Author Topic: Star Trek: Republic  (Read 14862 times)

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #25 on: March 16, 2012, 10:21:46 AM »
Chapter Fourteen

Commander Shrak, report to the Captain’s ready room. Commander Shrak, report to the Captain’s ready room.”

Chan looked up at the sudden announcement over the ship’s speakers and he saved the mountain of Star Fleet paperwork he was slowly grinding through. The cover story that Command had devised was playing havoc with getting torpedo reloads onboard—since all he could put in the requisition blanks that demanded to know why the torpedoes had been expended was LOST DUE TO DAMAGE FROM ION STORM. Three times, the requisition had been sent back, electronically stamped DENIED.

The last requisition came with a curt note all but accusing the Andorian of smuggling torpedoes away to be sold on the black market! And said in no uncertain terms, that there was no reason an ion storm warranted the expenditure of nearly three dozen Mk. 60s.

Chan walked through the bridge, and he took in the quiet efficiency of the crew with a nod of satisfaction. They had come together, and while there were still rough edges among them, they were acting and conducting themselves like real Star Fleet officers and crew should. He continued through the port-side door and into the short corridor that led to Turbolift 2 and the door to Captain Dahlgren’s ready room.

He stopped before the door, standing straight and pulling his uniform to wipe away any creases before he pressed the stud.

Come,” the intercom broadcast.

Chan walked into the ready room—the day cabin that served Captain Dahlgren as his office. It was twice the size of his own Executive Office, and included not only a desk and two guest chairs, but a comfortable couch, several shelves covered with books and items the Captain had collected over the years, and three transparent aluminum portals through which the executive officer could see the frantic EVA activity of McKinley Station.

“You wanted to see me, Captain Dahlgren?” Chan asked.

“I will presume that you are well aware that our surgeon drugged me, since no one came to wake me for my shift—the shift that you covered.”

“I was.”

“And you approve?”

“Begging your pardon, Captain Dahlgren, Sir, but you needed the rest. The ship is getting ready for space, the crew are working hard—but none of that means jack if you are not as ready as she is when the time comes to slip away from our berth.”

Matt grunted, and then gestured to one of the seats. He began to open his mouth, but then the doors hissed open and Yeoman Sinclair walked in with a covered serving tray, which she carried across to the desk.

Matt sat back and frowned as the middle-aged woman set down the tray, a napkin, and a set of silver utensils, and then she whisked the cover off to reveal a china plate covered with hash-brown potatoes, scrambled eggs, strips of crisp bacon, sausage links, and two slices of hot buttered toast with a small open jar of red plum jam.

“Nancy, I don’t have time for breakfast . . .” Matt began before the yeoman interrupted him.

“Make time, Sir. Chef Watanabe will be rather upset that his real—not replicated—meal has gone uneaten, Sir. Would the Captain prefer juice or milk, this morning?”

Matt smiled, and his stomach rumbled as he inhaled the rich steam rising from the plate. “Milk, and . . .”

“Milk, 500ml, chilled,” the yeoman instructed, taking the glass that suddenly materialized into the replicator. “Iced tea, southern style, sweetened, no citrus, 750ml.” Taking the second glass as well, Nancy Sinclair placed both on the right side of the platter.

“Will the Captain be needing anything else this morning?” she asked.

“No,” Matt said as he placed the napkin in his lap. “That will be all, Nancy.”

“Aye, aye, Sir; I’ll be back for the plate in half an hour. And I will check the replicator disposal log to see if you actually ate it, Sir.”

Where upon she turned on her heel and exited the ready room.

“The entire bloody crew wants to treat me with kid gloves, Chan,” Matt mumbled as he scooped up a forkful of eggs and potatoes and took a bite. He patted his lips with a second napkin.

“Repair status?”

“On schedule,” the Andorian answered with his antennae twitching. "Commander Malik believes that the last hull plate will in place and molecularly welded by 1200 hours, after which we can repressurize the compartments opened in the breach. Our new industrial replicator has been installed in Holodeck 2, and should be operational within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Holodeck 2?”

“The power supply there meets the needs of the unit better than the cargo bay. Or so Lieutenant Vasa assures me.”

“No great loss; have you . . .”

“Captain, please. All scheduled activities have been moved to Holodeck 1 and rotation assignments have been posted. I’ve also scheduled a close-quarters combat drill for security at 1900 hours tomorrow.”

Matt sprinkled some pepper across the steaming eggs, and then he began to mix them into his potatoes. “Let’s plan on a fire drill for tomorrow afternoon—we’ve got a lot of new people onboard and some exposed conduits and circuits. Get a feel at least for how they respond.”

“I’ll schedule it, Captain Dahlgren,” he said as Matt lifted a strip of bacon and bit off a piece.

“There is the slight matter of our torpedo reloads, however.”


McKinley’s ordnance section chief doesn’t seem to want to believe that we expended thirty-four torpedoes in an ion storm. He denied our request for reloads.”

“I’ll speak with Commodore Sampson—I have a video conference with him in forty minutes anyway. But we’ll get those torps, Chan.”

“Indeed, Captain Dahlgren. I was quite ready to send Senior Chief Callaghan and some torpedomen over to obtain them.”

“Chan,” Matt said as he shook his head with a grin. “That is not how Star Fleet officers are supposed to operate. I’ll speak with Sampson—and Sampson will deal with that dunderhead. But have our torpedo crew stand by to check the reloads before they go into the magazines—he might try to pawn off damaged goods on us.”

“Of course—and if he does?”

“If he does, then inform the Senior Chief and grant him forty-five minutes of station leave,” Matt answered with a humorless smile as he lifted one of the sausage links. “Anything else I need to know from my hibernation?”

“No, sir.”

“Alright, Chan. We’ve got four hours to finish as much as we can, and then we are out of here. So crack the whip.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” Chan answered as he rose, Matt spreading jam across one of the slices of toast as he turned to leave.

“And Chan?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Thanks for keeping things running smooth in my absence.”

The antennae twitched again. “Indeed. I didn’t even need to threaten a flogging—you’ve scared the crew into jumping to obey my instructions. You pink-skin tyrant, you.”

Matt chuckled. “Miss Tsien has the conn?”

“Yes, sir, she does.”

“Fine, I’ll be out there after my talk with Commodore Sampson. Let’s get the old girl ready for space, Chan.”

“Ready or not, we will leave the station on schedule—you have my word, Sir.”

“Of that, Commander Shrak, I have not the least doubt.”

Chan half bowed as Matt took a deep sip of the cold milk and then another hefty bite of potatoes and eggs. And then the doors slid closed behind him.

************************************************** ********

Chan stepped out of the turbolift onto Deck 8 and he briskly strode down two corridors before the reaching the Logistics and Supply Office. He walked into the small and cramped compartment and then stopped in his tracks. Rather than the utilitarian décor he had expected, the LSO had dimmed lights, the bulkheads adorned in Tellarite tapestries, with carved vases adorning wooden cabinets. He could hear the gruff snoring and grunting from deep within the chest of Pok Khar’tess, the Lieutenant in charge of this vital department.

The Tellarite sat in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, and the chair leaning back against the corner, braced by two bulkheads. Asleep. He was asleep.

The two ratings working at their consoles snapped to their feet as the Andorian had stormed in, but Pok still slept.

“Lieutenant,” Chan said. “LIEUTENANT!” he bellowed a second time. Causing the Logistics officer’s eyes to snap open and forcing him to flail to his arms to regain his balance, before sitting up.

“Ah,” he squinted, taking in his surroundings. “Ah, Commander Shrak. Welcome to Supply? Do you need additional refrigeration units attached to your environmental system controls?”

“Lieutenant Pok, you called me and requested a meeting.”

“Ah. Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I,” the Tellarite chuckled. “It takes a while for the brain to wake up from a deep REM sleep—didn’t they tell you in the Academy that waking a sleeping Tellarite is not a wise thing, Commander?”

“Sleeping on duty on this ship, Lieutenant Pok, is the definition of not a wise thing.”

“On duty, off duty, someone always needs something from Supply, Commander. I all but live in my office these days—haven’t eaten a full meal in days, just snacks. I shall waste away before long!” he chuckled as he slapped his round belly.

“But now I remember why I asked you to pay us a visit. Come, come!” Pok said as he walked out of the office—and then stopped, looking back through the door at the ratings. “And those requisitions had best be complete when I return or I’ll have you doing calisthenics with Beck’s Marines!”

The Tellarite waddled down the corridor to Cargo Bay Three, where he entered a complex code into the door access, and it whistled open. “Here we are, Commander!” he said as he entered, waving a hand over the cavernous hall filled with crates full of supplies and spare parts.

“What am I supposed to the looking for, Lieutenant?” the Andorian asked, his antennae retracted and his face tight.

The Tellarite threw up both hands and shook his head, walked over to the stack of machinery covered with a tarp and ripped away the concealing cover. To unveil photon torpedo casings stacked upon two pallets.


Chan froze. He stared at the photon torpedoes, and then he turned his gaze on the Tellarite and then he went back to staring at the torpedoes. “How did . . .”

