleet equipment on your side. Remember, the Kazon successfully killed themselves, by ACCIDENT, with a REPLICATOR.
But more importantly, what she SHOULD have done was to tip off the Benthans and have a joint Benthan/Alliance fleet warp in, bring a couple of Scimitars, jam all coms, waste the Kazon in 50-60 seconds, do a couple quick scans, and blow the whole facility into subatomic dust.
And then tell Rai Sahen to go stick her own head up her ***, because it might clear up her vision a tad.
I still don't like Pex, and I still want her to die painfully to make way for Rrueo, M'eioi, and hopefully some Caitian VS. Ferasan "dialogue" between the two.
"Well," I say, looking around at the ruins, "you cannot really ban research, in any case. Fields of study overlap... something quite innocuous may suddenly give insights into forbidden areas... and prohibiting some avenues of exploration actually draws some people towards them."
"If protomatter generation is outlawed, only outlaws will have protomatter generators?" says Joaj. She is inspecting one of the wrecked Hierarchy devices, her antennae twitching and quivering as she peers into the burned-out interior.
"Something like that." I look moodily at the wreckage. Protomatter, a protean substance, unfixed at the sub-chromodynamic level, in theory transmutable into anything - it is a tempting short cut for any number of scientific research projects. The problem, once the protomatter is transmuted, is stabilizing it and getting it to retain its new form. So far, the problem has proven... intractable. The failures take many different forms, but they are always dramatic.
So, my first official mission in the Delta Quadrant proves to be a grim one. The Hierarchy research station is positioned in empty space, seven light years from the nearest star, twenty from the Jenolan Dyson sphere. It is - or was - an early effort at collaboration with the Hierarchy, following up on the alliance of desperation against the Vaadwaur, attempting to usher in a new era of understanding with our new allies - the Hierarchy is still a poorly understood body....
Bodies. I look at the corpses littering the floor. The Andorian medic, Thales Islim, is kneeling beside one, scanning with his tricorder, his clean-cut features intent. I walk over to him. "What have you found?"
"What?" Thales looks up. "Oh. Well, they're dead, for a start...."
"I can see that much," I say patiently. "How did they die?"
"A number of different ways." Thales stands up, points to the rotund hairless form of the Hierarchy scientist. "This one, for instance, seems to have spontaneously developed multiple reduplicated DNA strands in his cells... I'm reading genetic material from twelve different species, at least three of them vegetable." I must look puzzled, for Thales adds, "Oh, the biochemical imbalances killed him long before any gross physical changes could take place. That one over there, on the other hand -" he indicates another still, contorted shape "- seems to have adapted, instantaneously, to breathe carbon instead of oxygen."
"But carbon is not a gas," I say.
"That was, rather, his problem," says Thales.
"Carbon is not a gas, at this temperature, at the moment," says Joaj, emerging from the bowels of the ruined generator. "But I'm not sure I'd answer for anything, just now. The structure of this station is compromised from the sub-atomic level up. I think the protomatter has all been consumed in the... reaction, whatever you want to call it. But this place is still not safe - a long way from it, in fact."
I touch my combadge. "M'eioi to Timor. Confirm you have transporter lock on the away team."
"Confirmed." The Vulcan engineer Saaral's voice; he is competent. "We can retrieve you at any sign of an emergency."
"Very well. We will document as much as we can. Prepare a forensic download of the station's computers - they'll probably be damaged, so run reconstruction and de-corruption algorithms as far as we can. And we will retrieve the bodies, to be returned for... well, whatever rites the Hierarchy has."
Thales pulls a face. "Some of them are definitely going to be closed casket jobs," he says.
"I don't doubt it," I say. "We can confirm there were no survivors?"
"Some of them lasted a few minutes longer than others, that's all." The Andorian's face, like his humour, is getting bleaker.
"All right. Let's do this, then let's get out of here and scuttle this station as a menace to navigation. Saaral, get me Research Manager Itoqual on subspace, he's going to need to know what's happened to his balance sheet." The Hierarchy is worse than the Ferengi in that respect. The Ferengi are bandit... the Hierarchy are accountants.
"Yes, sir," says Saaral's voice. "Sir - something of which you should be aware. We have a sensor contact at extreme range. Unidentified as yet, but indications are that it is approaching the station."
I frown. "Very well. Beam me back aboard, and we'll plan an intercept course." I turn to Joaj and Thales. "I've no idea what this might be, but you'd better finish up here as fast as possible."
"Yes, sir," says Joaj.
"I'll need body bags," says Thales.
---
By the time I reach the Timor's bridge, the unknown contact has been identified. "Hazari?" I ask.
Marya Kothe nods. "Frigate-class vessel... I expect there will be another close by, within easy subspace call." It is Hazari tactical doctrine - they travel in pairs.
I settle into the centre seat. "What do they want? Hail them."
"Hailing," says Sumal Jetuz. "I have a response."
"On screen." The scaly impassive features of a Hazari fill the main viewer. "This is Admiral M'eioi aboard the USS Timor," I say. "How can we assist you?"
The Hazari pauses for an instant, then snaps, "What's an Alpha Quadrant ship doing here?"
"This station is a joint venture between the Hierarchy and the Federation," I say patiently. "We responded to a distress signal. What's your business here, come to that?"
"I have a contract," says the Hazari. "With Station Director Wuquen, for his personal protection. We received a distress call, too. What's happened here?"
"Protomatter escape," I say. The Hazari's face gives little away, but I fancy I see the blunt beak-like mouth tighten a little. "I'm afraid your contract is... void, I guess."
"I want confirmation," says the Hazari. "I'd prefer to speak to Station Director Wuquen. Now."
I sigh. "Mr. Jetuz, patch in Dr. Islim aboard the station." Sumal nods briskly, touches his console, and after a moment the screen splits to show Thales's face as well. "Doctor, please confirm the status of Station Director Wuquen. This Hazari... gentleman... wants to speak to him."
"Oh, well, that won't be a problem," says Thales.
"It won't?" I am nonplussed.
"Not at all. Wuquen suffered total physical collapse during the protomatter incident. But we can pour him into a bathtub, and the Hazari can speak to him as much as he likes. Might be disappointed if he expects any answers, of course."
The Hazari's head lifts, and his little eyes glitter in an ugly way. "You'll have to excuse my doctor," I say. "The station's staff died in some... horrible... ways, and the stress is clearly getting to him."
Thales's face relaxes slightly. "Sorry, sir. I guess you're right. I'll transmit my post-mortem findings and all the identification I could gather. Will that help?"
"It will... have to be enough. Protomatter escape," the Hazari says glumly.
"I know how you people feel about your contracts," I say, "but there was no way you could protect Wuquen against that."
"No," says the Hazari, "no.... All right. Transmit all the relevant details. So I can be sure."
I'm tempted to challenge him - this Hazari arrogance, these demands. But it will do no harm for the truth to be known, and if he's really failed in a contract, he will feel the failure deeply. There's nothing to be gained from a further conflict, now. "I'll make sure you have all the requisite data. For form's sake, please send me confirmation of your contract arrangements. Just so our records are complete."
He nods. "That's... fair enough. I'll transmit them now."
For a little while, there is nothing but the flickering of graphs on my console, as data flashes between ourselves, the station, and the Hazari ship. Then, the Hazari speaks. "Well. That's that, then. I'll be leaving now." The screen goes blank.
"You're welcome," Marya mutters.
"Different cultures," I say. "And he must be distressed by his failure.... Still. Transmit all details of ship and contract to Delta Command, maybe Intelligence will find a use for it." I watch the screen as the winged arrowhead shape of the Hazari ship turns sharply, points itself away from us, and suddenly flashes and zooms off into warp.
I sit, pensively, for a while, mulling things over. The station's manager had an independent contract for Hazari protection? Why? The only plausible answer is one I don't like at all - that he was planning on some private enterprise of his own with the station's research, and wanted armed backup as a consequence. I think the forensic analysis of the station's records is going to be a high priority....
"Commander Joaj calling from the station," Sumal reports. "Downloading and forensic scans are complete, and Dr. Islim has accounted for and recovered all the bodies. They're finished over there, sir. And Research Manager Itoqual is calling from the Hierarchy central authority -"
"All right. Beam up the away teams and all requisite material. And put the Research Manager through."
The lumpy brown face of the Hierarchy official appears on the viewscreen. "Is it true?" he asks. "The station is... no longer viable?"
"Staff were killed, all equipment wrecked by the protomatter escape," I tell him. "My engineer confirms that the station itself must be regarded as structurally unsound. It's a total loss, I'm afraid, Manager Itoqual." I pause, and add, "You understand, now, the Federation's reluctance to engage in... certain lines of research."
"We stuck strictly to the letter of the guidelines," Itoqual says. "High-energy subquantum physics research. By any reasonable definition -"
"Quite," I say. "But subsequent funding from the Federation Council is likely to depend on a more exact definition, in future. We've recovered as much as we can of the station's data, and we'll transmit it to you, in accordance with the agreement." Another pause. "We also recovered the bodies of the station's staff. We can return them to you for burial or - whatever customs are appropriate - if that is your wish."
"Will there be a charge?"
I shake my head. "No charge. You should make the relatives aware, though, that the protomatter incident left some of the bodies in a distressing condition."
"Distress is hard to quantify financially. But I'll make a note of that." He heaves a sigh, his fleshy body quivering. "I hope that the Federation is not dissuaded entirely from... potentially profitable joint ventures."
"The Federation remains willing to forge alliances and form friendships," I tell him. He makes my flesh creep... but the essence of diplomacy lies in dealing with people you don't like. And I represent the Federation - I have to be a diplomat.
"This loss will not make our quarterly figures look any healthier," Itoqual says. "And I suppose there will be further costs for the disposal of the station itself, if it is as unsound as you say."
The station is a simple affair of small, cheap work and habitation modules bolted to a frame... Itoqual probably wants to salvage parts of it for re-use on other projects. But the protomatter contamination makes that inadvisable, to say the least. I touch the intercom panel. "Transporter room. Have we recovered all personnel and material?"
"Everyone and everything is safely aboard, sir."
"Excellent. Commander Kothe. The abandoned station is now no more than a navigational hazard. Target it, and engage the singularity projector."
Itoqual's round face registers astonishment. "We should waste no time," I tell him.
"Singularity projector engaged. Firing," Marya reports. A faint whine from the EPS system, a slight shudder as the projector fires. "Singularity running...."
"On screen."
The viewer shows the swirling bolt of twisted light, shows it streaking into the abandoned station... shows the structure implode into the green-black vortex of the singularity's collapse. When the screen clears, there is nothing left but a rapidly fading glow of ionized particles.
"Navigational hazard... removed," I say with some satisfaction. "For this, too, Manager Itoqual, we'll make no charge."
---
There are details to be dealt with, of course - the bodies, for one. I retire to my ready room to deal with the paperwork. I suppose, I think somewhat sourly, the paperwork comes with the rank, too....
I'm finishing the first draft of my report to Delta Command when the door chimes. "Come."
Sumal Jetuz enters. The carefully groomed Betazoid seems... skittish, somehow. "We have a communication, sir."
"What is it?"
