Sky Falls In Thunder: The Devil In the DNA

[Sky Falls In Thunder]

The character name is a hat tip to the unfulfilled potential of Gene's Andromeda series, Sky Falls In Thunder was an offscreen character referred two once or twice. The character story could fit in any timeframe, I've got some nuggets of ideas on how to fit her into the Temporal Cold War theme here. Short form: She's from an offshoot colony of Augments which had collapsed into feudal despotism. Inspired by "Infiltrator", STNG Novel #42, which addressed the possibility of other Eugenics Wars refugees who got away. The society, such as it was stayed hidden in heavily shielded bunkers which gave me an excuse for a nod at Harlan Ellison's "For the World is Hollow.." episode.

It spoke once, and It was punished, for to Speak is to steal Words from real People. Words are not for Breed Things. So It was quiet and obedient. Just as It became old enough to be sent to the breeding pens the World broke and ended.

The People stole Breed Things from another People, People who lived in the Empty Places of Yesterday. But these Breed Things were different, they used Words and did not fear punishment. They escaped the pens and called Words out to the Emptiness. These Words held power, because the Emptiness answered. The cold metal sky fell in thundered and broke and the air danced in rage as the Other People appeared, they brought Punishment.

The Father of the People bellowed his fury and sought to kill the strange Breed Things before they escaped. But they put fire into his belly and burnt him up from the inside, and he fell screaming into fires of nothing.

So It quietly waited until The Others began to shimmer and return to The Empty Places, and It leapt into the light with them. For it was better to go into the Nothing Places than remain a Breed Thing among the People.

A Breed Thing in blue cloth touched it with machines, saw how it had been used and wept. She whispered "Asylum" to It, said it was a Word with Power. So It spoke this Word, and It learned that in the Empty Places It could be a Person too, use Words and even have a Name. "It" became "She", and She chose to be Sky Falls In Thunder to remember the day she became a Person. [/i]

[mark (James Bailey)]

Some nice writing there pg!! I really liked it. Hope you have some more characters.... I want to read more!!

[Jeffery Clayton Cutter]

Very nice Sir!

It gives me some incentive to get my butt in gear and do the same! Hope to read more soon!

[Elric71]

Wow, that is really good

Like Jeff, I hope to read more soon. I liked the reference to "For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky". I actually read the bio before I read the disclaimer at the top, and I picked that out right off. Nice job!

Q'aplaH!
Aaron

[Sky Falls In Thunder]

Glad it's a hit! I'm working her as a Tactical Officer, but taking her the cruiser route. Battlewagon is fitting for someone who views her role as protecting people from "those who would steal the Self of others." (Plus my main is a Escort Tactical.) Still working the build, but the girl's hell on hot toast with a lirpa.

Some of the backstory issues I'm thinking will be the trouble her Augment background would have generated, particularly getting into the Acadamy, much less progressing through it. Higher intelligence, strength, stamina... "it's not fair that I should have to compete with a Khan!"

[Dan (mygod_itsfullofstars)]

I'm a little late to this discussion, I see, but this is a really fine piece of writing. Thanks for sharing it.

I love the obliqueness of some of the references (like the person in the blue shirt or the shimmering). I can see what they are but you do a great job showing them through someone else's eyes.

Now you've made me think about trying to rewatch some Andromeda episodes. I thought that show was pretty good, though I didn't have cable at the time and it was syndicated in some really weird ways in the broadcast stations I had access to, so what I saw was mostly hit and miss.

I'm looking forward to seeing where you go next. I think the augment angle should be interesting. It may put her into a similar situation as a liberated Borg, and I've always thought there would have to be a lot of bad feelings and prejudice toward former drones.

[Sky Falls In Thunder]

***It cannot stay. There will be Punishment. The People From the Empty Places put fire in the Father's belly and burnt him screaming to nothing so he cannot punish It but there will be Punishment. There is always Punishment, the World is made of Punishment. It huddles on the floor behind sharp pieces of the fallen, shattered sky and watches them gather their stolen Breed Things back to them. The air starts to dance and shimmer, they start to return to the Empty Places, the Yesterday Places in groups of one hand and one finger. It cannot stay. It is better to go to Nothing than to stay. It watches the People From the Empty Places, they take their broken and sick Breed Things First, the ones in red cloth and blue cloth stay till last. It cannot stay, It cannot. The last group starts to shimmer and danceNOWNOWNOW****