“You don't want to know, Commander. Really. But trust me, Endeavor doesn’t even know they are missing from her magazines. I did leave an . . . anonymous note so that they could replace them before that ship leaves dry-dock. It’s on a timer in their main computer—to be opened after we are well away from Sol,” he finished with a wheezing chuckle. “I know Lt. Commander Adrian of the station—we were in the same class at the Academy. He won’t give you the torpedoes Republic needs—not without a direct order from Star Fleet Command! Hah! There are many ways to skin the vort, though!”

The Tellarite squinted again at the executive officer. “Unless you want me to give them back?”

“No. No, Lieutenant Pok, I think we’ll go ahead and keep them,” Chan slowly said as he tapped his comm badge. “Commander Shrak to Torpedo Control—we’ve received a shipment of Mk. 60s in Cargo Three. Set a work crew down to inspect them before storing them in the magazines.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” came the quick answer.

“And Pok?”

“Ah, yes, Sir?”

“I think you and I are going to have a little talk about what else you’ve managed to acquire off the books.”

Pok’s face fell and he began to wave his furry hands, stuttering at the back of the Andorian who was walking out of the cargo bay.

“A discussion and perhaps even a full audit,” Shrak’s voice trailed off and the Tellarite quickly waddled after him.

"A full audit?!?" the Tellarite wailed, wringing his hands.

Chan stopped and turned around. "Which will only be necessary if you are not completely truthful with me, Mister Pok. Now, what else have you managed to acquire?"

"A few odds, a few ends," sputtered the Tellarite. "I have a manifest in my office, of course."

Five minutes later, Shrak's eyes grew wide as he stared at the monitor screen. "Pok, you didn't . . . ?"

The Tellarite beam a smile. "I learned in the Cauldron, Commander, there is no such thing as too much firepower when fighting a Klingon battle cruiser. McKinley shouldn't miss them for at least a day; by which time we'll be well away from here. Besides, Adrian is a stuffy asshole, even by human standards; I think they call him a prick."

"You do realize our tubes are not rated to handle quantum torpedoes, Mister Pok?"

"Commander, I didn't ste . . .; ah, I meant to say acquire the entire torpedoes! I only took ten warheads. Surely our engineers can make them fit in a Mk. 60 case; even if we lose a bit of range the bigger bang is worth it. Yes?"

"Oh, yes," mumbled Chan, shaking his head.

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #26 on: March 16, 2012, 10:30:15 AM »
Chapter Fourteen (cont.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

Chuckles arose across the bridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On speaker,” said Matt.

“Shall I discontinue the music, Captain Dahlgren?”

“No. Let them sing out, Mister Shrak.”

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

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

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

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

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

Permission attained after the torpedoes, but permission nonetheless, Matt thought.

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

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

“Crystal, Sir.”

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

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

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

Offline Makaveli

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #27 on: March 16, 2012, 02:37:53 PM »
I'll read this and comment back when I get a chance but I just wanted to suggest that next time you should attach the document file itself instead of posting it all into separate posts, first it saves you a lot of hassle and secondly it makes it easier for people to download and read it offline... The forum layout is a little distracting when trying to read long posts. Just a suggestion.
N.I.G.G.A. - Never Ignorant Gettin' Goals Acomplished
"If a man hasn't discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live." - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
CIDvision :: the breen war :: trekonline

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #28 on: March 16, 2012, 03:13:45 PM »
Thanks.  It isn't finished yet (I didn't join here until I was quite far along) and I didn't want to post an incomplete document, but your point is well taken.  I do hope that you enjoy the story.

Master Arminas

Offline Makaveli

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #29 on: March 16, 2012, 03:20:47 PM »
Hey when people are designing ships they post in progress artwork, same thing works for a document. Just makes it easier to read.

Been reading it for the last little while and I like what I've read so far... couple spelling errors and sentences that don't exactly flow with the rest but its actually an alright read. One thing to point out on the Treknology side of things tho, full impulse is only .25c
« Last Edit: March 16, 2012, 06:13:27 PM by Makaveli »
N.I.G.G.A. - Never Ignorant Gettin' Goals Acomplished
"If a man hasn't discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live." - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
CIDvision :: the breen war :: trekonline

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #30 on: March 17, 2012, 10:10:26 AM »
Chapter Fifteen

“Captain log, Stardate 53752.8, USS Republic. We have been underway now for twenty days en route to the Cygnus Sector. Ship’s morale continues to be high, although there have been several . . . confrontations between my regular crew and the engineers we temporarily have aboard ship. However, between the stern efforts of Commander Shrak, Commander Malik, and Commander Phillips (the senior officer of the Star Fleet Corps of Engineers personnel), I believe that we have managed to avert frustrations and discomfort from exploding into violence.”

“Our guests are not used to the discipline that Chan and I have managed to instill among the crew of Republic; in fact, many have protested to Commander Philips over the lack of access to Holodeck 1, as well as the limited nature of recreational programs that I will allow for their use. Sean Philips, however, understands that this is my ship—and he has backed my decisions to the hilt, despite his own private misgivings over the lack of options the crew has available for their downtime.”

Matt chuckled. “With the access to the library computer network, and its archival databanks of books, music, drama, comedy, sports, and a nearly unimaginable broad selection of subjects, I doubt that anyone on this ship—on any Star Fleet ship—can be seriously disconcerted by not having their own custom Holodeck fantasies. Complaints against this policy have gradually slowed, however, as the SCE personnel have come to realize that I simply will not give in to their whining. Assigning them to morning calisthenics with the Marine’s only hastened their acceptance of this reality.”

“I am concerned however about the sheer enthusiasm that my crew has shown concerning the SCE personnel and their critical skills in restoring ships and upgrading equipment.” Matt paused and he took a sip of his Scotch, rubbing his leg, and he shook his head. “So far, I’ve had seventy-nine separate memos sent by junior officers suggesting alterations to the ship. These have ranged from the mildly inventive to ideas that make me wonder if perhaps the Academy training program is not giving enough emphasis on practical engineering. Case in point, Ensign Park suggested that we replicate and install no less than sixty-six pulse phaser turrets on the primary and engineering hulls; completely ignoring the power requirements, conduit rerouting, and hull cutting that would have to go into such an endeavor. Not to mention that Republic would have to install another sixteen fire directors, targeting and tracking arrays, and find the space for an additional thirty-three phaser techs! Or that such a large number of pulse phasers would quickly drain every joule of energy from the ship's reactors!”

“Another suggestion made was the installation of a collimated phaser strip along the edge of the forward saucer, covering a 170-degree arc of fire from port-to-starboard. Not a bad suggestion on its face, Ensign Roberts failed to consider the drain on ship-wide power reserves, the need to lay nearly two kilometers of 15cm plasma power conduits through existing internal compartments, and that his proposed heavy phaser strip—using emitters normally reserved for planetary defense batteries!—would require the removal of the forward airlock and forty-four personnel quarters.” Matt shook his head and chuckled. "Apparently he was impressed by the disruptor cannons that Val'qis carried in her prow."

“I did not tear my Ensigns a raw strip from their hides, however. No, I bit my tongue, and simply forwarded the memos to the various department heads and Commander Shrak—who have now, I am quite certain—discussed precisely what the chain of command for such ideas is aboard this ship.”

“However, there was one idea which is both practical and eminently sensible. Ensign Hollis Trevane suggested that since we do have an industrial replicator and SCE personnel skilled in EVA, perhaps we can manufacture some ablative armor panels to reinforce critical areas of the ship’s hull. His suggestion has merit and I intend to carry it out at our first available opportunity. The added mass is negligible against Republics current tonnage, and the increase in protection for the ship and crew at no cost in power consumption is an excellent proposal. Commander Philips believes that his engineers can, if assisted by our crew, complete the installation of ablative armor plating over 84% of the ship’s external surface in less than two days at sub-light.”

“The production of so much plating, however, has dramatically eaten into our onboard supplies intended for the industrial replicator. We should have enough to armor vital sections of the exterior of the ship with just enough left over to reinforce the interior bulkheads surrounding the anti-matter containment pods. If we can produce a few more tons, I also plan on reinforcing the internal bulkheads around the warp core.”

“In order to accomplish the installation of the exterior armor plating, I am planning on a 96-hour layover at the New Columbia colony tomorrow. Once the SCE engineers have completed this task, I will inform Star Fleet Command to send a transport for them—as all of our internal repairs will be complete by that time as well. I have received a handful of requests for permanent assignment aboard Republic, some of which I am considering approving. Commander Philips has signed off on any transfers from his command to this ship; although I am not certain Admiral Parker would. Thankfully, he is far away on Earth.”

“If possible, I intend to allow the crew to get a few hours of liberty at New Columbia. Our time at Earth was too brief to allow them to visit their families, or go carousing in the case of our young Ensigns. I have already spoken with Commander Shrak, asking him to have a word with those on their first tour of duty. But that is for after the last of the repairs have been finished.”

Matt yawned. “Computer, save log.”

Log saved.”

“Play recording Cassandra Dahlgren 023, Live from Notre Dame.”

File loaded, playback commencing.”