"A Klingon vessel requesting help with a scientific problem. Apparently, some sort of plague hit a Kobali colony world, and they've not been able to identify the agent. They're on subspace right now -"
I stand up. "Well, with the resources of the Timor, that shouldn't be a problem." I stride to the door. For a moment, Sumal looks for all the world as though he wants to stop me. I look at him quizzically. "Is something the matter?"
"Ah, no, sir, it's just - well, the Klingon commander -"
"Well, let me take a look at them." I brush past him, wondering at his obvious agitation, and step onto the bridge, where the viewscreen shows the Klingon captain's face -
And I stop.
It might almost be my own face - almost. But it is midnight blue, instead of black, with a stripe of lighter blue across the eyes, and the ears and nose are adorned with barbaric jewelry, and beneath the upper lip, two monstrous fangs curve down.
Protomatter, a protean substance, unfixed at the sub-chromodynamic level, in theory transmutable into anything
Translation: Before-stuff, a versatile substance, not stable at the sub-color-changing level, in theory transmutable into anything.
My big problem is the "sub-chromodynamic" bit. It reminds me of one of my least favorite non-Janeway Voyager Ulcer moments, and enough to jolt me out of willing suspension of disbelief. I recommend a more plausible term like "Protomatter, a highly volatile substance, unstable at the quark level". If you've got something that has subatomic particles whose quark structure is unstable, it'll be extremely volatile but theoretically capable of becoming anything with appropriate manipulation.
This should be interesting. I've often wondered what a non-violent meeting of Caitian and Ferasan would be like. Something similar to Vulcans and Romulans?
I'm referring to the concept in quantum field theory, anyway. Even when it comes to technobabble, I do try to avoid the Humpty Dumpty method of "when I say a word, it means what I want it to".
I have no idea how protomatter is supposed to work in Trek science; neither, I suspect, does anyone else...
Well, of course I'm referring to quantum field theory. Why would protomatter have anything to do with Hypercolor clothing?
It was the "chromodynamic power modules" from VOY: "Prototype" that I thought of first.
Which is an episode that drives me nuts because without a particle accelerator how the flying f*ck are you going to replicate something that's run on nuclear forces? And because the technbabble can be replaced with "it's a color-changing battery".
I'm referring to the concept in quantum field theory, anyway. Even when it comes to technobabble, I do try to avoid the Humpty Dumpty method of "when I say a word, it means what I want it to".
I have no idea how protomatter is supposed to work in Trek science; neither, I suspect, does anyone else...
Yeah, I figured as much, but my initial response was still WTF enough to make me laugh at the wrong time.
you're doing a better job of making it make sense than anyone else has, though.
Um, wouldn't "protomatter" and "protean" mean something like "first matter" and "primal" or "initial", respectively? I mean, the Greek word the prefix is derived from literally translates into "first" - or so I've been taught.
Infinite possibilities have implications that could not be completely understood if you turned this entire universe into a giant supercomputer.
Um, wouldn't "protomatter" and "protean" mean something like "first matter" and "primal" or "initial", respectively? I mean, the Greek word the prefix is derived from literally translates into "first" - or so I've been taught.
"Protean" is actually "shapeshifting" or "versatile".
"Protomatter" means something vaguely like "early matter" or "pre-matter".
"Protos" is Greek for "first" - the shape-changing connotation comes from Greek, also, with regard to the shape-changing water god Proteus (who may have been called that because he was the first-born son of Poseidon, but is chiefly remembered these days for the shape-changing thing.)
My head-canon on this is that protomatter is a substance which has remained unfixed in form since the very earliest few nanoseconds of the universe... and that, since it's stayed that way for billions of years, there is some reason for that, which Federation-level science has yet to discover.
In the show, it seems to feature as "stuff which goes boom" or "stuff which goes spectacularly wrong" or "stuff which does both". All of which is fine by me.
"Protos" is Greek for "first" - the shape-changing connotation comes from Greek, also, with regard to the shape-changing water god Proteus (who may have been called that because he was the first-born son of Poseidon, but is chiefly remembered these days for the shape-changing thing.)
My head-canon on this is that protomatter is a substance which has remained unfixed in form since the very earliest few nanoseconds of the universe... and that, since it's stayed that way for billions of years, there is some reason for that, which Federation-level science has yet to discover.
In the show, it seems to feature as "stuff which goes boom" or "stuff which goes spectacularly wrong" or "stuff which does both". All of which is fine by me.
That is my interpretation as well, which makes me question how one is supposed to generate more of the stuff without a Big Bang-style event, which would definitely destroy your space station, along with the surrounding universe.
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
Terms don't always mean what you'd think. Based on the pattern of proton = positive charge, neutron = neutral charge, you'd think the negative particle would be a "negatron", but it's an electron.
Or take quarks. They come in six flavors. The flavors are up, down, top, bottom, strange, and charm; the only one of those normally associated with the concept of "flavor" might be "strange". Oh, yes, and they also have color charge - red, blue, green, antired, antiblue, and antigreen.
So just because the discoverer of this odd, unstable state of matter chose to call it "protomatter" doesn't necessarily indicate that it's primordial; it may merely be capable of collapsing into a number of distinct states of matter under stress, usually with, ah, unfortunate results.
I feel my fur bristling as I regard the image on the screen. The Unforgiven. Of course, I knew, intellectually, that Starfleet has many Caitian officers, but....
This one is surprisingly young, slim, black-furred - I fancy I see a worried look about her face, but that may just be her reaction at seeing me. I almost wish that I was present, physically, not just seeing her on the viewer. I would like to taste her fear.
"Admiral M'eioi aboard the USS Timor here," she says, and her voice is high-pitched but steady. "I understand you need Starfleet assistance." Is there a hint of an edge to that remark?
"Rrueo-Captain, Rrueo-Thinker... General Rrueo aboard the IKS Brathana," I say. "You will have received our digest of the situation in hand."
"I've only just been told of your need for help." The Caitian settles herself in her command chair. She looks wary. Good. "Summarize it for me."
"Rrueo will oblige, though you should acquaint yourself with the detail information. A Kobali settlement was wiped out by a plague of some sort. We do not know what sort. It is consistent with a virus, except that there is no virus. If Starfleet has any insight into this... conundrum... it would be appreciated."
"Some mutation of the Kobali virus itself?" the Caitian asks.
I sneer. "Naturally, that was the first thing we thought of. We have carried out extensive tests, and believe this not to be the case."
"I suppose I will need to see your... reasoning, then," says the Caitian. "At least we should be able to come up with some insights. The Timor's science lab is second to none."
"In Starfleet, perhaps," I cannot help but snarl.
"Is there any competition?" She studies, or pretends to study, a console readout. "All right. I will read through your data digest, and then perhaps we can meet." She raises her gaze to meet mine. "Aboard your ship, perhaps, in an hour from now? So we can follow up anything that needs more details?"
"Very well. Bring a security detachment, if you feel the need."
"We are allies, now. I may bring technical and medical staff, to assist. Unless I need security?"
"We are, as you say, allies. Rrueo will expect you in an hour, then - Admiral. Screen off." The viewer goes blank. I force myself to relax. "Caitian primitive!"
"She must have something, sir, to have reached her current rank," Oschmann observes.
"Rrueo supposes that must be true. But Rrueo has misgivings.... Well. Perhaps her staff is capable."
"You have that much - doubt - about Caitians, sir?" No Klingon officer would think to question a superior in such a manner - unless they planned a challenge for their rank. But Oschmann's mind-tone betrays only a guarded curiosity. "I've read some of the histories of the Caitian Diaspora. It was a complicated time -"
"Not really. They rejected the genetic uplifts that improved our species. So we drove them out. That is an adequate summary, in Rrueo's opinion." I gaze at the screen, now showing the gleaming rounded dart that is the Caitian's ship. "Imagine, if you will, seeing a starship commanded by your primitive cave-dwelling ancestors...."
"Considering some Starfleet captains I've known, sir, I hardly need to imagine," Oschmann remarks in dry tones. "But I've worked with Caitians who've been... capable."
I grunt. "Do you think, then, that we made a wrong decision, in... expelling the Unforgiven?"
"As a KDF officer, it is not my place to criticize my commanding officer - or her species. As a former Starfleet officer -" Oschmann makes a face. "The internal affairs of your species are your own business, as guaranteed by Starfleet's Prime Directive."
"So, in short, your answer is yes," I say. I can see K'Rokok suppressing a laugh on the other side of the bridge.
"I'm saying, sir, that some Caitians are very competent, for cavemen." She pauses. Clouds flit through her mind. "Also... my people have, well, an unhappy history with genetic augmentation."
"Rrueo is aware of this."
"Well, sir, I can understand that when you look at her, you see... a primitive. When she looks at you, though, she's seeing... Khan Noonien Singh." Oschmann's tone, of voice and of mind, is deadly serious now. "I think, sir, you're both going to have to learn to look past those first impressions."
I nod, slowly. "And the first one who does that... is the one who wins. Rrueo can appreciate that idea."
---
The Caitian beams over on schedule, and we meet in Brathana's conference room. She has brought two aides with her, an Andorian in medical uniform, and... a Betazoid. A telepath, to defend against a telepath. She does not trust me. I am unsurprised.
All three look impeccably Starfleet. The Caitian is groomed after the manner of her people, her black fur brushed and shining. The Betazoid is blond and blandly handsome, the Andorian square-jawed and upright in bearing. Such nobility of appearance. I look past it....
The Andorian's mind is as stern as his looks, facts marshalled, thought processes moving in orderly lines, a factory churning out intelligence - leavened, perhaps, with a strictly limited quota of humour. The Betazoid - I do not risk an intrusion, there - but the mind-tone is tranquil, comparable to a forest glade, perhaps... illuminated by the slanting sunlight of late afternoon, and with shadows that hide predators to trap the unwary trespasser.
As for the Caitian herself... she is motivated, and more intelligent than I would have credited; still young, still a believer in Starfleet's ideals. Her mind is like an army with banners, and I am perturbed to find no fear in it for me... only anger, and something like - contempt. I discipline myself to show no reaction to this, but it rankles. This primitive holds me in contempt? How dare she?
I have brought two officers with me to the conference room: Toriash, because he knows the details of the problem, and Oschmann, because she knows the details... and her mere presence unsettles Starfleet. I see the question in the Caitian's eyes as the human renegade seats herself beside me, but she says nothing, for now.
"Dr. Islim has some questions regarding your data," the Caitian says without preamble. She indicates the Andorian.
"Yes," says Islim. "I've only had a short time to review your results, but.... I'm assuming that you followed all standard procedures for handling the biological samples you took?"
"Naturally. Rrueo can reassure you of that personally. Rrueo is a biologist of some note."
"We read your file," the Caitian said. "Your main area of expertise is cell nucleonics with reference to the Ferasan augmentation process, I believe?" She raises her head slightly. "Trying to work out what went wrong?"
She pretends to have claws. How nice. "There is always room for improvement." I study her from behind half-closed eyes. "More room in some cases than in others, of course."