Sometimes, just sometimes, these things bring good news thought Captain James T. Kirk as he reviewed the priority message from Starbase 29. Usually when message traffic encrypted seven ways to Sunday came, he cringed inwardly with a general expectation of plague, famine, death, or Klingons. Or at least something that ate planets. But not this time. Coordinates and a brief message: “USS Avalon has reported in. Requests immediate resupply, engineering & medical assistance. Rig to transport unknown number refugees. USS Enterprise to rendezvous, provide all assistance and escort to safe harbor. Highest priority. USS Avalon reports one prisoner. Case Dawnstar protocols to be followed. Bring my people home, Jim. Cartwright.”

The Avalon had been presumed lost some 4 months ago while investigating a series of rather peculiar pirate raids on the fringe of Federation space. Only fragments of her captain's last transmission were received, barely decipherable through what could only have been heavy artificial jamming.

“... I see them. Preparing … engage the enemy....”

No wreckage was found, no ion trails or other technological bread crumbs to provide even the slightest clue as to who the adversary was or what became of the Avalon. To make matters worse, the Avalon had last reported that they were heading into the sort of anomaly-riddled space that navigators referred to using terms like “hard steering in rough weather,” when Captains were around, and “steering a bag of piss drunk Vulcans” when they weren't.

But the raids... the kidnappings .. had ended, and the Avalon hadn't reported in. Newsfeeds played and replayed the (helpfully leaked) recording while assorted academic Experts denounced Starfleet's “carelessness” and “irresponsible” actions. Journalists lovingly and reverently interviewed that particular sort of “expert” who was always ample time to provide sage commentary regarding this or that crisis but was rarely seen being actually employed in solving anything. Ships patrolled and searched, colonists huddled in their homes, families waited.

Assorted members of the Federation Council eventually pronounced the region safe and decreed that by their Decisive Steps they (the politicians) had Ended The Unprecedented Crisis. There were ceremonies involving lighting of candles. Proposals for monuments and vague legislation “to ensure this doesn't happen again.” Fact finding conferences on Wrigley's. And, of course, speeches were made. The Avalon and her crew had made the ultimate sacrifice. Brave men and women, Federation Values, commitment to excellence, and kindly don't forget to vote for me come next election.

No one in Starfleet doubted that the Avalon had somehow ended the raids and had been lost astra incognita in the process. No one in Starfleet doubted that the crew of the Avalon hadn't sailed knowingly into harm's way to protect the lives of the Federation's citizens. No one Starfleet doubted that Avalon's crew wouldn’t hesitate to do it all again if they had it redo and knew the outcome.

What everyone in Starfleet doubted was the explanation the Federation Security Council had pasted together using the scant facts Starfleet had been able to provide. So at quiet, informal gatherings uniformed men and women solemnly raised glasses to absent friends... and discussed matters in hushed, cautious murmurs.



Orions? The raids were far outside the Orion's usual hunting grounds, and too many “high value” potential slaves had simply been cut down rather than taken. Too much in the way of low bulk, high value cargo had been left untouched. The profile of the attacks didn't fit that of Klingons, Gorn, Tholians or even Romulans for that matter. Sometimes an isolated outpost or settlement homestead was found burning with most of the occupants dead where they fell, victims of savagery even the Klingons would consider excessive and dishonorable. Sometimes a freighter was found gutted and wrecked, with most of the crew left as ruined and burnt corpses.

Most of the occupants.

Most of the crews.

At other times, people just quietly disappeared in ones and twos. On one occasion, a young woman vanished from a locked lavatory stall in a colony's command post. And Starfleet captains who were investigating invariably found that the details of who was missing from other attacks were classified, “need to know” being invoked. Even the number of the missing was classified and remained so despite the desk pounding of Commodores and Admirals. Reports from Starfleet vessels investigating and rendering aid to the victims of these raids were seemingly devoured by a black hole somewhere above Starfleet Intelligence, rather than being pooled and distributed to other captains in the area. Captains on good terms with this or that member of Starfleet Intelligence knew only that their contacts shared their frustration and mumbled darkly that “S. I. isn't making the calls on this. Take it up with the Council.”

And now, Kirk thought, We'll get some answers. With a quick stab at the intercom he opened a ship-wide channel. “This is the Captain speaking. All hands, prepare for deep space rescue and recovery. I want emergency medical and engineering teams and equipment prepped for short notice deployment and all available cargo bays rigged for refugee triage and berthing. Department heads to the conference room in one hour. Ladies and gentlemen, we're bringing the Avalon and her crew home.”