Matt leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of the smooth whiskey as he listened to the recording of his daughter and her choral group performing at the ancient cathedral.


“We are approaching New Columbia, Sir,” Isabella called out from the helm.

Matt finished his update of the ship’s log and he shifted in his chair. “Very well, Miss Montoya. Drop to sub-light and assume standard orbit.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” she replied and the stars streaking by on the view screen suddenly slowed.

“There is a starship in orbit of the colony, Captain,” the tactical officer called out suddenly. “Orion Clipper-class, transponder says she is the White Cloud.” Pavel looked up from his station with a grin. “I think we’ve surprised them, Sir—her warp drive is off-line and her shields are down.”

“Well, well, well,” mused Matt. “Miss Montoya, put us into orbit directly aft of that ship; Miss Biddle, stand by forward tractor in case they decide to run. Mister Chan, hail them and inform the master to stand by for a customs inspection.”

“With pleasure, Captain Dahlgren,” the Andorian replied.

“On viewer, Miss Biddle; magnify.”

The main view screen zoomed in on the Orion vessel coasting along in standard orbit. The Clipper-class ships were officially designated by the Orion Syndicate as fast cargo/courier vessels—but Starfleet considered them blockade runners, smugglers, and (on occasion) pirates. Standing orders for the Fleet was to conduct inspections of any Clipper in Federation space for illegal goods; more than one such inspection had revealed the transport of slaves. The problem with enforcing that decree was a rather simple one: like all Orion designed vessels, the Clippers were fast ships. Faster, in fact, than all but the most modern Star Fleet vessels, much less an older ship like Republic. Oh, they paid for that speed in having very lightly built unreinforced hulls, low-powered shields, and a limited array of older and weaker weaponry, but all too often they were simply able to outrun Star Fleet ships rather than submit to being boarded.

But every now and then, on rare occasion, a Federation vessel managed to catch them unawares—much like now. It was a task that the Blue Fleet in particular, with the Andorian’s hatred of pirates and slavers, excelled at. And if that ship was smuggling illegal items, well, then; under Federation law the ship could be impounded by Star Fleet to be either scrapped or sold at auction. Taking a Clipper-class as a prize—intact—was a definite feather in the cap of any starship.

Matt pressed a comm stud on his chair. “Security, bridge.”

Go ahead, Bridge,” came the voice of Lieutenant Beck.

“Prepare a customs inspection party—we’ve got an Orion vessel in orbit, Mister Beck. Commander Shrak will assign the inspection officers, but I want your Marines to provide security for the detail.”

Aye, aye, sir,” the Lieutenant answered.

“Captain, we are in tractor range,” Miss Biddle called out.

“Chan, any response?”


Matt frowned. “Are their sensors active, Miss Tsien?”

“Yes, sir. Their proximity alarms should be going off, even if they don’t have a sensor watch manned.”

“Put them in a tractor lock, Miss Biddle; perhaps that will wake them up.”

“Aye, aye, Si . . .” she began, but was then interrupted by a shout from Amanda’s science station. “Captain! My sensors are showing no life forms aboard that vessel.”

Matt rotated his chair and stared at the young science officer. “Verify.”

“Confirmed, Sir.”

Chan ran his hands over his own board, and he shook his head. “Confirmed. No signs of life aboard that vessel, Captain Dahlgren.”

“Does she have internal power and life support?”

“Affirmative. Her warp core is shut down; her impulse engines are in standby mode; thrusters are at station-keeping. And her guns are cold; deflectors and shields off-line.”

“Hail the colony, Mister Shrak,” Matt said, as a chill ran down his spine.

“No response, Captain.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Matt whispered. “Yellow alert, Mister Shrak.”

“Setting Yellow Alert throughout the ship—our shields are now raised, Captain Dahlgren.”

“Amanda, scan the colony.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” she replied as she bent over her console. And then she jerked upright. “Captain,” she gasped, “this can’t be right!”

“Miss Tsien?”

“I am detecting none of the colonists on the surface. Not one. There are supposed to be twelve thousand people down there, and I’m not detecting a single one of them!”

The bridge grew quiet. Matt turned back around to face Chan. “Mister Shrak, any signs of combat—either in the colony or aboard that ship?”

“None. And I confirm the sensor readings, Captain Dahlgren. I am detecting the native animal and plant life, but none of the colonists.”

Matt leaned back and he tapped his fingers on the arm of his command chair. “Mister Shrak, prepare a landing party—outfit them with EVA suits. I want full hazardous environment precautions, just in case there is some contamination of that ship or the colony. And make certain they are armed, Mister Shrak. Miss Tsien, you are relieved; I want a full science and medical team standing by to beam down once Mister Shrak and the Marines have secured the beam-down site.”

“Aye, aye, Sir. Permission to leave the bridge?” Chan asked, as Amanda stood.

“Granted. Find me some answers, Chan.”

“Mister Roshenko,” Matt continued, turning in his chair to face the tactical officer. “I want you to deploy twenty-four probes in an expanding shell towards the Oort Cloud. Full active sensor pallets with real-time telemetry back to the ship. Tie the probes into the science labs for analysis. In addition, I want a complete sensor sweep of the planet—maximum resolution. Let’s see if there is anyone on the surface, or anything in system.”

“Aye, aye, Sir. That will cut our supply of probes by half, Captain.”

“I am aware of that, Mister Roshenko. The added sensor reach is well worth the expenditure.”

“Aye, aye, Sir. It’ll take twenty minutes to prep that number and launch.”

“Understood. Miss Biddle?” he said as he rotated his chair back forward.

Grace turned and looked at the Captain. “Sir?”

“Miss Biddle, assemble a second away team—make certain that you include a few Marines from Lieutenant Beck’s security detachment. Same precautions as Mister Shrak; I want you in full EVA suits. Board White Cloud and go over every square millimeter of that ship. Try to find out what happened to her crew, make certain her systems and orbit are stable, search the vessel for contraband, and secure her. If she has been abandoned, and her systems are operational, I want a full decontamination of her interior before you go helmets off.” Matt paused, and then he smiled. “I’m assigning Crewman Zapata to your team—have him go through their computer and see what’s she been up to. I’ll leave the rest of your party up to you.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the operations officer said as she unhooked the restraining straps and stood. “Permission to leave the bridge, Sir?”

“Granted, Miss Biddle. And Miss Biddle?”


“Every member of your team beams over there armed—is that understood?”

“Yes, sir," Grace replied with a grimace. She was perhaps the only of Matt's senior officers (other than Counselor Trinculo) who did not care for carrying a weapon. "I will wear one, Sir."

Matt leaned forward and frowned at the lovely blue world on the viewer, and the sharply racked nacelles of the Orion Clipper hovering between the planet and Republic. He pressed a stud on the arm of his chair. “Bridge to Commander Philips.”

Philips here, Captain. I take it our EVA to install the armor will be delayed?"

“Yes, Mister Philips. Have we enough raw materials to fabricate two dozen probes?”

“Easily, sir.”

“Then have Mister Vasa start the manufacturing process. I may need some of your engineers on the White Cloud or the surface, depending on what exactly my away teams discover, Commander. Do you have a problem with that?”

None, sir.”

“Good. Is Mister Malik there with you?”

Yes, sir.”

“Mister Malik, what is the minimum crew required of a Clipper-class vessel to safely bring her into port?”

They are highly automated, sir. At absolute minimum, an engineer and pilot can get her into warp, but I’d recommended at least one officer and around a dozen crew. Maybe a few more if she is going a long distance.”

“And her total accommodations?”

It varies, Sir. She’s small, about the size of the Nova-class, but a slaver has more life support capacity and accommodations than a blockade runner, or a yacht. The Orions custom build those ships—no two are exactly the same. But it can’t be more than sixty or seventy at full load, perhaps as many as a hundred if she is a slaver.”

“We might end up seizing her, Nat, and if so I will need a crew to man that ship until we reach a Starbase. Start going through the crew roster—and Philip’s engineers—and assemble a list of personnel to man her if we claim her as a prize.”

Aye, aye, Sir.”

“Miss Montoya?”


“Miss Montoya, I will be in my ready room. It is precisely twenty-five steps from my desk there to my chair here. You will have the conn in my absence.”

“Me?” she squealed, her voice rising two octaves, as Matt and Pavel Roshenko smiled.

“You, Miss Montoya. Lieutenant Commander Roshenko is your senior, but you will be the officer of the deck. You will have the conn. Inform me immediately if there is a status change,” Matt stood. “Pavel, let me know when you are ready to launch the probes. Miss Montoya, the conn is yours,” Matt continued with a sly smile as he stepped away from the chair.

“Aye, aye, Sir,” the helmsman answered, as she moved over towards and then sat down in his vacant chair. “I have the conn."

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #31 on: March 17, 2012, 10:19:03 AM »
Chapter Fifteen (cont.)

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chief.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chief.”

“And your phaser is locked on stun?”

“Yes, Chief!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Easy, Sir. Easy.”

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

Go ahead, Miss Biddle,” Chris heard the Captain say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“After you, Mister Roberts.”