"Anyway," says Islim, "in that case, I'm rather at a loss to account for your results. It's obvious some kind of cellular invasion and destruction has taken place, but the waste products from the destroyed cells don't match with any known pattern of viral lysing. It's as if something moved into those cells and just destroyed them, without using them at all."
"Rrueo concurs. A viral agent uses cellular material to replicate itself. This simply... obliterates the cells. But it spread like a virus."
"Nanites, perhaps?" Islim is thinking aloud. "Self-replicating, but with a built-in destruct after a certain number of generations...."
"A possibility, but there are no exotic metals or compounds, which Rrueo would have expected. Some of us have considered the possibility of a tuned disruptor field, or even some kind of holographic effect. In that context -"
"Oh, yes," says the Caitian, "the visit from the Kadirian survey ship. Starfleet has a little on the Kadirians -"
"So has Imperial Intelligence," says Oschmann. "Their alliance occupies three systems near the Tekara sector, and they make extensive use of holo-technology. Their planets were devastated by some sort of plague, roughly a century ago, and their population has not yet recovered. So, their ships move under heavy protection, with a very small organic crew, supplemented by holograms."
"Yes," says the Caitian. "In this case, a Hazari escort. We seem to be seeing a lot of the Hazari, lately.... I sent a message through to Delta Command, and, as it happens, we do have a track of this ship the Temur. It's on course now back to Kadir Secundus, having completed its mission."
"Whatever that mission might be," I say.
"The Kadirians are too small to be picking fights with people," the Caitian says. "Even with an inexplicable bio-weapon.... But we should get in touch with them, and find out what they were doing. If nothing else, their survey team will have more data on the Kobali colony." She frowns. "We need more data. Perhaps the Temur will have it."
Oh these two are going to be fun to watch working together, I can tell already.
I like Rrueo's take on Oschmann's analysis. I do wonder who will get victory.
Of course, the Delta Quadrant's immensely fragmented nature doesn't make it any easier for anyone (I've been debating if it feels more Wild West in the sense of the Marshals coming in to help clean it up, or more like the Italian Pennisula mid last millennium with a bunch of squabbling city states and powerful forces from elsewhere struggling to take over the wealthy land).
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
The Wild Wild West, with European settlers both from the east and the south spreading out like crazy, taking whatever land they can get their hands on, while "the law" tries to keep things from descending into chaos, and the Native Americans wondering whether there will be anything left over that isn't absolutely useless to live on. And not just the Italian peninsula of the 1800s trying to unite (despite some sections not wanting to lose their ancient sovereignty), but what used to be the Ottoman Empire after World War One, where the winning European powers of course wanted the choicest sections (if not all of it). As if the lands of the West and the Ottoman Empire were nothing more than cows being studied and "subdivided" by butchers.
We humans change so slowly, I suppose it wouldn't be a whole lot different in the Delta Quadrant of 2410. That's only four centuries from now, after all.
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
The face in Tuarak's viewscreen was Vaadwaur, and coldly angry. "The facility was a total loss! And those biotech devices were... not replaceable, at this time."
In other words, provided by the bluegills, Tuarak thought. "So, Narek," he said, "your precautions proved inadequate. How very sloppy of you."
"The Kazon-Wolva attack was significantly stronger than anticipated," Narek snarled back. "And the commando raid on the ground-side facility - that was not Kazon tactical doctrine!"
"The Kazon have no tactical doctrine. They take whatever actions enter their unkempt heads, and you should have been prepared for anything. I gave you warning, Narek."
"Your warning was insufficient!"
"Oh, no." Tuarak fixed the other with a cold glare. "No, no, no.... I see your reasoning, Narek. I warned you of a planned attack on the facility, you failed to prepare for it, so now you seek to exculpate yourself by blaming me." He vented a theatrical sigh. "It is at times like this that I regret that I no longer hold my proper rank. I can only suggest, as things stand, that you execute yourself as a disgrace to our species. What in the name of sanity possessed you to enlist the Kazon-Nirriz in the first place?"
"They could have been useful puppets. And, for propaganda reasons, it would have been better to attribute the bio-weapons to Kazon scientists -"
"Kazon scientists? Really, Narek, you should not make me laugh so much, I might hurt myself." Tuarak glanced to his right, at a command console. "Fascinating as this conversation has been, I have matters to attend to now. You may rest assured that I will continue to give warning of any... impending developments... as I did this time. Perhaps you will have the good sense to listen, next time. Screen off." The viewer blanked out on Narek's sputtering response.
Tuarak looked around the Bereit's bridge. His crew - his remaining loyal crew - were ready, poised for action. The interdictor cruiser was the one vessel left under his command. Anger flared within him. He used to command a war fleet -
And he would again, he reminded himself. "Status?" he asked Sarn, his first officer.
"On course. The Kadirian patrol vessel is on sensors, we are recording its emissions profile.... Sir, is this necessary?"
"It is preferable," Tuarak said. "Oh, we could dispatch the Temur's Hazari consort without over-much difficulty... but the Temur herself might be caught in the crossfire, and I want that ship's crew, at least, reasonably intact for interrogation. This way is... more elegant."
The Bereit cruised through the Oort cloud of a wan orange star, the sun of Kadir Secundus. The Kadirians were punctilious about security - their survey ships were accompanied by mercenary protection, but the contracts lapsed when the surveyors returned to the Kadirian home systems and their orbital patrol craft. One such patroller was in Tuarak's sights, now, inside the Bereit's superior sensor range, unaware as yet of the lurking presence of the Vaadwaur ship.
That would soon change.
"Emissions profile logged and analysed," the science officer said. "We have their comms protocols already -"
"So, we have enough," said Tuarak. "That ship ceases to interest me. Approach vector. And block its subspace channels."
Bereit surged forwards. Tuarak felt the anticipation rising in him. "Signal from the patroller," said his communications officer. "Laser beam transmission - we are jamming subspace -"
"Let us hear him," said Tuarak.
"Unidentified vessel." The Kadirian commander's voice showed signs of stress already. "You are entering a home system of the Kadirian Alliance. We request that you identify yourselves and present your credentials -"
Tuarak nodded to the weapons officer. "Announce us."
The Bereit's polaron batteries opened up in a sustained barrage; the Kadirian ship's shields flared and buckled almost immediately. The cruiser closed for the kill, polaron weapons continuing a steady hammering, torpedoes streaking from the forward tubes. The Kadirian got off some shots - a low-powered antiproton beam bank, Tuarak noted - but Bereit's shields shrugged them off easily. And then the torpedoes struck home, and the patrol craft was a blossom of fire among the stars, and was gone.
"Yes," said Tuarak, "yes, he is more interesting like that. Is our impersonation properly prepared?"
"Everything is ready, sir," said the science officer.
Tuarak smiled. "Then the Temur must be weary after her long journey. Let us welcome her home."
---
"The Hazari ship is veering off," Sarn reported.
"They have accepted our clearance codes. Excellent," said Tuarak. He yawned and stretched. "Well, let them get out of sensor range before we commence our... dealings... with the Temur. They may have some sense of obligation to a valued customer, perhaps."
Sarn nodded. On the Bereit's tactical display, they watched the Hazari frigate streak away into deep space. The dot of the Temur stayed on course, heading into the system.
"Visual. Maximum magnification," Tuarak ordered.
The Kadirian ship was small, roughly ovoid, with warp nacelles projecting down and back from the swell of its hull. "Little weaponry," Tuarak mused, "but many sensor nodes. Only to be expected, from a scout ship. Life signs?"
"Seven registering," said the science officer, "but... I am detecting some other patterns... not alive, but -"
"Holograms," said Tuarak. He turned to Sarn. "We will use those Hierarchy EMP grenades, I think."
"Expensive," muttered Sarn.
"We bought them for use, not ornament. And their holograms are bound to include security programs. I have no desire to be shot by a projection. It would be demeaning."
Sarn nodded. "You will lead the boarding action?"
"Naturally." A Vaadwaur commander's place was in the front... if he needed to inspire his troops' loyalty. And, Tuarak reflected, he needed to keep the few loyal soldiers remaining to him. "Time to intercept?"
"Three minutes on current course and speed."
"Ah, well, I need a little exercise." Tuarak stood. "They suspect nothing?"
"They have exchanged automated clearance codes. There are no active scans, yet," the science officer said. Of course, an active sensor scan would show at once that the interdictor cruiser was no Kadirian patrol ship... but, so far, the Temur was trusting the transponder codes and the carefully doctored energy emissions profile. The deception could not last long... it need only last long enough...
"In weapons range," the tactical officer announced.
"Lock forward batteries, target their warp nacelles. Standard doctrine - cripple, board and storm. Ready tractor beams." Tuarak's smile was broad, wolfish. "We could use the transporters, of course, but... airlock to airlock, it feels so much more satisfying, somehow." He checked his sidearm. "Boarding crews to ready stations."
"Targeting solution locked."
"Sir." The communications officer. "Hail from the target ship. They want to know why we are not assuming standard escort formation."
"Tactical. Answer their question." The tactical officer was already reaching for the firing controls.
The barrage of fire from the Bereit ripped one warp nacelle completely away from the Temur's hull, left the other a sparking, shattered ruin. "Communications?" Tuarak demanded.
"Blocking all channels."
"Good. Lock tractor beams! Boarding party, with me!"
He raced from the command deck, his weapon in his fist, his eyes alight. An armourer met him at the airlock, handed him a bandolier of EMP grenades. The deck quivered slightly, the ship's swift motion overcoming the inertial dampers for an instant... then there was a solid clang that resonated through the whole of the hull.
"Locked on! Air seal confirmed!"
The airlock doors opened; wind gusted around Tuarak as pressures equalized. Behind him, his boarding troops all wore the same fixed, savage grin that he did himself. The Temur's outer airlock door was sealed, of course. Three troopers stepped forward with antiproton assault guns, firing a sustained blast that tore the metal away in flaming fragments. Beyond it -
The inner airlock door was open, and beyond was a corridor, and that corridor was full of armoured, faceless figures with guns. Security holograms. Of course, Tuarak thought. "Down!" he yelled, and he threw the first of the EMP grenades, before dropping to the deck himself.
Energy fire blistered over his head, and then there was a bright polychromatic flash, and a strangled electronic sound, somewhere between a pop and a screech. Tuarak leaped to his feet. The holograms were staggering, flickering, their bodies turning transparent and distorting out of shape. He hurled another of the Hierarchy grenades, saw the flash, saw the holograms twist and blur and disappear in a random dazzle of energies.
"Forward! Shoot out their emitters, before they can compensate!" The Kadirian holo-emitters were big, bulky, obvious things, many-lensed globes in the corridor's ceiling. They shattered very prettily in the blast of Vaadwaur guns. Fragments crunched beneath Tuarak's boots as he raced down the corridor.
At the first turning, he stopped, and lobbed another grenade around the corner before going around it himself.. the twisted, flickering shapes that confronted him showed that he had done the right thing. They vanished as he shot out more of the emitters.
"Life signs!" a man beside him shouted exultantly, a scanner in his hand. "Ahead of us! Real ones!"
"A mess hall," said Tuarak. "Assault gunners! Take out that door!"