The cheering did him proud.

Normally that would last for about 2 minutes. Then the need to do something would declare all out war on the rational knowledge that for the moment he could do nothing but let his people do their jobs without joggling their elbows. He already knew what Scotty would say if he showed his face in engineering. Before he got both feet in the door, he'd hear a polite and ever so friendly “Aye, Cap'n, we got 'er under control, my lads'll be ready ta tackle anythin' she throws at us.”

And Kirk knew from experience that Bones would say the same thing, but much less politely and by no means in as friendly a manner if he tried to “help” with the Medical team's preparations. He also knew the support staff would handle setting up any empty quarters for refugees with a need for privacy, and prepare the cargo bays and mess facilities for acommodating larger groups. Normally this would be the part he hated most, hurrying up and waiting while everyone else buzzed about making ready for the task at hand.

Normally.

Case Dawnstar changed all that. There would be plenty for him to worry about in the meantime, of that, James T. Kirk was certain.

Another decisive and captainly stab at the intercom opened a private channel to Security. “Kirk to Giotto.”

"Giotto here, Captain.”

“Commander, we've got some special preparations to make. Report to the conference room immediately, and bring that Andorian girl with you. The nasty one.”

“Right away sir... umm... it would... perhaps you.. ah... could refrain from referring to her as a girl, Captain. Call her a 'shen.' Errr....ah... Cultural...ahhhh... stuff... umm.. Captain. My people and I have to spar with her, sir.”

“Commander, am I to understand that she'd be offended if I called her a 'girl', but not 'nasty'?”

“Exactly sir! Thank you sir!” The level of relief in Giotto's voice was in itself somewhat disturbing, Kirk thought as he headed to the conference room. Kirk had to admit that while Crewman Shaikatra performed admirably in any task she was assigned, she also seemed determined at all costs to never, ever, allow herself to be promoted or receive any commendation which might put her in danger of becoming an officer. She was also waiting placidly at the entrance to the conference room when he arrived.

Got here faster than Giotto. Girl's fas... Kirk's chain of thought derailed with a screech and a crash as her antenna suddenly twitched as though she'd bitten into something spoilt and her head snapped towards him. She showed nearly null on her esper scores, Kirk thought, no way she could... Again the thought derailed, this time as a smile spread across her face. It was the sort of smile usually found on a vicious child who has just come into possession of something small and helpless.

Despite himself, Kirk found himself inclined to believe the lower deck's rumors about her poker skills. Maybe she actually could hear other people's cards. And that smile would rattle a Vulcan. She's perfect for this job...

“Captain.” With a nod she stepped in front of the sensor, opening the conference room door and entering. Kirk noted she moved briskly as she stepped inside and then immediately to the left. He also noted that she didn't assume the room would be empty and peered suspiciously about
until she'd verified for herself that no threats to her Captain lurked in the well-lit recesses Conference Room A.

Never one to slack off, that's for sure, he thought. But McCoy's right. That g... that SHEN gives people the wiggins.

“Crewman... are those ice knives on your belt standard issue?”

No smile this time, but rather what had to be the best poker face he'd seen outside a Vulcan or a china doll.

“No, Captain. They are cultural artifacts required for certain religious ceremonies among the kethni of my homeworld.”

“I see. Crewman, did you expect to find an enemy in Conference Room One A with whom you would engage in ceremonial single combat?”

“Expect? Not at all, Captain. I am, however, an optimist.”

Fortunately the door chose this moment to whisk open and admit Commander Giotto to the conference room.

“Ah, Barry. Sit down. That goes for you too, crewman. We've got an issue to discuss.”

The shen straightened immediately to a position of attention, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall behind Kirk. “Captain, sir, if this is about that poker tournament, it was, after all, one Starfleet Ground Combat instructor who told me a thing worth doing is also a thing worth cheating at...”

“A poker tournament? When? Here on the ship? Why didn't anyone tell me? Wait. You cheated?”

"Not at all, sir. I didn't need to this time. I was just after the rake. Besides, they...” Her mouth shut with a snap as if it had belatedly decided that in regards to information, this was one occasion when less is more than enough.