************************************************** ***

Chan materialized in the center square of the New Columbia colony, the early morning mist from the nearby lake covering the ground in a haze of fog. He waited until the other two beam-down sections arrived. “Divide into teams of two and conduct a search of the city,” he ordered. “Tricorders out; I want constant communication with all search teams. Take it slow and easy, gentlemen; let’s see if we can find where they have all gone off to.”

“Mister Park,” he said to the young engineering ensign. “You are with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chan opened his own tricorder and took a reading of the area, comparing it with the maps of the city stored in its databanks. Finally, he nodded and began to move off to the east—towards the tall hills that bordered the city on that side. “Their emergency shelters are in this direction, Mister Park; I think we will start our search there.”

“There’s no signs of combat, sir—and no bodies,” Jin Park commented as they walked, his tricorder humming.

“No. Just this mist. Atmospheric composition?”

“I’m not detecting any contaminants, Sir. And background radiation is exactly as the archive computers indicated; no trace of weapons fire, either. But, that’s odd.”

“What’s odd, Ensign?”

Jin stopped and he frowned at the tricorder. “I’ve got a power source up ahead, sir—a big one. And according to the schematic, there shouldn’t be anything putting out this kind of power in that location—it’s a park, Sir.”

“A park, Mister Park?” Chan said with a grim chuckle. “No need to answer that, Ensign.”

Chan took a look at his own tricorder, and adjusted the controls frowning. He tapped his comm badge. “This is Shrak. I want Lieutenant Bowen to report to my location immediately.”

“Come, Mister Park. Let’s see what is producing all of that power.”

The two officers continued walking through the streets of the city, and then they entered an expansive area of green trees, manicured grass still wet with the dew of the morning mist. And in the middle of the park, there was a massive device.

“Life signs, Mister Park?”

“None within two kilometers, sir. And only native lifeforms outside of that radius.”

Chan slowly approached the bulky object, his tricorder humming. “Ensign, does this design look familiar to you?”

“It’s generating a sub-space signal, but on a frequency I haven’t seen used before . . . Commander?” He suddenly paused. “Could it be a transporter beacon? I’m showing a stabilization of the sub-space field in the area around it.”

“Exactly what I was thinking, Ensign,” Chan said. From out of the mist, the shapes of Lieutenant Bowen and a Marine appeared, and Bowen whistled.

“That doesn’t look like it belongs here, Commander.”

“No, Lieutenant, thank you for stating the obvious. I want a full analysis of this device—Mister Park, assist Mister Bowen. Corporal Thiesman—you’re with me.”

As the two engineers began to inspect and study the object, Chan and the Marine moved out towards the emergency shelters. After a short walk, they reached the entrance, which was not sealed. Chan descended the steps, his tricorder humming as they went, and the Marine followed, his phaser rifle at the ready.

Seventy-five meters down, they reached the turbo-lift shafts that connected to the secure bunker one kilometer deep. Built in the aftermath of the Dominion attacks, emergency shelters such as this one were designed to house the population of the colony during even the worst planetary assaults—and they were shielded against sensors to prevent any attacker from detecting the people within. But the shelter was empty, with no sign that any of the colonists had attempted to reach it.

After searching the desolate, spartan rooms buried beneath the surface, Chan and Thiesman once again emerged on the surface, and Chan’s communicator beeped.

“This is Shrak.”

"Bowen, Sir. Ensign Park is right—it’s a transporter beacon, but one a massive scale. I’ve never even seen plans for one this large.”

“Why would someone need such a device, Lieutenant,” Chan asked.

Sir . . . the only reason I can think of is that some is attempting interstellar transport. Given enough power, we know it is possible—but very difficult in theory. But with a transporter beacon of this magnitude, it might, might be accomplished, if the entity using the transporters has enough power.”

“Thank you, Mister Bowen. Shrak to Republic.”

Go ahead, Chan,” Matt answered.

“Sir, I think we’ve found something. There is a sub-space transporter beacon—a massive one—down here in the colony. It’s operating on a kappa-band sub-space frequency; retuning the lateral sensor arrays to that frequency might detect a transporter ionization trail.”

You think the colony was beamed away?”

“Sir, I don’t know. But this beacon has to be here for a reason.”

Mister Roshenko is adjusting the sensors now, Chan . . . yes. There is a transporter trace on the colony and extending into deep space.”

“Captain,” Chan slowly said. “Mister Bowen believes that with a beacon this powerful, interstellar transport might be possible.”

Understood. Anything else?”
“Negative, sir. No bodies, no colonists, and no signs of weapons fire in the colony itself. I don’t think the colonists are here anymore.”

Neither do I, Chan. Neither do I,” Matt paused. “And given what Grace found on the White Cloud . . . let’s get your search parties back aboard ship, Commander. I’ll put the science labs and Miss Tsien on tracking down that trace.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #32 on: March 17, 2012, 10:23:53 AM »
Well, I tried to attach the file, but got an error message saying it was too large.  Any suggestions?

Master Arminas

Offline Makaveli

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #33 on: March 17, 2012, 02:58:54 PM »
Just save the one chapter as a rtf file and put that up, I don't know why you would be having any issues, the forum allows files up to 400kb or something like that.
N.I.G.G.A. - Never Ignorant Gettin' Goals Acomplished
"If a man hasn't discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live." - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
CIDvision :: the breen war :: trekonline

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #34 on: March 17, 2012, 03:41:18 PM »
Let's try this as a PDF.


Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #35 on: March 17, 2012, 03:42:09 PM »
The second part.

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #36 on: March 17, 2012, 03:43:26 PM »
And the last part, up to where I am in writing it.

Offline Makaveli

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #37 on: March 17, 2012, 08:35:35 PM »
I'm enjoying reading it so far, I look forward to reading more.
N.I.G.G.A. - Never Ignorant Gettin' Goals Acomplished
"If a man hasn't discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live." - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
CIDvision :: the breen war :: trekonline

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #38 on: March 18, 2012, 09:16:08 PM »
Chapter Twenty (cont.)

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

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

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

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

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

“On screen, Mister Shrak.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead.”

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

“Spit it out, Captain Myers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Sir,” William answered sourly.

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

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

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

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

“Miss Montoya, is our course plotted?”

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

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

Full strength, aye, aye, Sir.”

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

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

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

“Engage, Miss Montoya.”

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #39 on: March 18, 2012, 09:17:33 PM »
I'm enjoying reading it so far, I look forward to reading more.

Thank you.  I hope that you do enjoy the story.  I've skipped ahead to where I am in current writing with this last post; the missing chapters are in the Part III download.

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #40 on: March 18, 2012, 10:22:28 PM »
Chapter Twenty (cont.)

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

“I must have accidently activated it, Captain Dahlgren.”

And with that, the ship’s intercom cut out down in Deflector Control.  Chris turned his chair around and looked over the men and women of his section, and then he stared at Chief Bronson, who was chuckling and shaking his head.

Damn,” the burly NCO said.  “I thought that the Old Man was tough on us!  Guess he meant what he said about going to bat for us—and we aren’t going to let him down are we?”

“No, Chief,” came back a chorus of voices.  To which Chris added his own.

The Red Alert klaxon sounded, and the lights in the compartment automatically dimmed.  Chris turned back to his station.  “Bring the main deflector on-line, deflection set to automatic, secondary and tertiary systems engaged,” he ordered sharply.

The replies came fast and furious and Chief Bronson took his seat beside the Ensign.  He examined his panel and touched a series of controls.  “Dish is on-line and ready, Mister Roberts.  Warp engines are warming up.”

“Mister Roberts?” one of the techs called out from his station.

“Yes, Thompson?”

“Mister Roberts, we aren’t going to let Arrogant get away with saying those things about the ship, right, Sir?”

Chris glanced over at the Chief, who was struggling to control his own laughter and shaking his head.  “Warp engines are on-line, bring the deflector to standard power,” the Ensign said as Republic began to surge forward, and then she shot past light-speed.

The Ensign watched the readings settle down and he nodded.

“Thompson,” he said, “rest assured that Arrogant and Jupiter Station both will get what they deserve.”  Chris smiled.  “I heard a rumor that Senior Chief Callaghan has been working on getting back at the Jupiters; I imagine he his fiendish mind went into overdriving upon hearing that broadcast.”

“Damn,” the deflector tech whispered.  “Siccing the Senior Chief on them?  Man, it almost makes you feel sorry for them.  Almost.”

“Atrias, watch that intercooler temperature—it spiked last time we had to go to Warp in a hurry,” Chris cut in, bringing his crew back to their jobs.

“On it, Sir.”


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

“I must have accidently activated it, Captain Dahlgren.”

“Well, he really isn’t fit for duty,” Robert Woolsey said as he worked at the medical research station opposite of Quincy.

“Star Fleet Medical says he is, and I say he is.  Does he need a good leg to sit in a damn chair?”

“Technically no, but he can’t pass the physical in his current condition.  So technically, he should be relieved and reassigned . . .”

“Robert, there are times when we go by the book and there are times when we use our own judgment.  This is one of the latter.  As long as he sits down, he can do his job.  Would you rather than SOB Myers in charge?  I mean you are now part of this ship—from a certain point of view, he called you a piece of garbage.”