Again, metal flared and vanished under the antiproton beams; again, Tuarak hurled grenades through the opening before leading the advance into the room. He was right about its purpose. The Kadirians had attempted to barricade the doorway with tables and chairs - another exercise in futility. He fired at the ceiling-mounted emitters. More shadowy figures disappeared -
And some solid ones remained. The Kadirians were a stocky, humanoid people, with pale blue skin and bald heads that rose to high crested domes. Two of them were holding weapons. They dropped them as the Vaadwaur advanced, raised their hands in a universal sign of surrender.
"Greetings," said Tuarak. He holstered his gun. "My name is Tuarak of the Vaadwaur. You are the crew of the Kadirian survey vessel Temur, and I have questions for you."
"You will have no answers," one of the Kadirians declared. He stepped forward. All of them wore simple clothing, tunics and trousers; this one's tunic bore stripes at shoulders and cuffs, evidently signs of rank. "And you must be the commander of this craft," said Tuarak.
"I am Captain Su'kel. And I say we will not answer to pirates and criminals!" The Kadirian squared his shoulders.
"I see," said Tuarak. "And you speak for your crew, do you?"
"My crew follows where I lead!"
"Oh, how noble," said Tuarak. "Such loyalty, it touches my very heartstrings." In a single fluid motion, he drew his gun and shot the captain through the head.
In the silence which followed the body's fall, Tuarak turned to the Kadirians and said, "So, now. Who follows, where he leads?"
"You - you - We have done you no harm!" cried one of the crewmen.
"I know. And it does not matter," said Tuarak. "I will have my answers. Who knows? Provide them, and you may yet survive. Try to thwart me, and - well, it would not be wise."
"What do you want?" one of the Kadirians wailed.
"Your survey ship visited a Kobali colony," said Tuarak. "After you left, everyone at that colony died. I am interested in killing - you may possibly have noticed that. I want to know how this killing was achieved. I can use the technique."
The Kadirians exchanged shocked and baffled glances. "But we - we did nothing - not to the Kobali," one said.
"They are dead?" another asked, aghast.
"We did not even go down among them!" said a third. "We sent a holo-probe - a photonic survey team -"
"So I gather," said Tuarak. "You will instruct me in the functions of these probes."
"You would not understand! The technology is centuries in advance of the Vaadwaur! We could never explain it - unless -" The man who was speaking swallowed, audibly. "Unless - you have a parasite -"
"A bluegill? Inside me?" Tuarak made the motions of patting his chest with his free hand. "No, no, there is nothing inside me. But what, I wonder, is inside you?" He shot the Kadirian three times in the stomach. The man fell screaming to the deck. Kadirian blood was a dark red colour. "Hmph. Nothing original, I see."
Two of the crewmen moved to help their fallen comrade. "Leave him," Tuarak snarled. "He is to die, in pain. That is why I shot him."
"You're insane," one of them whispered. "We've - we've surrendered -"
"I know," said Tuarak. "And I am glad of it. It makes aiming so much easier." He shot that one in the chest. Then he stepped forward. The four surviving Kadirians cowered.
"By now, you will have realized that I cannot simply go on shooting you, to demonstrate my ferocity," he said. "By now, you understand that once I have killed three more of you, I have to let the fourth one live, if I am to have any hope of my questions being answered. So, the question each of you must ask yourselves is simple: how do I become the fourth one?" Tuarak smiled. "You will find that the answer lies in cooperation."
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
So the Vaadwaur have gotten up to 'deniability' but are working on the 'plausible' part.
I agree with sander here, Tuarek's a guy who really relishes his work. This chapter had a nice bit of action, and is often the case shevet, has that 'game translation' feel to combat. And then things just got revelatory after that.
I feel really bad for the Kadirians here. Not only are they in the hands of someone utterly without scruples, but they, at first glance, appear to have accidentally killed off a whole population.
I hope it wasn't their fault and something deeper is in play, that's a lot of guilt.
And this is a total side note, but man those polaron cannon barrages are annoying.
Fate - protects fools, small children, and ships named Enterprise Will Riker
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
Comments
But bricks are so much cheaper than starships ... if somewhat smaller in scale. I would not wish to try to hurl a starship through a window, however. The wall around the window might not exist afterward (or the rest of the building, for that matter).
I'd recommend a sword with a curved blade instead. Something like ... a scimitar. Which might more effectively not only take out the window, wall, and building, but the entire city block as well.
These non sequitur remarks brought to you courtesy of: We-care-not-whence-our-remarks-come-or-where-they-may-go, Inc.
Now back to our regularly scheduled Shevet magnum opus.
"I love it when a plan comes together," I say, as I pick myself up off the concrete floor. Hal Welti, the human who's backing me up on this one, shoots me kind of a worried look. "I mean, in general. I mean, I probably would, if a plan ever did come together."
Another explosion splits the air, this one a bit further away, so we both manage to keep our feet. Hal checks his tricorder, his dark face, already creased with age, sprouting new worry lines with every second that passes. I lean back against the wall of a warehouse. It doesn't collapse, which is something.
"I'd guess that's our allies," I say. "They reckon we didn't make it in past the blockade, so they've got some raiders through to make strafing runs of their own. Damn it, I'd hate to be shot by the wrong Kazon."
"My ambition," says Hal, in his gravelly doleful voice, "was always to die in bed."
"Well, there must be a bed round here someplace." I stand up. "How are we on the spatial charges?"
Hal checks his backpack. The backpack doesn't actually carry explosives, it holds a nice big modified transporter buffer, and that carries the explosives. Hopefully. If the patterns haven't been scrambled. Hal looks fractionally less miserable than usual, though, so maybe they haven't been.
His answer to me, though, is drowned out in a thunderclap of noise, accompanied by a flash of light that makes the whole storage depot bright as day for an instant. "I think someone just got hit," I say, once my ears have stopped ringing.
"Confirmed," says Hal. "Kazon-Wolva raider, just like you thought - heading for the stratosphere and leaking warp plasma like crazy." I can see the streak of fire, rising into the night sky. I can see bright dots moving towards it, too.
"Now might be a good time to lie down and cover our eyes," I say, and suit actions to words.
Even when I'm facing the concrete, the flash as the raider's warp core goes is bright enough to hurt my eyes, and I make quite sure not to stand up until after the sound hits, a terrific bruising rumble that pushes us both flatter against the ground. Took a while. High in the stratosphere when the core went up - with big doses of hyronaline, we should both get over the radiation exposure.
"At least it was a distraction," I mutter.
Hal rummages in one ear with his little finger, says, "What now?"
"Stick to the plan." We did have a plan. It might need to be sort of adapted, but I'll deal with that when I have to. "First charge needs to be set -" I get my bearings. The fading glow from the destroyed raider kind of helps, actually. "Over there. 'bout a hundred metres. Let's go."
We lope off, sticking to the shadows as much as we can. Bits of destroyed raider are still lighting up the night sky, and there are flashes from farther away, too, as the fighting in orbit continues. There is a lot more fighting in orbit than we'd planned on. A lot more.
We reach the corner of another warehouse, and my combadge beeps at me. I really should've put it on vibrate or something. "Pex," I say, slapping it.
"You all right?" Umaro Ajbit's voice.
"Yeah, sure, for now. Proceeding on plan, setting charges." We've found the first point, anyway. Hal fiddles with the backpack, and a spatial charge materializes on the cornerstone of a big building. I sort of throw a nearby tarpaulin over it. Anti-tamper mechanisms should blow it anyway if someone spots it and tries to defuse it, but every little helps, right? "What's things like upstairs?" I ask.
"Intense," says Ajbit. "A lot more intense than Rai Sahen said it would be."
"Many things go muchly bang," I hear Veb say in the background.
"Well, it figures." One thing we all know by now, everyone's favourite Romulan spookette's plans never quite work out the way she means them to. "We've got three more charges to place. Can you hold out till then?"
"We'll try, sir, but the Kazon-Nirriz are putting up one hell of a fight. What about ground security?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. If you hear screams, they got us. Gonna do this now. Pex out."
"In space," Hal says gloomily, "no one can hear you scream." I think it's a quotation. Hal's into classical literature and stuff.
I look around. Kazon-Nirriz security is mostly predicated on the general Kazon principle of "I can't be bothered with scut work", but with armed ships from a rival faction in orbit, they might well wake up and get themselves organized a bit. On the other hand, that raider bit the dust, doing that strafing run, and the Nirriz may be running around high-fiving each other and not paying attention to little us. You pays your money and you takes your chance, I guess.
"Next one," I say to Hall, and point. We have a reasonably clear run between two decrepit looking storage buildings. There is a very visible surveillance camera on a post, but my tricorder says it's not working. So we run down the alleyway and don't worry too much about that. I try to keep an ear out for noises, but with the fires and general hoo-ha started by the Wolva's abortive raid, there's a lot of noise around and I can't sort it out, much.
We get to the second site, and plant the second spatial charge. This one should knock down one corner of the warehouse we've put it on, and the building we set the first charge on should come down on top of this one, and really the next two charges are just insurance, but we need insurance for this job anyway, and I'm starting to ramble again, which I tend to do when I'm worried. I'm one of those people who talk a lot when they're nervous. I really hope I never get interrogated, for all sorts of reasons, but that's one of them. It isn't hard to get me to talk, is what I'm saying.
The third site is an EPS grid substation, and if I was running things around here, I'd have a guard on it. But the Kazon-Nirriz are running things around here, and they don't. Easy enough for Hal to hide the explosive charge in the works of the thing, and it will go muchly bang, as Veb might say. The noises are quieting down overall, though. Don't like that. Don't like it when the enemy is quiet, but not dead. We can't run our tricorders for more than brief bursts, too, or even Kazon security will spot the active scans -
So we trust to luck as we approach the last site, at the base of a sensor pylon whose collapse might mess up their forensic analyses of the blasts, if they even bother to try them - and our luck runs out as I dash out of an alleyway and up to the pylon.
"Halt!"
Oh, boy. Good news is, only one guard. Bad news is, not Kazon. Long leather trenchcoat, sharp, feral features, and that fleshy cowl that rises from the collarbones to frame the head -
The Vaadwaur levels his gun at me, and says with a sneer, "What are you doing here, Talaxian scum?"
I decide not to dignify that with a verbal response. Instead, I lash out with my foot, connecting neatly just where humanoid males appreciate it least. He feels it. He obviously has some sort of body armour on, but my mining boots are heavy.
The gun goes off, punching through my personal shield and blowing a neat hole in my vest. Fortunately, this loose miner's uniform covers a multitude of sins, and also - in my case - concealed Hirogen body armour. Sorta cut down from the original size, because the Hirogen are a bit big compared to me, but still effective. I feel the impact, very much so, but it doesn't put me down.
The Vaadwaur snarls and leaps for me. I meet his leap with a stiff punch to the throat, following up with a judo throw that knocks the remaining wind out of him. People like this guy never expect Talaxians to fight. They certainly never expect Talaxians to fight with advanced Starfleet hand-to-hand combat training. I wham him some more in the sensitive bits before he can get up, and then Hal comes out of the alley and kicks him scientifically in the head, and he goes all of a heap and lies still.