The hologram looked up in alarm.  “Perhaps I should report him for insulting a fellow Starfleet officer.  Doctor Talbot, if they scuttle the ship—will they remove me first?”

“Matt won’t let that happen.”

“He’s only a Captain!  He’s doesn’t get to decide these things.”

“He won’t let that happen.”

“Tell me again, why are we preparing this solution of Golian Fireseed Extract?” the hologram asked.  “Ninety-eight percent of the races in the Federation have a mild allergic reaction to this substance; and it has no medical use.  In fact, it can cause severe skin irritation and itching if even a minute effect is ingested.”

“It’s a special project for Senior Chief Callaghan.”

“Oh,” the hologram replied.  And then he stopped and looked up again.  “What does he need this solution for?”

“Trust me, Doctor Woolsey,” the ship’s surgeon answered with broad grin, “you don’t want to know.”


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

“I must have accidently activated it, Captain Dahlgren.”

Gustaf Vasa reclined back in his comfortable seat, and he twisted the hairs of his thick blonde mustache.  Finally, he nodded to himself.  “Computer, load the physical profile for Matthew Dahlgren, commanding officer, USS Republic.”


Vasa, Lieutenant and Crown Prince of a small Nordic political province on Earth, tapped the console and brought up data patterns on a variety of different instruments.  Selecting one he added it to the physical profile of the Captain.

“Computer, adjust specifications on Replicator Program Vasa 8934-Tau to ergonomically match the physical profile of Matthew Dahlgren.  Adjust length, mass, width, and grip to conform to his profile.”

“Adjusting . . . complete.”

Vasa smiled and he sat up and began typing in additional data.  No, this ship wasn’t boring by any means, and if his Captain, if Gustaf Vasa’s Captain, was going to vow to fight another Starfleet officer in a duel, then Gustaf Vasa would make certain that the Captain had a sword fit for a King.

“Computer, commence replication.”

“Replication underway . . . seventeen minutes will required to complete the program.”

Gustaf leaned back in his chair and he smiled.  A sword fit for a King.
« Last Edit: March 18, 2012, 10:58:27 PM by masterarminas »

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #41 on: March 19, 2012, 02:01:30 PM »
Chapter Twenty (cont.)

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

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

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

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

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

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

“Hail them, Mister Shrak.”

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

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

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

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

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

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

“484,000 kilometers, Sir.”

“Hold position.”

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

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

“Captain Dahlgren, we are being hailed.”

“On screen.”

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

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

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

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

“Difficult, Matthew Dahlgren?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Gathering?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, aye, Captain Dahlgren.”

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

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

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #42 on: March 20, 2012, 06:55:29 PM »
Chapter Twenty One

Belagon’s face twisted as he stepped into the cargo hold and saw the mass of Nephkyrie children assembled there.  The noise of talk and games died down as one by one, the prisioners spotted their elder and each slowly came to his feet, or turned around, their eyes wide.

“Second Speaker?” one whispered, taking a step forward.  “You are dead, Second Speaker . . . the Speaker told us.”

“Who are you, child?” Belagon softly asked.

“Talondra Dal, Second Speaker.  I . . . I remember you—but you haven’t aged.”

Belagon swayed, and a tear rolled down his cheek.  “Talondra.  I remember you, child.  You were barely post adolescence, and your father was assigned as Shipmaster Prime.”

The prisoner nodded.  “He was killed in the attack that destroyed the rest of the Fleet . . . but you are hereHow?”

“There was no attack on the Fleet, Talondra.  The rest of the Arks are intact.  And Typhias . . . Typhias has much for which to answer.”

“But . . . but,” Talondra stammered, and he too began to cry.  “If there wasn’t an attack, then why is Father dead?”

Belagon’s only answer was to step forward and hold the weeping adult-sized child tightly in his arms.

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #43 on: March 20, 2012, 09:14:10 PM »
Chapter Twenty-One (cont.)

Voltanis shook his head.  “I never believed that I would use my knowledge of the Arks to aid someone in attacking them, Second Speaker,” he sadly stated.  “But in this case, I believe that you are correct.”

The Nephkyrie Shipmaster laid a device on the table in Republic’s briefing room and he touched one side, causing a holographic display to spring into life over the device, rotating to show all surfaces of the Ark ships.

“There are five separate transporter emitters on the outer surface of the hull of Ark Prime,” he continued as five blinking dots appeared.  “Eliminate these and the primary transporters—the most powerful transporter units—will be disabled until repairs can be made.  It was by combining all five of these emitters that Typhias was able to beam his boarding party across through your shields and inhibitor field.  In addition, there are twenty-two secondary transporter emitters which are capable of delivering fusion warheads outside your shields.”  And more blinking dots appeared.

“Once the transporter emitters have been removed, you should be able to eliminate the weapons batteries that bear and close until your own transporters are within range.  The central command compartment is located here,” he touched another section of the surface and the image transformed into an internal schematic and zoomed in to display a series of connected compartment deep within the ship’s hull.

“From these compartments, the ship can be controlled, and the Speaker Prime and his retinue were housed immediately adjacent so that they could quickly be waked and consulted should the Shipmaster deem it necessary.  There is an auxiliary control center here,” and the image moved quickly towards the stern, “which duplicates the controls of the central command compartment; it too must you take to gain control of Ark Prime.”

The Nephkyrie Shipmaster shook his head.  “And you must be fast.  All of our Arks, you see, are outfitted with scuttling charges in the event that they were overrun by a hostile race.  The Second Speaker has the overrides, but once they are activated you will have only three minutes to enter the codes before the charges detonate.”

Matt nodded and he looked at his senior officers seated around the table.  Captain Myers cleared his throat, and then he spoke up as the staff and their guests turned around to look at him.  “How powerful are the charges, Shipmaster?”

“Taken all together, seventeen point four of the units of explosive force you refer to as gigatons,” the Shipmaster said with a wry smile.  “We did not want our technology to be looted and these were to serve as our parting gift to any who fought their way to victory.”

For a moment there was only utter silence at the table, and then Chan shook his head.  “That sounds simple enough.  Three minutes should be more than sufficient time if Typhias’s children soldiers are representative of your ground combat technology.”

Voltanis snorted, and Belagon shook his head.  “Those were civilian arms and armor, meant only for self-defense that Typhias supplied to our children.  Our military weapons, Commander Shrak, are far more deadly.”

“To start,” interjected Voltanis, “each of our actual soldiers are clad from head to toe in combat armor that amplifies the strength of the wearer by an order of magnitude.  This armor is designed to resist energy weapons fire by absorbing the energy, dissipating its effect.  Having seen a demonstration of your weapons, I can assure you that our military grade armor will resist a single hit from your highest settings—once.  It will take multiple high-power strikes to disable or kill a single one of our soldiers.”

“In addition to carrying a hand weapon similar to that our children used against you, our soldier’s main weapon was a derivative of the transporter.  It projects a beam that disperses the material composition of the target, literally beaming away into nothing the object that the beam strikes.   Rather part of the object or target; it only affects approximately one-half of your cubic feet at a time.  Further, our armor contains an integral inhibitor field meshed to the frequency of our weapons, as well as a pattern enhancer that allows our transporters to beam through shielded areas.  Because of that, the weapon contains a secondary system that projects a disruption beam, similar to that of your phasers.”

“Lovely,” muttered Lieutenant Beck.  “So they can beam away our arms, legs, torsos, or heads, or hit us with the equal of Klingon disruptor rifles.”

Belagon nodded.  “Which is why I have already ordered Ark Two to wake our complement of soldiers—Typhias is our problem, and our soldiers will perform the assault, Captain Dahlgren.”

Matt tapped his stylus against the table.  “From what I have learned from my conversation with the Shipmaster here, your complement of actual soldiers is very small—not more than fifty per ship.  Is that correct?”

“It is.”

“In which case, I must insist that you let us augment your assault force with our own personnel; the fate of the Federation colonists is my problem, Second Speaker.”

Myers shifted in his seat, but he kept his mouth closed, as Chan glared at him.

“If we are unsuccessful, Captain Dahlgren, your Federation will hold our race responsible for those deaths—and those of your crews.  I beg of you, let us prove our worth in this instance.”

“Second Speaker, the United Federation of Planets does not hold the crimes of an individual, or a small group of individuals, against an entire race.  Speaking on behalf of the Federation, I promise you that regardless of the outcome, we will remove our colonists from New Columbia so that you may have your new home.  And the Federation will offer to extend to you their hand in friendship and provide any assistance that you may need—our doctors and scientists aboard this ship are already working on finding a treatment for your genetic damage.”

Voltanis sat back, barely breathing in surprise.  But Belagon only met Matt’s eyes, and then he nodded.  “Agreed.  We have years in which my people will sleep before we reach the planet; so that discussion can be held later.  But I am honored that you would treat with us fairly, after what Typhias has wrought.”

Matt stood, and he winced with pain before he regained his composure.  The two guests and the Starfleet officers stood in response.  “Second Speaker, Starfleet’s mission is to seek out new life, and new civilizations; to make peaceful contact and begin a dialogue between our different peoples.  It is we who are honored to make First Contact with your civilization.  Contact that I hope will be ongoing once you establish your colony.”

Belagon bowed his head.  “The Shipmaster and I will return to Ark Two, to prepare our men.  It should not take more than hour.”

“We will expect your return.”

And with that, the two Nephkyrie exited the briefing room, escorted by away.

Bill Myers turned around and laid both his hands on the table.  “Captain Dahlgren, you can’t promise that—that is for the Council to decide!”

“I can and I have.  They laid claim to the planet first, Captain Myers.  Would you rather we fight them?”

“Of course not, but we can find them another planet!  And this haphazard assault can go terribly wrong, Captain Dahlgren, Sir.  People, our people, will die.  We can wait for Independence, she’s just thirty-one hours out!”

“And if Typhias starts to process, to distill, our people in the meantime, Captain Myers?  No.  We aren’t waiting.  Thank you for your suggestions.”

Bill opened his mouth again, and Matt interrupted him.  “You are dismissed, Captain Myers.  Make certain Arrogant is prepared.”

“Assume your stations, people,” Matt finished, and his officers, along with the CO of USS Arrogant filed out.

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #44 on: March 22, 2012, 10:48:13 AM »
Chapter Twenty-One (cont.)

“End program,” snarled Erwin Beck, and the computer in Holodeck One obediently reverted back to its normal configuration.  “This isn’t a game, Marines!” he snapped.  “We have the exact deck plans of the target; we have a perfect simulation of the environment; we have better intelligence on the capabilities of these Nephkyrie than we ever had on the Jem’Hadar; and you people are still moving too slowly!”

“One hundred and fifty seconds from the moment we beam in is all the time we can count on, Marines.  Because one second after that we are all dead!  The colonists are dead!  Those Nephkyrie children press-ganged into soldiers are dead!”

Erwin ran his hand through the thinning hair atop of his head.  “We have to cut our way to the command consoles where the deactivation codes can be entered—and those codes have to be entered to stop the count-down.  That means if Parker or Karalis get hit, one of you has to take their place!  Why do you think I gave each of you the code?  Winning the fire-fight is for after we stop that bloody bomb from going off, Marines!”

“Do you get me?”

“WE GET YOU, SIR!” a ragged chorus of voices answered.

“And you Starfleet Security personnel had best get your act together!  I know that your training included close-quarters combat drills, so get the lead out of your pants and move!”

One of Arrogant’s security officer muttered something, and Beck briskly walked across the deck until he was nose to nose with the officer.

“You have something to add, Jenkins?  What was that that you said?”

“We’re doing our best, Lieutenant; that’s what I said!  We’ve never trained for this Marine sh- . . . stuff.”

“God, I hope not; because if that is your best, Jenkins, then we are totally screwed and twelve thousand Federation colonists will lose their lives!”

Erwin took a step back and put his hands on his hips.  “It isn’t fair ithat the Old Man pulled your asses off of Arrogant and Balao; it isn’t fair that you are beaming aboard a deathtrap to stop a maniac from killing himself and forty-seven thousand innocent people!  It isn’t fair that your training means in this instance you are quite likely to die!  Get over that!  The universe isn’t fair!  No, this isn’t your normal away mission, and this isn’t about protecting a Starfleet vessel from hostile boarders; this is about saving the lives of people who can’t defend themselves!  And if you think that is something only for Starfleet Marines, Jenkins, then you are a sorry excuse for a crewman and perhaps you need to rethink your career choice!”
“Run it again, and get it right this time!  Computer, run Ark Prime Assault from the top!” Beck shouted as he exited the Holodeck and reentered the adjacent compartment where he was observing the drill.

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #45 on: March 23, 2012, 11:40:26 AM »
Chapter Twenty-One (cont.)

Matt flinched as Quincy gentled probed the swollen flesh.  The surgeon frowned and he ran a tricorder over the inflamed thigh and shook his head.  “I was afraid of this, Matt,” he said quietly.  “The bone is infected again.  Luckily, we caught it early this time.”

“Just give me the shot, Quincy,” Matt said through clenched teeth.  “I’ve got to get back on the bridge.”

“Matt, the Ladoculkaine VII is what’s causing this; it stopped the pain, but it has also suppressed your immune system, which is why the infection has flared up so quickly.  I can’t risk giving you another dose.  It’s one of the known side-effects of the drug, but only in about twenty percent of cases; I’d hoped we would get lucky and avoid this complication.”

“So what are our options, Doctor?” Matt growled.

“We fight the infection—and you’ve got to face reality here, Matt.  We are approaching the point where that leg has to come off,” Quincy’s voice trailed off, and then he grimaced.  “Or we try something radical and unproven.”

The surgeon pressed a hypospray against the thigh and it hissed as he injected the tissue with a powerful compound to fight the infection.  Matt flinched.

“How radical?”

“Dr. Woolsey has suggested that we attempt a Klingon procedure known as an inverse replication transplant.  Basically, we scan your good leg, invert it to match your bad leg, and replicate the tissue.  And then we go in and cut away the bad and attach the good.  The problem is that it has never been performed on a human subject, Matt.  It works on Klingons because of their redundant physiology, but has never been used on their limbs.  It is used to restore damaged internal organs, primarily.”

“How long would it take?”

“It’s major surgery, Matt.  We are talking twelve hours for the actual procedure, and you will be in bed for three or four more days afterwards, if not a week.  If it works.  If it doesn’t, then the leg will have to removed completely, and we will have to look at a prosthetic or an organic replacement.”

“Quincy, I can’t spare that kind of time at this moment!”

“I know.  We’ve got a few days for you to make up your mind, Matt, but the pain is going to get worse.  I’ll put this off until after you deal with the Nephkyrie, but then I want you on my table, Captain.  And if the infection spreads, it won’t matter how busy you are or how much you are needed; I’ll relieve you and haul your ass down to sickbay for the procedure.”

“I can live with that.”

“You can die with that if the bone turns septic, Captain.  I can give you one of your old pain meds, but . . .”

“But, they cloud my thinking.  I’ll manage, Quincy.”

The surgeon nodded and he closed his medical bag.  “I’m sorry, Matt.  I thought the Ladoculkaine VII would give you time to heal.”

“Not your fault, Quincy.  Help me up, would you?”

The old doctor bent down, and Matt placed an arm around his shoulder, and together the two men got the Captain back to his feet.  “And before you tell me, I am planning on staying in my chair.”

“Glory hallelujah.  He does have some common sense, after all,” the doctor snorted as Matt pulled up trousers and fastened them.

Bridge to Captain Dahlgren,” the intercom announced.

“Go ahead,” Matt said as he tapped his comm badge, then took his cane from Quincy.

Sir, everyone is in position and ready to begin,” Chan said.

“Very well, Mister Shrak.  Sound Red Alert; I am on my way to the bridge.  Dahlgren out.”

Matt took two limping steps to the door and then he turned around.  “And you best get to sickbay, Quincy.”

“Hah.  After I escort you to the bridge, Matt.  Don’t want you to fall over in the turbolift and have to call for assistance in getting back up.”

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #46 on: March 25, 2012, 04:23:05 PM »
Chapter Twenty-One (cont.)

“Mister Shrak,” Matt asked as he took his seat on the bridge.  “Is the ship prepared for action?”

“She is indeed, Captain Dahlgren.  Arrogant and Balao are standing by as well.”

“Very good.  Inform Captains Carmichael and Myers that we will execute the operation in one minute from . . . mark.”

Matt pressed a stud on the arm of his chair and a count-down timer appeared over the main viewing screen.  He took a moment to rotate his chair and look over each of the men and women who manned his bridge, Republic’s bridge.  They were a far cry from the demoralized and unhappy officers and crew who had first boarded the ship not too many months before.  He nodded with approval as each went through their duties with quiet confidence; calm and collected with the own sense of worth.

He completed his rotation and faced the main viewer once more, as the timer slowly ticked down towards zero.

“Miss Montoya . . . EXECUTE!” he snapped.

Republic raced forward, crossing the light-speed barrier and she soared through space before she dropped to sub-light speeds once more, her phasers immediately spitting golden beams of energy at Ark Prime.

Explosions racked the surface of the Nephkyrie vessel as the transporter emitters on the outer hull erupted in balls of fire; Arrogant and Balao adding their own fury.  Ark Prime’s weapons came on-line, and pulses of red-shifted lasers and bright blue-white phase cannon bolts tore through space to strike home against the shields of all three ships.

“Primary and secondary emitter arrays are disabled, Captain Dahlgren,” Shrak called out.

Matt opened a comm channel.  “Mister Malik, drop the inhibitor field.  Mister Beck, you may begin boarding operations.  Shield status, Mister Shrak?”

“Eighty-three percent; numerous hits.”

“Mister Roshenko, eliminate those weapon batteries!”

 Isabella corkscrewed the ship through a series of evasive maneuvers, and more phaser beams ripped out from Republic’s strips, each one connecting against a laser or phase cannon emplacement.