"Plant that last charge and let's get while the getting's good." I'm going to have one hell of a bruise where that shot hit me. Never mind. I whip out the tricorder and risk a fast scan.
"What's a Vaadwaur doing here?" Hal asks as he sets the charge.
I look glumly at the tricorder. "Playing with several dozen of his pals, from the looks of it. Kazon-Nirriz, we could handle, but with this many snakeheads, I wanna get out of here like yesterday." I hit my combadge. "Pex to Ostankino. Ajbit, you there?"
"Hanging on, sir."
"Fine. We have Vaadwaur down on the ground, in force. We're retreating now to minimum safe distance and blowing these charges. How soon can you get through and pick us up?"
"We'll start an approach run now, sir, but it'll attract attention. Could get rough." The night sky is still alive with transient flashes of light. Looks like it's plenty rough already.
"OK, see you soon. Pex out." I turn to Hal. "Let's get moving." I point. "No snakeheads that way."
So that's the way we move, and fast. Vaadwaur. Intelligence thought the Kazon-Nirriz were getting cosy with the Vaadwaur, and now we have proof for sure. Admittedly, the Vaadwaur Supremacy is kind of in disarray at the moment, what with its top leadership being exposed as puppets for the bluegills, and their main forces getting curb-stomped by the alliance at Vaadwaur Prime... but they are still trouble, and trouble big time.
And the Kazon-Nirriz, like so many Kazon sects, is on the lookout for strong alliances... fortunately, it took Intelligence only a few minutes to find a rival sect of Kazon who would act as cover while we pulled this little raid. Except this smooth in-and-out operation is proving anything but. Something is seriously amiss here, I think to myself. I don't let the thinking stop me running, though.
"Minimum safe distance," gasps Hal, "I think -"
"So let's find out." I hit the transmit icon on my tricorder, and stuff starts to happen.
First, the brilliant flashes of the spatial charges, and then the sound hits us, and I do mean hits. Once again, I'm knocked off my feet and sprawling on the concrete, which is jumping up and down as the shockwaves run through the ground. There is the rumble and the crash of falling buildings, and from my position flat on my back I can see that sensor pylon topple and fall - not, fortunately, in my direction. There are alarms. There is gunfire, though what anyone's shooting at, I couldn't tell you.
Then, the screaming starts.
I get to my feet, help Hal to his, slap my combadge. "Pex to Ostankino. Good news, it worked. Good news, the Nirriz really were getting biotech weapons from the Vaadwaur. Bad news, those weapons were ready to roll, and when we blew them, the goop got loose. I reckon we've got about two minutes before the all-new biological action digests us like a pair of stubborn stains, so, y'know, get a shift on, huh?"
"On approach now." Ajbit's voice. "Keep your comms channel open, and stand very still, because we're only going to get one shot at this."
The screaming in the distance is awful. And there is a whiff of something unspeakable in the air. Hal and I exchange glances. If this doesn't work, I hope the angry Vaadwaur get us before the bio-agent does -
Then everything sparkles with blue light and goes away, and I'm back, with a jolt, in the Ostankino's transporter room. "Yay!" I shout at Voesyy, who's handling the transporter. I take a quick glance - yes, Hal's there beside me, and yes, all of him's there. "Nice work, hotshot!"
"We have company," the Rigelian grunts at me. "Better get to the bridge."
Good thing the Ostankino's a small ship, but she shakes several times as I charge up to the bridge. I vault into the command chair almost before Ajbit's out of it. "Let's have the news."
"Kazon-Wolva forces are regrouping in high orbitals," Ajbit says tersely. "They seem to be getting the better of it now, but there were easy twice as many Nirriz ships as we expected. We picked up a Nirriz carrier on our tail when we came in, but I think we lost it -" The ship rocks from a sudden impact. "Or not," Ajbit adds in sour tones.
"OK, let's go play with the big boy. Hard about, one seven niner mark two, and ready all cannons!"
Ajbit looks at me, concentrating on the singed hole over my heart. "You up to this?"
"Oh, slightly shot, scorched, shaken and irradiated, but it'll keep." I punch up the tactical display on my armrest console. We are altogether too close to a walloping great Kazon-Nirriz carrier, right enough, and it is already sending its own raiders out to give us a hard time. "Reinforce forward shields, set rapid fire on the cannons, get ready to roll the fun stuff."
The carrier's forward beam arrays lash out towards us, a volley of energy that should smash a normal Kazon raider into a billion flaming pieces -
The beams hit our Starfleet-standard Aegis shields, and splash almost harmlessly away. Ostankino judders, and a few flash-bangs go off on the bridge, but nothing we can't handle. "Attack pattern omega! Cannons, open fire!"
Corrosive plasma bolts yammer out of our forward cannons, burning through the carrier's shields, slamming into its side as it turns to present its energy broadside to us. The bolts are tuned to interfere with structural integrity fields, and under their impact huge sections of the carrier's outer plating buckle and break away. Another volley, and we've darn near carved another docking bay out of the Nirriz ship. Not that I want to dock with it. But it is a nice place to send a quantum torpedo, straight through shields and armour and into the carrier's guts.
"Three eight zero mark three seven! Vent theta radiation! Turrets to independent fire!"
Sickly green murk floods out of the Ostankino's belly, swallowing the stricken carrier in a destructive fog of charged particles, engulfing two raiders that were coming in close on our tail. A third one crosses our path, and Veb nails it with the forward cannons, spraying the wreckage of it across space. More impacts, more flash-bangs, more damage lights.
One raider down, two wallowing in the murk, there should be a fourth somewhere - that carrier may be hurt, but it's still shooting - I spot the fourth raider. "Steer three seven mark three two four, target that last raider, hit the isometric charges!"
Ostankino turns and swoops, the Aegis shields flaring under the barrage from the Kazon ships. The last raider whirls into the targeting reticle on my display, and Veb lets fling with both the cannons and the isometric charge. The Klingon-designed weapon lights up the sky with its electrical flickering, and it leaps, from one target to another -
The raider in the viewfinder explodes. The two in the theta cloud suddenly find that greenish fug lit up by clean white electrical light, and then they explode too. And the combination of theta radiation, and the mauling we gave it, and the nearby warp core breaches - it's all too much for the carrier, and the cloud of charged particles is suddenly blown away as that goes up, too, in a blast of flame.
"Muchly bang," says Veb with satisfaction.
"Pex." It's Goyar; I turn around and give him a cheery grin. "Got Majje Galvik on comms for you."
"On screen." The leader of the Kazon-Wolva appears on the main viewer. He looks, well, like any other Kazon, actually. A species so grubby even the Borg wouldn't take them. Galvik has tried to improve his appearance by tying a lot of parti-coloured feathers to his matted hair. He's failed.
But he's a happy Kazon, anyway. "Victory!" he shouts. "The Nirriz filth are in full retreat! The Kazon-Wolva prove their strength! Victory!"
"Great news, Majje Galvik," I say tactfully. I'm all about the tact. "And we've accomplished our objective on the ground - and given the Nirriz a bloody nose there, too. We couldn't have done it without your help." Which is true enough. I decide not to mention the idiot who did the strafing run and nearly got us killed. Tact, again.
"You fought well, for a Talaxian," Galvik says. There is a noise behind him on his bridge. "We will fight together again! Now, I celebrate with my warriors!"
"Glad to hear it, Majje," I say. "Good for you." The screen goes blank. I fiddle with the console, and the tac display comes back. The Kazon-Nirriz are cutting their losses, from the looks of it. Their remaining operable ships are warping out of the system in every direction. The Wolva cruisers are closing in on the non-operable ones... and I am very glad I'm not aboard one of those ships right now.
"Sickbay," Ajbit says firmly. "What was it, shot, scorched and irradiated?"
"You forgot shaken," I say. I stand up. "OK, sickbay. And, well, it's not for my own sake, y'know, it's for a friend... but I better have a chat with someone about incontinence, too."
"What?" says Ajbit.
"Incontinence. You know. Leaks." I give her one of my serious looks. "Twice as many Nirriz ships as we expected, and a ground detachment of Vaadwaur at the weapons depot. That sounds like precautions to me, precautions you don't take unless you know something's coming. Someone on the bad guys' side knew this operation was in the works. Maybe not the details, not enough of the details to stop us... but they knew, all right."
"We'll call him Gerald," says Hal Welti, "it's just a name." I think it's another quote.
Really cool. Serves the Kobali right for being Space Netanyahu as a species.
As for our latest chapter...yup, that Talaxian is a complete incompetent like any other Talaxian. As I've said before, being better than the Kazon is like being better than bacteria, especially with top Starfleet equipment on your side. Remember, the Kazon successfully killed themselves, by ACCIDENT, with a REPLICATOR.
But more importantly, what she SHOULD have done was to tip off the Benthans and have a joint Benthan/Alliance fleet warp in, bring a couple of Scimitars, jam all coms, waste the Kazon in 50-60 seconds, do a couple quick scans, and blow the whole facility into subatomic dust.
And then tell Rai Sahen to go stick her own head up her ***, because it might clear up her vision a tad.
I still don't like Pex, and I still want her to die painfully to make way for Rrueo, M'eioi, and hopefully some Caitian VS. Ferasan "dialogue" between the two.
"Well," I say, looking around at the ruins, "you cannot really ban research, in any case. Fields of study overlap... something quite innocuous may suddenly give insights into forbidden areas... and prohibiting some avenues of exploration actually draws some people towards them."
"If protomatter generation is outlawed, only outlaws will have protomatter generators?" says Joaj. She is inspecting one of the wrecked Hierarchy devices, her antennae twitching and quivering as she peers into the burned-out interior.
"Something like that." I look moodily at the wreckage. Protomatter, a protean substance, unfixed at the sub-chromodynamic level, in theory transmutable into anything - it is a tempting short cut for any number of scientific research projects. The problem, once the protomatter is transmuted, is stabilizing it and getting it to retain its new form. So far, the problem has proven... intractable. The failures take many different forms, but they are always dramatic.
So, my first official mission in the Delta Quadrant proves to be a grim one. The Hierarchy research station is positioned in empty space, seven light years from the nearest star, twenty from the Jenolan Dyson sphere. It is - or was - an early effort at collaboration with the Hierarchy, following up on the alliance of desperation against the Vaadwaur, attempting to usher in a new era of understanding with our new allies - the Hierarchy is still a poorly understood body....
Bodies. I look at the corpses littering the floor. The Andorian medic, Thales Islim, is kneeling beside one, scanning with his tricorder, his clean-cut features intent. I walk over to him. "What have you found?"
"What?" Thales looks up. "Oh. Well, they're dead, for a start...."
"I can see that much," I say patiently. "How did they die?"
"A number of different ways." Thales stands up, points to the rotund hairless form of the Hierarchy scientist. "This one, for instance, seems to have spontaneously developed multiple reduplicated DNA strands in his cells... I'm reading genetic material from twelve different species, at least three of them vegetable." I must look puzzled, for Thales adds, "Oh, the biochemical imbalances killed him long before any gross physical changes could take place. That one over there, on the other hand -" he indicates another still, contorted shape "- seems to have adapted, instantaneously, to breathe carbon instead of oxygen."
"But carbon is not a gas," I say.
"That was, rather, his problem," says Thales.
"Carbon is not a gas, at this temperature, at the moment," says Joaj, emerging from the bowels of the ruined generator. "But I'm not sure I'd answer for anything, just now. The structure of this station is compromised from the sub-atomic level up. I think the protomatter has all been consumed in the... reaction, whatever you want to call it. But this place is still not safe - a long way from it, in fact."
I touch my combadge. "M'eioi to Timor. Confirm you have transporter lock on the away team."
"Confirmed." The Vulcan engineer Saaral's voice; he is competent. "We can retrieve you at any sign of an emergency."
"Very well. We will document as much as we can. Prepare a forensic download of the station's computers - they'll probably be damaged, so run reconstruction and de-corruption algorithms as far as we can. And we will retrieve the bodies, to be returned for... well, whatever rites the Hierarchy has."
Thales pulls a face. "Some of them are definitely going to be closed casket jobs," he says.
"I don't doubt it," I say. "We can confirm there were no survivors?"
"Some of them lasted a few minutes longer than others, that's all." The Andorian's face, like his humour, is getting bleaker.
"All right. Let's do this, then let's get out of here and scuttle this station as a menace to navigation. Saaral, get me Research Manager Itoqual on subspace, he's going to need to know what's happened to his balance sheet." The Hierarchy is worse than the Ferengi in that respect. The Ferengi are bandit... the Hierarchy are accountants.
"Yes, sir," says Saaral's voice. "Sir - something of which you should be aware. We have a sensor contact at extreme range. Unidentified as yet, but indications are that it is approaching the station."
I frown. "Very well. Beam me back aboard, and we'll plan an intercept course." I turn to Joaj and Thales. "I've no idea what this might be, but you'd better finish up here as fast as possible."
"Yes, sir," says Joaj.
"I'll need body bags," says Thales.
---
By the time I reach the Timor's bridge, the unknown contact has been identified. "Hazari?" I ask.
Marya Kothe nods. "Frigate-class vessel... I expect there will be another close by, within easy subspace call." It is Hazari tactical doctrine - they travel in pairs.
I settle into the centre seat. "What do they want? Hail them."
"Hailing," says Sumal Jetuz. "I have a response."
"On screen." The scaly impassive features of a Hazari fill the main viewer. "This is Admiral M'eioi aboard the USS Timor," I say. "How can we assist you?"
The Hazari pauses for an instant, then snaps, "What's an Alpha Quadrant ship doing here?"
"This station is a joint venture between the Hierarchy and the Federation," I say patiently. "We responded to a distress signal. What's your business here, come to that?"
"I have a contract," says the Hazari. "With Station Director Wuquen, for his personal protection. We received a distress call, too. What's happened here?"
"Protomatter escape," I say. The Hazari's face gives little away, but I fancy I see the blunt beak-like mouth tighten a little. "I'm afraid your contract is... void, I guess."
"I want confirmation," says the Hazari. "I'd prefer to speak to Station Director Wuquen. Now."
I sigh. "Mr. Jetuz, patch in Dr. Islim aboard the station." Sumal nods briskly, touches his console, and after a moment the screen splits to show Thales's face as well. "Doctor, please confirm the status of Station Director Wuquen. This Hazari... gentleman... wants to speak to him."
"Oh, well, that won't be a problem," says Thales.
"It won't?" I am nonplussed.
"Not at all. Wuquen suffered total physical collapse during the protomatter incident. But we can pour him into a bathtub, and the Hazari can speak to him as much as he likes. Might be disappointed if he expects any answers, of course."
The Hazari's head lifts, and his little eyes glitter in an ugly way. "You'll have to excuse my doctor," I say. "The station's staff died in some... horrible... ways, and the stress is clearly getting to him."
Thales's face relaxes slightly. "Sorry, sir. I guess you're right. I'll transmit my post-mortem findings and all the identification I could gather. Will that help?"
"It will... have to be enough. Protomatter escape," the Hazari says glumly.
"I know how you people feel about your contracts," I say, "but there was no way you could protect Wuquen against that."
"No," says the Hazari, "no.... All right. Transmit all the relevant details. So I can be sure."
I'm tempted to challenge him - this Hazari arrogance, these demands. But it will do no harm for the truth to be known, and if he's really failed in a contract, he will feel the failure deeply. There's nothing to be gained from a further conflict, now. "I'll make sure you have all the requisite data. For form's sake, please send me confirmation of your contract arrangements. Just so our records are complete."
He nods. "That's... fair enough. I'll transmit them now."
For a little while, there is nothing but the flickering of graphs on my console, as data flashes between ourselves, the station, and the Hazari ship. Then, the Hazari speaks. "Well. That's that, then. I'll be leaving now." The screen goes blank.
"You're welcome," Marya mutters.
"Different cultures," I say. "And he must be distressed by his failure.... Still. Transmit all details of ship and contract to Delta Command, maybe Intelligence will find a use for it." I watch the screen as the winged arrowhead shape of the Hazari ship turns sharply, points itself away from us, and suddenly flashes and zooms off into warp.
I sit, pensively, for a while, mulling things over. The station's manager had an independent contract for Hazari protection? Why? The only plausible answer is one I don't like at all - that he was planning on some private enterprise of his own with the station's research, and wanted armed backup as a consequence. I think the forensic analysis of the station's records is going to be a high priority....
"Commander Joaj calling from the station," Sumal reports. "Downloading and forensic scans are complete, and Dr. Islim has accounted for and recovered all the bodies. They're finished over there, sir. And Research Manager Itoqual is calling from the Hierarchy central authority -"
"All right. Beam up the away teams and all requisite material. And put the Research Manager through."
The lumpy brown face of the Hierarchy official appears on the viewscreen. "Is it true?" he asks. "The station is... no longer viable?"
"Staff were killed, all equipment wrecked by the protomatter escape," I tell him. "My engineer confirms that the station itself must be regarded as structurally unsound. It's a total loss, I'm afraid, Manager Itoqual." I pause, and add, "You understand, now, the Federation's reluctance to engage in... certain lines of research."
"We stuck strictly to the letter of the guidelines," Itoqual says. "High-energy subquantum physics research. By any reasonable definition -"
"Quite," I say. "But subsequent funding from the Federation Council is likely to depend on a more exact definition, in future. We've recovered as much as we can of the station's data, and we'll transmit it to you, in accordance with the agreement." Another pause. "We also recovered the bodies of the station's staff. We can return them to you for burial or - whatever customs are appropriate - if that is your wish."
"Will there be a charge?"
I shake my head. "No charge. You should make the relatives aware, though, that the protomatter incident left some of the bodies in a distressing condition."
"Distress is hard to quantify financially. But I'll make a note of that." He heaves a sigh, his fleshy body quivering. "I hope that the Federation is not dissuaded entirely from... potentially profitable joint ventures."
"The Federation remains willing to forge alliances and form friendships," I tell him. He makes my flesh creep... but the essence of diplomacy lies in dealing with people you don't like. And I represent the Federation - I have to be a diplomat.
"This loss will not make our quarterly figures look any healthier," Itoqual says. "And I suppose there will be further costs for the disposal of the station itself, if it is as unsound as you say."
The station is a simple affair of small, cheap work and habitation modules bolted to a frame... Itoqual probably wants to salvage parts of it for re-use on other projects. But the protomatter contamination makes that inadvisable, to say the least. I touch the intercom panel. "Transporter room. Have we recovered all personnel and material?"
"Everyone and everything is safely aboard, sir."
"Excellent. Commander Kothe. The abandoned station is now no more than a navigational hazard. Target it, and engage the singularity projector."
Itoqual's round face registers astonishment. "We should waste no time," I tell him.
"Singularity projector engaged. Firing," Marya reports. A faint whine from the EPS system, a slight shudder as the projector fires. "Singularity running...."
"On screen."
The viewer shows the swirling bolt of twisted light, shows it streaking into the abandoned station... shows the structure implode into the green-black vortex of the singularity's collapse. When the screen clears, there is nothing left but a rapidly fading glow of ionized particles.
"Navigational hazard... removed," I say with some satisfaction. "For this, too, Manager Itoqual, we'll make no charge."
---
There are details to be dealt with, of course - the bodies, for one. I retire to my ready room to deal with the paperwork. I suppose, I think somewhat sourly, the paperwork comes with the rank, too....
I'm finishing the first draft of my report to Delta Command when the door chimes. "Come."
Sumal Jetuz enters. The carefully groomed Betazoid seems... skittish, somehow. "We have a communication, sir."
"What is it?"
"A Klingon vessel requesting help with a scientific problem. Apparently, some sort of plague hit a Kobali colony world, and they've not been able to identify the agent. They're on subspace right now -"
I stand up. "Well, with the resources of the Timor, that shouldn't be a problem." I stride to the door. For a moment, Sumal looks for all the world as though he wants to stop me. I look at him quizzically. "Is something the matter?"
"Ah, no, sir, it's just - well, the Klingon commander -"
"Well, let me take a look at them." I brush past him, wondering at his obvious agitation, and step onto the bridge, where the viewscreen shows the Klingon captain's face -
And I stop.
It might almost be my own face - almost. But it is midnight blue, instead of black, with a stripe of lighter blue across the eyes, and the ears and nose are adorned with barbaric jewelry, and beneath the upper lip, two monstrous fangs curve down.
Ferasan.
The Hierarchy are pretty much what you'd expect. Hazari make me wonder why the Federation hasn't hired their entire species already.
One big issue, Bad Technobabble:
Translation: Before-stuff, a versatile substance, not stable at the sub-color-changing level, in theory transmutable into anything.
My big problem is the "sub-chromodynamic" bit. It reminds me of one of my least favorite non-Janeway Voyager Ulcer moments, and enough to jolt me out of willing suspension of disbelief. I recommend a more plausible term like "Protomatter, a highly volatile substance, unstable at the quark level". If you've got something that has subatomic particles whose quark structure is unstable, it'll be extremely volatile but theoretically capable of becoming anything with appropriate manipulation.
...actually, it just means "below color-changing".
Unless you're referring to the concept in quantum field theory...
Eh, I'm still calling Bad Technobabble, because it was enough to ruin suspension of disbelief before I remembered Politzer, Wilczek, and Gross.
I have no idea how protomatter is supposed to work in Trek science; neither, I suspect, does anyone else...
It was the "chromodynamic power modules" from VOY: "Prototype" that I thought of first.
Which is an episode that drives me nuts because without a particle accelerator how the flying f*ck are you going to replicate something that's run on nuclear forces? And because the technbabble can be replaced with "it's a color-changing battery".
Yeah, I figured as much, but my initial response was still WTF enough to make me laugh at the wrong time.
you're doing a better job of making it make sense than anyone else has, though.
Infinite possibilities have implications that could not be completely understood if you turned this entire universe into a giant supercomputer.
"Protean" is actually "shapeshifting" or "versatile".
"Protomatter" means something vaguely like "early matter" or "pre-matter".
My head-canon on this is that protomatter is a substance which has remained unfixed in form since the very earliest few nanoseconds of the universe... and that, since it's stayed that way for billions of years, there is some reason for that, which Federation-level science has yet to discover.