Erwin materialized in the depths of the Nephkyrie Ark amid a raging firefight of phaser beams, transporter weapons, and disruptor blasts.  He dove for cover and armed a stun grenade, then hurled it in the direction of the heavily armored Nephkyrie shock troopers.  Erwin winced as one of his Marines took a direct hit from the transporter beam weapons, his scream of agony cut on as his upper chest and throat dissolved, before the corpse collapsed to the deck, its feet twitching, and hot blood gushed out to cover the deck plates.

Well-trained troops, confident in their armor’s ability to dissipate the energy, would have ignored the grenade and continued firing:  Typhias’s minions were not well-trained.  They dove for the deck as the grenade detonated, sending a pulse of stun energy harmless cascading across their armor.

But Beck’s Marines and Voltanis’s security personnel were already moving in, firing pulse after pulse of disruptor and phaser energy into the prone targets.  Private Karalis was already at the central command facilities control panel and he entered the long code that Belagon had given him.

Auxiliary control secured,” a Marine reported over Erwin’s comm.  “The kids are counter-attacking, LT!

“Understood.  Hold your position,” Erwin answered.  “Stun settings only.”

The Efrosian Private completed entering the final sequence and he pressed the acceptance button, but the machine just beeped twice, and Nephkyrie numerals continued to scroll across the screen.  One of the Nephkyrie security personnel cursed.  “Typhias has altered the command codes!”

“Beck to Republic,” Erwin snapped as he hit his comm badge, fresh beams of energy coming into the control room as the Nephkyrie children began attacking here as well.  “We’ve got a problem.”


“Time to detonation, Mister Shrak?” Matt asked with a chill running down his spine.

“Two minutes, fourteen seconds, mark,” the Andorian answered. 

Matt nodded.  “Open all-ship’s all-hand’s frequency.  Initiate emergency action plan—all transporters beam those scuttling charges out of the ship.  Don’t waste time getting locks, just beam them out and disperse them!”

“Captain!” Pavel Roshenko called out.  “One of their shuttlecraft—five hundred and fifty meters overall length—has exited Ark Prime; it just entered Warp on a heading to New Columbia.”

Typhias,” Matt growled.  “We’ll deal with him later, concentrate on getting those . . .”

GELAK COR!” yelled Chan from Mission Ops, then he shook his head and turned to look down at Matt, who startled at the sudden explosion of Andorian curses had rotated his chair.  “Arrogant just went into pursuit, Captain Dahlgren.  She beamed her security people back aboard and has now entered Warp.”

“Hail them!” Matt snapped, and he turned back around to the main viewer as Captain Myers appeared on screen.  “Return to station immediately, Captain!’

“And let this criminal go?  No, Captain Dahlgren.  You and Republic have managed to get enough of our people killed for one day; I will capture the man who began this.”

The screen cut off, and Matt started to swear; he stopped, clenched a fist, and slammed it against the arm of his command chair.  “Status on those charges?”

“One hundred and seventeen removed, Captain,” answered Amanda from the science station, “two hundred and forty-four remaining.”

“Time to detonation?”

“One minute, twenty-two seconds, mark,” answered Chan.

Matt pressed the stud that opened that opened the ship’s intercom.  “Any personnel not essential to operation report to a shuttle or the ship’s gig and power up those transporters; tie them into the bridge Science stations for control.”  Matt cut the intercom and rotated back to Shrak.  “Mister Shrak, order Balao . . .”

“Both of Balao’s shuttles have begun transport, along with all twelve of Republic’s shuttles and the gig, Captain Dahlgren.”

Matt nodded, and he made himself sit back.  “Status?” he asked after a few moments.

“Forty-one seconds mark; one hundred and one charges remaining.”

Matt closed his eyes; he could hear Amanda Tsien, Grace Biddle, Pavel Roshenko, and Chan Shrak issuing orders as they assigned transporters on the spot to each charge after the next.  He pulled up the schematics of Ark Prime on his arm-mounted display, and he saw the blinking strobes of the explosive charges vanishing rapidly; Republic's transporters moving to the stern, and Balao moving forward.


“Eight seconds, fifteen charges remaining, mark.”

Last one!” shouted Amanda, as the display over the viewer ticked down to one.  “It’s in the matter stream!”

And the display hit zero.

Republic shuddered as the high-yield fusion device detonated within the matter stream, and then the dim red lighting flickered, and control panels exploded with the backlash of energy as the plasma conduits that fed power to them overloaded.

Matt started to bark out a command, and then there was a flash of light—he screamed in agony as his leg was twisted by the explosion that flipped his chair.  And then all went dark.

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #47 on: March 25, 2012, 07:32:08 PM »
Chapter Twenty-One (cont.)

Chris grunted as Republic bucked violently beneath him.  The instrumentation and control panels in Deflector Control were sparking and smoking as the young Ensign worked desperately to rearrange the isolinar chips.  “Chief, link the primary, second, and tertiary systems together—they have to handle the power flowing through!”

They have to, Chris thought as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.  He slid the last chip back into place, and the deflector began to power up.  “We’re up!” he shouted.

Chief Bronson grunted in answer as he punched in commands into his own control unit, ducking as another station exploded with the barely contained fury of the cascading energy ripping through the ship’s plasma power conduits.  “Deflector ready for firing, Mister Roberts!  I hope you know what you are doing, Sir!”

Chris swallowed; he had read about the tactic that the Enterprise used in attempting to stop the Borg before Wolf-359, but although he had gone over the steps of how it could be done in exercises, he had before actually done it.  He licked his dry lips.  “On three, Chief Bronson, trigger the pulse—but maintain it until the power levels drop to normal or the system burns out.  One.”  Chris wiped away the sweat again as Republic rocked under another internal explosion.  “Two.”  Oh God, let this work, he quickly prayed.  “THREE!” He yelled as he slapped the panel controls to life.

Bronson triggered the Deflector Dish, and the ship began to shudder and shiver and shake as an extremely loud hum filled the compartment.  Chris looked up and out of the armored glass panel and he squinted in pain as a searing blue-white beam of incredible energy shot forward, extending deep into empty space.

“Power levels are falling, Mister Roberts!  Three hundred percent normal maximum load, two hundred and twenty percent; one seventeen, eighty-four!”

“Shut it down!” Chris yelled as ripped out the control chip and the energy beam died away.

Smoke rose from all of the instrumentation, and the young officer could taste the ozone of the burnt polymers and plates.  He turned around, and he looked at the older Chief Petty Officer, who was slowly nodding.  “Plasma relay systems at seventy-four percent of rated capacity, Mister Roberts.  We managed to dump a good portion of the energy, Sir.”

A rasping cough came from the other end of the compartment, and Crewman Thompson spoke up.  “Dish is off-line, Mister Roberts.  We’ve got warning lights on all the systems; we’re dead in the water.”

Chris nodded, and then an alert siren began to blare, and a strobing blue light began to flash.  “Hull breach!  Evacuate the compartment, Chief give me a head count!”

He could hear a whistling noise that was growing louder, and Chris hurriedly glanced beneath consoles and under debris; then he saw the seam of the hull plating start to split open—and the black of space behind it.  Oh shit, he thought, and he closed his eyes expecting to be pulled out through the fracture.

But then a strong hand clamped on his forearm, and Chief Bronson yanked him towards the exit, his other hand firmly clasped by two of the crewmen braced again the edge of the doorway.  Together, the four of them fought the growing gale of winds fighting against them, until they crossed the threshold and Bronson slapped the manual override, dropping the blast door into place and sealing off the breach from the rest of the ship.

Two engineers ran down the corridor towards them, carrying medical equipment and emergency tools.  They passed around an oxygen bottle to each of Chris’s people, and the Ensign gave them a thumbs-up.

He took a low pull of the oxygen, and slowly his heart began to wind down its frantic race.  Chris shook his head and started to grin.  “Well that’s two hull breaches in Deflector Control on this tour, Chief.  If we have a third do we get a prize?”

“If we get a third, Mister Roberts, I’m putting in my retirement papers."

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #48 on: March 27, 2012, 03:26:27 PM »
Chapter Twenty-Two

“Sir, we are being by hailed by Independence.  Captain Salok is asking to speak with the Captain.”

“On screen, Miss Biddle,” Chan Shrak answered calmly.

The main viewer flickered, it filled with static, and then it cleared to reveal the regal Vulcan seated in his command chair.

“Commander Shrak?  I asked to speak with Captain Dahlgren.”

“Sir, Captain Dahlgren is in surgery at the moment,” the Andorian answered.

Salok arched an eyebrow in response.  “Surgery?  Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Captain Salok, we knew that your ship was making her best time already; you could not have arrived any sooner if we had hailed you.  Fourteen hours ago, we secured the Nephkyrie vessel in a joint assault from Republic, Balao, Arrogant, and a contingent of Nephkyrie troops from Ark Two.  Typhias had altered the command codes of Ark Prime, however, and we were forced into beaming away from Ark Prime the individual scuttling charges—a task made more difficult by Arrogant breaking away to pursue Typhias when he fled.”