In the show, it seems to feature as "stuff which goes boom" or "stuff which goes spectacularly wrong" or "stuff which does both". All of which is fine by me.
I find all the new characters in play interesting.
Looking forward to seeing how the angles develop now that people are starting to bounce off each other.
I'm not the only one who misses the old ESD promotion ceremony, huh?
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
That is my interpretation as well, which makes me question how one is supposed to generate more of the stuff without a Big Bang-style event, which would definitely destroy your space station, along with the surrounding universe.
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
Or take quarks. They come in six flavors. The flavors are up, down, top, bottom, strange, and charm; the only one of those normally associated with the concept of "flavor" might be "strange". Oh, yes, and they also have color charge - red, blue, green, antired, antiblue, and antigreen.
So just because the discoverer of this odd, unstable state of matter chose to call it "protomatter" doesn't necessarily indicate that it's primordial; it may merely be capable of collapsing into a number of distinct states of matter under stress, usually with, ah, unfortunate results.
I feel my fur bristling as I regard the image on the screen. The Unforgiven. Of course, I knew, intellectually, that Starfleet has many Caitian officers, but....
This one is surprisingly young, slim, black-furred - I fancy I see a worried look about her face, but that may just be her reaction at seeing me. I almost wish that I was present, physically, not just seeing her on the viewer. I would like to taste her fear.
"Admiral M'eioi aboard the USS Timor here," she says, and her voice is high-pitched but steady. "I understand you need Starfleet assistance." Is there a hint of an edge to that remark?
"Rrueo-Captain, Rrueo-Thinker... General Rrueo aboard the IKS Brathana," I say. "You will have received our digest of the situation in hand."
"I've only just been told of your need for help." The Caitian settles herself in her command chair. She looks wary. Good. "Summarize it for me."
"Rrueo will oblige, though you should acquaint yourself with the detail information. A Kobali settlement was wiped out by a plague of some sort. We do not know what sort. It is consistent with a virus, except that there is no virus. If Starfleet has any insight into this... conundrum... it would be appreciated."
"Some mutation of the Kobali virus itself?" the Caitian asks.
I sneer. "Naturally, that was the first thing we thought of. We have carried out extensive tests, and believe this not to be the case."
"I suppose I will need to see your... reasoning, then," says the Caitian. "At least we should be able to come up with some insights. The Timor's science lab is second to none."
"In Starfleet, perhaps," I cannot help but snarl.
"Is there any competition?" She studies, or pretends to study, a console readout. "All right. I will read through your data digest, and then perhaps we can meet." She raises her gaze to meet mine. "Aboard your ship, perhaps, in an hour from now? So we can follow up anything that needs more details?"
"Very well. Bring a security detachment, if you feel the need."
"We are allies, now. I may bring technical and medical staff, to assist. Unless I need security?"
"We are, as you say, allies. Rrueo will expect you in an hour, then - Admiral. Screen off." The viewer goes blank. I force myself to relax. "Caitian primitive!"
"She must have something, sir, to have reached her current rank," Oschmann observes.
"Rrueo supposes that must be true. But Rrueo has misgivings.... Well. Perhaps her staff is capable."
"You have that much - doubt - about Caitians, sir?" No Klingon officer would think to question a superior in such a manner - unless they planned a challenge for their rank. But Oschmann's mind-tone betrays only a guarded curiosity. "I've read some of the histories of the Caitian Diaspora. It was a complicated time -"
"Not really. They rejected the genetic uplifts that improved our species. So we drove them out. That is an adequate summary, in Rrueo's opinion." I gaze at the screen, now showing the gleaming rounded dart that is the Caitian's ship. "Imagine, if you will, seeing a starship commanded by your primitive cave-dwelling ancestors...."
"Considering some Starfleet captains I've known, sir, I hardly need to imagine," Oschmann remarks in dry tones. "But I've worked with Caitians who've been... capable."
I grunt. "Do you think, then, that we made a wrong decision, in... expelling the Unforgiven?"
"As a KDF officer, it is not my place to criticize my commanding officer - or her species. As a former Starfleet officer -" Oschmann makes a face. "The internal affairs of your species are your own business, as guaranteed by Starfleet's Prime Directive."
"So, in short, your answer is yes," I say. I can see K'Rokok suppressing a laugh on the other side of the bridge.
"I'm saying, sir, that some Caitians are very competent, for cavemen." She pauses. Clouds flit through her mind. "Also... my people have, well, an unhappy history with genetic augmentation."
"Rrueo is aware of this."
"Well, sir, I can understand that when you look at her, you see... a primitive. When she looks at you, though, she's seeing... Khan Noonien Singh." Oschmann's tone, of voice and of mind, is deadly serious now. "I think, sir, you're both going to have to learn to look past those first impressions."
I nod, slowly. "And the first one who does that... is the one who wins. Rrueo can appreciate that idea."
---
The Caitian beams over on schedule, and we meet in Brathana's conference room. She has brought two aides with her, an Andorian in medical uniform, and... a Betazoid. A telepath, to defend against a telepath. She does not trust me. I am unsurprised.
All three look impeccably Starfleet. The Caitian is groomed after the manner of her people, her black fur brushed and shining. The Betazoid is blond and blandly handsome, the Andorian square-jawed and upright in bearing. Such nobility of appearance. I look past it....
The Andorian's mind is as stern as his looks, facts marshalled, thought processes moving in orderly lines, a factory churning out intelligence - leavened, perhaps, with a strictly limited quota of humour. The Betazoid - I do not risk an intrusion, there - but the mind-tone is tranquil, comparable to a forest glade, perhaps... illuminated by the slanting sunlight of late afternoon, and with shadows that hide predators to trap the unwary trespasser.
As for the Caitian herself... she is motivated, and more intelligent than I would have credited; still young, still a believer in Starfleet's ideals. Her mind is like an army with banners, and I am perturbed to find no fear in it for me... only anger, and something like - contempt. I discipline myself to show no reaction to this, but it rankles. This primitive holds me in contempt? How dare she?
I have brought two officers with me to the conference room: Toriash, because he knows the details of the problem, and Oschmann, because she knows the details... and her mere presence unsettles Starfleet. I see the question in the Caitian's eyes as the human renegade seats herself beside me, but she says nothing, for now.
"Dr. Islim has some questions regarding your data," the Caitian says without preamble. She indicates the Andorian.
"Yes," says Islim. "I've only had a short time to review your results, but.... I'm assuming that you followed all standard procedures for handling the biological samples you took?"
"Naturally. Rrueo can reassure you of that personally. Rrueo is a biologist of some note."
"We read your file," the Caitian said. "Your main area of expertise is cell nucleonics with reference to the Ferasan augmentation process, I believe?" She raises her head slightly. "Trying to work out what went wrong?"
She pretends to have claws. How nice. "There is always room for improvement." I study her from behind half-closed eyes. "More room in some cases than in others, of course."
"Anyway," says Islim, "in that case, I'm rather at a loss to account for your results. It's obvious some kind of cellular invasion and destruction has taken place, but the waste products from the destroyed cells don't match with any known pattern of viral lysing. It's as if something moved into those cells and just destroyed them, without using them at all."
"Rrueo concurs. A viral agent uses cellular material to replicate itself. This simply... obliterates the cells. But it spread like a virus."
"Nanites, perhaps?" Islim is thinking aloud. "Self-replicating, but with a built-in destruct after a certain number of generations...."
"A possibility, but there are no exotic metals or compounds, which Rrueo would have expected. Some of us have considered the possibility of a tuned disruptor field, or even some kind of holographic effect. In that context -"
"Oh, yes," says the Caitian, "the visit from the Kadirian survey ship. Starfleet has a little on the Kadirians -"
"So has Imperial Intelligence," says Oschmann. "Their alliance occupies three systems near the Tekara sector, and they make extensive use of holo-technology. Their planets were devastated by some sort of plague, roughly a century ago, and their population has not yet recovered. So, their ships move under heavy protection, with a very small organic crew, supplemented by holograms."
"Yes," says the Caitian. "In this case, a Hazari escort. We seem to be seeing a lot of the Hazari, lately.... I sent a message through to Delta Command, and, as it happens, we do have a track of this ship the Temur. It's on course now back to Kadir Secundus, having completed its mission."
"Whatever that mission might be," I say.
"The Kadirians are too small to be picking fights with people," the Caitian says. "Even with an inexplicable bio-weapon.... But we should get in touch with them, and find out what they were doing. If nothing else, their survey team will have more data on the Kobali colony." She frowns. "We need more data. Perhaps the Temur will have it."
"Curiouser and curiouser."
Another Wonderland to wander and wonder in.
I like, I like.
Really, if SFC were even halfway competent this story would've been a lot shorter.
I like Rrueo's take on Oschmann's analysis. I do wonder who will get victory.
Of course, the Delta Quadrant's immensely fragmented nature doesn't make it any easier for anyone (I've been debating if it feels more Wild West in the sense of the Marshals coming in to help clean it up, or more like the Italian Pennisula mid last millennium with a bunch of squabbling city states and powerful forces from elsewhere struggling to take over the wealthy land).
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!
The Wild Wild West, with European settlers both from the east and the south spreading out like crazy, taking whatever land they can get their hands on, while "the law" tries to keep things from descending into chaos, and the Native Americans wondering whether there will be anything left over that isn't absolutely useless to live on. And not just the Italian peninsula of the 1800s trying to unite (despite some sections not wanting to lose their ancient sovereignty), but what used to be the Ottoman Empire after World War One, where the winning European powers of course wanted the choicest sections (if not all of it). As if the lands of the West and the Ottoman Empire were nothing more than cows being studied and "subdivided" by butchers.
We humans change so slowly, I suppose it wouldn't be a whole lot different in the Delta Quadrant of 2410. That's only four centuries from now, after all.
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
In other words, provided by the bluegills, Tuarak thought. "So, Narek," he said, "your precautions proved inadequate. How very sloppy of you."
"The Kazon-Wolva attack was significantly stronger than anticipated," Narek snarled back. "And the commando raid on the ground-side facility - that was not Kazon tactical doctrine!"
"The Kazon have no tactical doctrine. They take whatever actions enter their unkempt heads, and you should have been prepared for anything. I gave you warning, Narek."
"Your warning was insufficient!"
"Oh, no." Tuarak fixed the other with a cold glare. "No, no, no.... I see your reasoning, Narek. I warned you of a planned attack on the facility, you failed to prepare for it, so now you seek to exculpate yourself by blaming me." He vented a theatrical sigh. "It is at times like this that I regret that I no longer hold my proper rank. I can only suggest, as things stand, that you execute yourself as a disgrace to our species. What in the name of sanity possessed you to enlist the Kazon-Nirriz in the first place?"
"They could have been useful puppets. And, for propaganda reasons, it would have been better to attribute the bio-weapons to Kazon scientists -"
"Kazon scientists? Really, Narek, you should not make me laugh so much, I might hurt myself." Tuarak glanced to his right, at a command console. "Fascinating as this conversation has been, I have matters to attend to now. You may rest assured that I will continue to give warning of any... impending developments... as I did this time. Perhaps you will have the good sense to listen, next time. Screen off." The viewer blanked out on Narek's sputtering response.