“I am aware of those facts, Commander Shrak; Commander Carmichael kept me informed of the situation while Independence was en route.  Why was I not so informed of Captain Dahlgren’s medical emergency?”

“You have my apologies, Captain Salok; I had assumed that Commander Carmichael would have, as senior officer on station, informed you.  Captain Dahlgren was injured when we beamed away the final charge—a charge already initiating detonation.  The transport absorbed the energy of that fusion explosion directly into the matter stream, and proved far too intense for the buffer to contain.  The feedback overloaded every plasma power conduit on the ship, sparking internal explosions and two separate hull breaches.  Captain Dahlgren suffered a concussion and additional damage to his already wounded leg.”

Salok nodded.  “Very well.  When will Captain Dahlgren’s surgery be complete?”

“We do not yet know, Captain Salok.  He has been in surgery for over twelve hours so far.”

“And you have assumed command of Republic, Commander Shrak?”

“I have, Sir.”

“Your status?”

“Warp engines remain off-line, along with impulse engines.  We were on emergency reserve power until two hours ago when Commander Malik managed to get a single generator up and running.  Our casualties include seventeen dead and forty-four wounded—including the Captain.  Structural integrity field is off-line, shields are down, weapons are inoperative, our sensors are inoperative, the main Deflector Dish is damaged beyond the repair of onboard spare parts.  Long-range communications are down as well, but all decks now have gravity and life support restored.”

“I see.  I notice that Arrogant is not appearing on my long-range scans, Commander Shrak.  Has she not returned?”

“No, Sir.  And neither we nor Balao have received any answer to our hails.”

“Odd,” the Vulcan mused as he folded his hands together.  “Independence will arrive on station in forty-two minutes, Commander Shrak.  Does Republic require assistance?”

Chan grimaced, and his antennae shrunk, but then he slowly nodded his head.  “We would be grateful, Sir.”

“And the situation on Ark Prime?”

“Speaker Belagon has arranged a cease-fire with the Nephkyrie children that are not in stasis.  His . . . presence has been a stabilizing factor that put an end to the hostilities very quickly.  However, Ark Prime suffered heavy damage in our assault; inadvertent damage resulting in beaming away the charges and the surrounding sections of the vessel without a proper transporter lock.  They are losing power and will have to evacuate the ship within the next three days.  Detachments from Republic and Balao are assisting the Speaker and Shipmaster Voltanis in powering up the eleven shuttles,” and Chan chuckled, shaking his head at that word.”

“Is something humorous, Commander?” the Vulcan asked.

“Captain Salok, Ark Prime—each of their Arks—carries a dozen shuttlecraft the size of a Nebula-class starship.  They are capable of reaching speeds of up to Warp 6 for limited periods of time; but even with all eleven and our own shuttles, it will require two round trips for them to evacuate all of the Nephkyrie children and our own colonists in stasis.  The cargo carried will require an additional ten round trips.”

“So they are warp-capable then; the Prime Directive was not violated, as Captain Myer’s reports suggested.”

“I haven’t seen those reports, Captain Salok, so I cannot comment upon them,” Chan answered in a clipped manner.

“Why then weren’t their Arks equipped with warp drives of their own?  Why generational sleeper ships?”

Chan nodded.  “That is a question that we asked Voltanis and Belagon ourselves; the answer being dilithium, Captain Salok.  Or rather a lack thereof.  Their home system and none of the systems they had explored contained dilithium reserves of any note; so their warp drives are more primitive, energy intensive, and slower systems that rapidly deplete their onboard supplies of fuel.  If their ships had been Warp capable with their current technology, they would have run out of fuel and power less than a third of the way into the voyage.”

“That explains the matter,” the Vulcan calmly answered.  “I will presume that you and Commander Carmichael are planning on moving the Nephkyrie and our own colonists from this vessel to New Columbia?”

“We are.  It is the closest class-M planet, well within the limited range of their Warp drives.  Close enough, in fact, that the . . . shuttles,” and Chan’s antennae twitched, “will be able to make at least six round trips to retrieve needed pre-fabricated buildings and essential supplies from Ark Prime’s cargo holds.  Shipmaster Voltanis has already sent a message to Ark Two and Ark Three, each of which are preparing to launch their own shuttles to join the children of Ark Prime on New Columbia; those shuttles will have Nephkyrie adults aboard to handle the assimilation of the Ark Prime children back into Nephkyrie society.”

The Vulcan nodded once.  “Starfleet Command will be dispatching a transport capable of evacuating the New Columbia colonists; although there are several members of the Federation Council who wish to have a word with Captain Dahlgren over his . . . usurpation of their authority in this matter.”

“Actually, Captain Salok, it might be not necessary to evacuate New Columbia.  Speaker Belagon and Shipmaster Voltanis have indicated that they intend to settle a different continental land-mass.  They have agreed to allow the colonists to remain in place; and Speaker Belagon wishes to send an Emissary to meet with the Federation Council.  He hopes that through the collaboration of our scientists and medical professionals that together we can find a successful treatment for the genetic damage his people are suffering from.”

The Vulcan raised one eyebrow.  “Indeed.  Given your own—quite heavy—damage to Republic, I believe that I will request that USS Portsmouth be diverted to New Columbia.  Unless, of course, that you object to having a yard-ship on hand to assist in your repairs, Commander?”

“No objections, Captain Salok.  Not a single one,” answered Chan with a smile.

“Very good, Commander Shrak; we shall arrive on station in . . . thirty-eight minutes, Commander.  I will beam aboard Republic upon my arrival to survey the damage and speak with both you and Commander Carmichael in person.  And then we can begin the talks with Speaker Belagon and the Nephkyrie people.  Continue your preparations on readying those shuttlecraft for space, Commander.  Independence out.”

The screen flickered and then died.  Chan put both his hands behind his back and he turned to face Amanda Tsien, seated behind him at her science station—one of the few that hadn’t exploded.

“Any word on the Captain, Miss Tsien?” he asked softly.  And she shook her head.  Chan nodded.  “I will be in my office should there be an emergency, Miss Tsien.  You have the conn,” he finished as his antennae twitched once more.  What’s left of it, he thought.

Offline masterarminas

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Re: Star Trek: Republic
« Reply #49 on: March 29, 2012, 12:30:59 PM »
Chapter Twenty-Two (cont.)

Matt heard a low whisper of voices, and he shook off the fog of his sleep, forcing his eyes open . . . and then he remembered.  He sat up suddenly, but he wasn’t on the bridge; he was in sickbay.

“Ah, the sleeper wakes,” Dr. Woolsey said pleasantly as the hologram walked across the ward and placed a realistic feeling hand on the Captain’s forehead.  “And here I thought you were going to just keep sleeping, Captain Dahlgren.  No fever, that’s good.”

Matt started to speak, but his dry throat caused him to cough instead and Robert Woolsey picked up a covered cup with a straw and held it Matt’s lips.  “Drink,” he ordered.  “Slowly . . . easy . . . that’s enough.”

He sat down the cup and glared down at the Captain.  “Are we feeling better, now?”

Matt coughed.  “The ship?”

“Is fine.  Well, not exactly fine, but doing well.  For a given definition of well.  If you consider having no shields, no weapons, no sensors, no impulse drive, and no warp drive well.  We do have internal life support and gravity, so better than we could be.”

Matt threw back the sheets, and looked down at his bare legs peeking out from beneath a green hospital gown.  “Where are my clothes, Doctor?  I need to get to the bridge.”

Robert shook his head and pulled the sheets back up.  “The situation is well in hand and I want to keep you here under observation for a while longer.”

Matt pushed them off again and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  But then he stopped.  His leg didn’t hurt.  He pulled up the gown and examined the bare thigh beneath it—no scar tissue.

“You and Quincy both are knife-hungry sadists,” he snarled.  “I said after we dealt with the Nephkyrie!”

Quincy’s voice rang out from the doorway.  “Didn’t have a choice, Matt.  The bone shattered when your chair flipped after that explosion on the bridge.  Gave you one hell of a concussion and it twisted your leg until the bone gave way under the strain.  At least you were unconscious and unable to argue,” the chief medical officer finished with a shrug.

“I need to get . . .”

Well, Captain.  You need to get well.  However, I think that the inverse replication transplant suggested by my colleague here has taken off quite well.  That and the seventy-two hours I’ve kept you unconscious.”

SEVENTY-TWO HOURS!” Matt snapped at he jumped onto his feet.

“I did warn you,” Robert said to Quincy.  “I said that he would not like being put into a coma; although it did give him a chance to heal.  And I believe that takes higher priority than the Captain’s desires.”

“You did, but it is a prerogative of the chief medical officer of starship.  Whose medical opinion overrides the orders of said starship’s commanding officer,” Quincy said as he unfolded his arms and examined the sensor readings from the diagnostics bed.  “Everything looks good, Matt.  We just have a few tests to run and then you will be released.”

“Quincy, I need to speak with Chan and Captain Salok is already here and . . .”

Both of them are on the way to Sickbay, Matt.  So shut up, open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and say AAH.  While Robert here goes ahead and takes a blood sample