Tuarak looked around the Bereit's bridge. His crew - his remaining loyal crew - were ready, poised for action. The interdictor cruiser was the one vessel left under his command. Anger flared within him. He used to command a war fleet -
And he would again, he reminded himself. "Status?" he asked Sarn, his first officer.
"On course. The Kadirian patrol vessel is on sensors, we are recording its emissions profile.... Sir, is this necessary?"
"It is preferable," Tuarak said. "Oh, we could dispatch the Temur's Hazari consort without over-much difficulty... but the Temur herself might be caught in the crossfire, and I want that ship's crew, at least, reasonably intact for interrogation. This way is... more elegant."
The Bereit cruised through the Oort cloud of a wan orange star, the sun of Kadir Secundus. The Kadirians were punctilious about security - their survey ships were accompanied by mercenary protection, but the contracts lapsed when the surveyors returned to the Kadirian home systems and their orbital patrol craft. One such patroller was in Tuarak's sights, now, inside the Bereit's superior sensor range, unaware as yet of the lurking presence of the Vaadwaur ship.
That would soon change.
"Emissions profile logged and analysed," the science officer said. "We have their comms protocols already -"
"So, we have enough," said Tuarak. "That ship ceases to interest me. Approach vector. And block its subspace channels."
Bereit surged forwards. Tuarak felt the anticipation rising in him. "Signal from the patroller," said his communications officer. "Laser beam transmission - we are jamming subspace -"
"Let us hear him," said Tuarak.
"Unidentified vessel." The Kadirian commander's voice showed signs of stress already. "You are entering a home system of the Kadirian Alliance. We request that you identify yourselves and present your credentials -"
Tuarak nodded to the weapons officer. "Announce us."
The Bereit's polaron batteries opened up in a sustained barrage; the Kadirian ship's shields flared and buckled almost immediately. The cruiser closed for the kill, polaron weapons continuing a steady hammering, torpedoes streaking from the forward tubes. The Kadirian got off some shots - a low-powered antiproton beam bank, Tuarak noted - but Bereit's shields shrugged them off easily. And then the torpedoes struck home, and the patrol craft was a blossom of fire among the stars, and was gone.
"Yes," said Tuarak, "yes, he is more interesting like that. Is our impersonation properly prepared?"
"Everything is ready, sir," said the science officer.
Tuarak smiled. "Then the Temur must be weary after her long journey. Let us welcome her home."
---
"The Hazari ship is veering off," Sarn reported.
"They have accepted our clearance codes. Excellent," said Tuarak. He yawned and stretched. "Well, let them get out of sensor range before we commence our... dealings... with the Temur. They may have some sense of obligation to a valued customer, perhaps."
Sarn nodded. On the Bereit's tactical display, they watched the Hazari frigate streak away into deep space. The dot of the Temur stayed on course, heading into the system.
"Visual. Maximum magnification," Tuarak ordered.
The Kadirian ship was small, roughly ovoid, with warp nacelles projecting down and back from the swell of its hull. "Little weaponry," Tuarak mused, "but many sensor nodes. Only to be expected, from a scout ship. Life signs?"
"Seven registering," said the science officer, "but... I am detecting some other patterns... not alive, but -"
"Holograms," said Tuarak. He turned to Sarn. "We will use those Hierarchy EMP grenades, I think."
"Expensive," muttered Sarn.
"We bought them for use, not ornament. And their holograms are bound to include security programs. I have no desire to be shot by a projection. It would be demeaning."
Sarn nodded. "You will lead the boarding action?"
"Naturally." A Vaadwaur commander's place was in the front... if he needed to inspire his troops' loyalty. And, Tuarak reflected, he needed to keep the few loyal soldiers remaining to him. "Time to intercept?"
"Three minutes on current course and speed."
"Ah, well, I need a little exercise." Tuarak stood. "They suspect nothing?"
"They have exchanged automated clearance codes. There are no active scans, yet," the science officer said. Of course, an active sensor scan would show at once that the interdictor cruiser was no Kadirian patrol ship... but, so far, the Temur was trusting the transponder codes and the carefully doctored energy emissions profile. The deception could not last long... it need only last long enough...
"In weapons range," the tactical officer announced.
"Lock forward batteries, target their warp nacelles. Standard doctrine - cripple, board and storm. Ready tractor beams." Tuarak's smile was broad, wolfish. "We could use the transporters, of course, but... airlock to airlock, it feels so much more satisfying, somehow." He checked his sidearm. "Boarding crews to ready stations."
"Targeting solution locked."
"Sir." The communications officer. "Hail from the target ship. They want to know why we are not assuming standard escort formation."
"Tactical. Answer their question." The tactical officer was already reaching for the firing controls.
The barrage of fire from the Bereit ripped one warp nacelle completely away from the Temur's hull, left the other a sparking, shattered ruin. "Communications?" Tuarak demanded.
"Blocking all channels."
"Good. Lock tractor beams! Boarding party, with me!"
He raced from the command deck, his weapon in his fist, his eyes alight. An armourer met him at the airlock, handed him a bandolier of EMP grenades. The deck quivered slightly, the ship's swift motion overcoming the inertial dampers for an instant... then there was a solid clang that resonated through the whole of the hull.
"Locked on! Air seal confirmed!"
The airlock doors opened; wind gusted around Tuarak as pressures equalized. Behind him, his boarding troops all wore the same fixed, savage grin that he did himself. The Temur's outer airlock door was sealed, of course. Three troopers stepped forward with antiproton assault guns, firing a sustained blast that tore the metal away in flaming fragments. Beyond it -
The inner airlock door was open, and beyond was a corridor, and that corridor was full of armoured, faceless figures with guns. Security holograms. Of course, Tuarak thought. "Down!" he yelled, and he threw the first of the EMP grenades, before dropping to the deck himself.
Energy fire blistered over his head, and then there was a bright polychromatic flash, and a strangled electronic sound, somewhere between a pop and a screech. Tuarak leaped to his feet. The holograms were staggering, flickering, their bodies turning transparent and distorting out of shape. He hurled another of the Hierarchy grenades, saw the flash, saw the holograms twist and blur and disappear in a random dazzle of energies.
"Forward! Shoot out their emitters, before they can compensate!" The Kadirian holo-emitters were big, bulky, obvious things, many-lensed globes in the corridor's ceiling. They shattered very prettily in the blast of Vaadwaur guns. Fragments crunched beneath Tuarak's boots as he raced down the corridor.
At the first turning, he stopped, and lobbed another grenade around the corner before going around it himself.. the twisted, flickering shapes that confronted him showed that he had done the right thing. They vanished as he shot out more of the emitters.
"Life signs!" a man beside him shouted exultantly, a scanner in his hand. "Ahead of us! Real ones!"
"A mess hall," said Tuarak. "Assault gunners! Take out that door!"
Again, metal flared and vanished under the antiproton beams; again, Tuarak hurled grenades through the opening before leading the advance into the room. He was right about its purpose. The Kadirians had attempted to barricade the doorway with tables and chairs - another exercise in futility. He fired at the ceiling-mounted emitters. More shadowy figures disappeared -
And some solid ones remained. The Kadirians were a stocky, humanoid people, with pale blue skin and bald heads that rose to high crested domes. Two of them were holding weapons. They dropped them as the Vaadwaur advanced, raised their hands in a universal sign of surrender.
"Greetings," said Tuarak. He holstered his gun. "My name is Tuarak of the Vaadwaur. You are the crew of the Kadirian survey vessel Temur, and I have questions for you."
"You will have no answers," one of the Kadirians declared. He stepped forward. All of them wore simple clothing, tunics and trousers; this one's tunic bore stripes at shoulders and cuffs, evidently signs of rank. "And you must be the commander of this craft," said Tuarak.
"I am Captain Su'kel. And I say we will not answer to pirates and criminals!" The Kadirian squared his shoulders.
"I see," said Tuarak. "And you speak for your crew, do you?"
"My crew follows where I lead!"
"Oh, how noble," said Tuarak. "Such loyalty, it touches my very heartstrings." In a single fluid motion, he drew his gun and shot the captain through the head.
In the silence which followed the body's fall, Tuarak turned to the Kadirians and said, "So, now. Who follows, where he leads?"
"You - you - We have done you no harm!" cried one of the crewmen.
"I know. And it does not matter," said Tuarak. "I will have my answers. Who knows? Provide them, and you may yet survive. Try to thwart me, and - well, it would not be wise."
"What do you want?" one of the Kadirians wailed.
"Your survey ship visited a Kobali colony," said Tuarak. "After you left, everyone at that colony died. I am interested in killing - you may possibly have noticed that. I want to know how this killing was achieved. I can use the technique."
The Kadirians exchanged shocked and baffled glances. "But we - we did nothing - not to the Kobali," one said.
"They are dead?" another asked, aghast.
"We did not even go down among them!" said a third. "We sent a holo-probe - a photonic survey team -"
"So I gather," said Tuarak. "You will instruct me in the functions of these probes."
"You would not understand! The technology is centuries in advance of the Vaadwaur! We could never explain it - unless -" The man who was speaking swallowed, audibly. "Unless - you have a parasite -"
"A bluegill? Inside me?" Tuarak made the motions of patting his chest with his free hand. "No, no, there is nothing inside me. But what, I wonder, is inside you?" He shot the Kadirian three times in the stomach. The man fell screaming to the deck. Kadirian blood was a dark red colour. "Hmph. Nothing original, I see."
Two of the crewmen moved to help their fallen comrade. "Leave him," Tuarak snarled. "He is to die, in pain. That is why I shot him."
"You're insane," one of them whispered. "We've - we've surrendered -"
"I know," said Tuarak. "And I am glad of it. It makes aiming so much easier." He shot that one in the chest. Then he stepped forward. The four surviving Kadirians cowered.
"By now, you will have realized that I cannot simply go on shooting you, to demonstrate my ferocity," he said. "By now, you understand that once I have killed three more of you, I have to let the fourth one live, if I am to have any hope of my questions being answered. So, the question each of you must ask yourselves is simple: how do I become the fourth one?" Tuarak smiled. "You will find that the answer lies in cooperation."
The man's psychopathy is... delicious.
...Oh, baby, you know, I've really got to leave you / Oh, I can hear it callin 'me / I said don't you hear it callin' me the way it used to do?...
- Anne Bredon
He's like Three's very best friend!
So the Kadirians don't know what they did...but Tuarak's going to figure it out, and soon. And that's very, very bad.
I agree with sander here, Tuarek's a guy who really relishes his work. This chapter had a nice bit of action, and is often the case shevet, has that 'game translation' feel to combat. And then things just got revelatory after that.
I feel really bad for the Kadirians here. Not only are they in the hands of someone utterly without scruples, but they, at first glance, appear to have accidentally killed off a whole population.
I hope it wasn't their fault and something deeper is in play, that's a lot of guilt.
And this is a total side note, but man those polaron cannon barrages are annoying.
Member Access Denied Armada!
My forum single-issue of rage: Make the Proton Experimental Weapon go for subsystem targetting!