"I.... I think I'll keep that in mind if I ever play poker with you, crewman. But that's not what we're here for. Commander Giotto, you're familiar with the Case Dawnstar security protocols, aren't you?”

Giotto stiffened. The incident which necessitated the creation of those protocols was an acute embarrassment to the Enterprise security team. “Yes, Captain. I am indeed.”

“Good. Crewman Shaikatra, are you?”

“Certainly, Captain. I've studied them as well as the security logs regarding the Botany Bay incident. It was an incident in which a small group of genetically engineered historical artifacts were let out of the freezer and hijacked the Enterprise...” she halted abruptly upon seeing both Kirk and Giotto's eyes narrow. “Ahh... let me rephrase that... These Augmented Humans displayed strength, stamina and, no offense, intellect superior to those of the average human. These features being owed to a combination of selective breeding and genetic engineering. Up until their extinction with the destruction of their penal colony, Starfleet considered them one of the greatest potential threats to the Federation. This is something which puzzles me because there are other species which display physical attributes and intellects greater than humans, yet do not engender the level of fear Case Dawnstar suggests existed in regards to augmented humans. And, to be blunt, sir, their greatest strength seems to have been their leader's charisma, a trait for which no one has found a gene.”

Kirk wasn't surprised. The crewman hadn't witnessed Khan's cunning or brutality first-hand, and members of a proud warrior race often had to see how tough an opponent really was for themselves.

He found himself up and pacing, talking to himself as much as to his crew.

“Consider this, crewman. The Augments were particularly intimidating to humans for reasons that go beyond their strength, their stamina. They represented a recent and savage period in our history when some of our brightest hopes gave birth to … nightmares. Genetic engineering offered us an end to hunger, an end to sickness, all the things we thought caused war. And then it turned on us, gave us monsters that conquered and enslaved most of our planet. It was only because their arrogance led them to bicker with and betray each other that we were finally able to defeat them. And unlike many alien races with superior attributes, they can reproduce undetected among us, breed us out of existence. All of our best, all of our worst traits. All in one package...”

The crewman sat back, gazing thoughtfully at the captain. A blue fingernail went tick tick tick on the edge of an ice knife.

When she spoke, it was in a quiet, almost subdued, tone. “I understand, Captain. I think we all have our genetic 'boogeymen', and those are more frightening because they aren't merely among us, they are us. I take it you intend to, uh, enhance the Case Dawnstar protocols rather than simply have us implement them as is?”

Kirk leaned forward, fixing Shaikatra and Giotto with a level, determined look. “You take that all the way to the bank, crewman. Let's get to work.”





Captain's Log, stardate 2269.153. We're approaching the rendezvous point with the USS Avalon. Once we have her on sensors I am to break radio silence and coordinate with Captain Granger. Repair and medical crews are primed and ready, and the special security precautions called for by Case Dawnstar are in place, along with some... personal touches. Starfleet has instructed me to transfer and secure the prisoner before initiated relief efforts to our sister ship. Normally this would seem like an excess of caution, but I've seen what these.... Augments can do. Not again. Not on my ship.


“Approatchink rendezvous coordinates, Keptin.” announced Checkov, his voice rising a little in anticipation.

“USS Avalon On sensors, Captain. She appears to be alone, is apparently barely capable of sustaining warp 2.”

Kirk leaned forward in his chair, relieved to finally be able to do something other than plan, wait, then revisiting his plans and then waiting. “Take us out of warp, Helmsman. Spock, keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Uhura, can you raise them?” “Affirmative, Captain. The Avalon is hailing us.”

“Onscreen.”

Captain Charles Granger’s image appeared on the screen. He looked like he'd missed more than a few meals since the last time Kirk had seen him, and probably hadn't had a good night's sleep since the Avalon went missing.

“God, Jim, it's good to see you. Tell me you brought a lunch. Something that isn't blue cheese and oatmeal this time. If I don't see another protein nib, rat pack or nutri-cracker I'll die a happy man.” Kirk couldn't help but relax a little. Chuck wouldn't be teasing him about a long ago survival training exercise gone south if he was danger, although he wasn't shy about making it clear that his people were pretty tired of running on short rations.

“I'll see if the galley can rustle up some tree bark, although if memory serves, it's your turn to bring lunch. I'll see to it after we transfer the
prisoner.”

“Ah. Jim. About that...”

“What? You still have the prisoner secure? Has something happened?”

"No... no... everything's... oh hell. You'll see for yourself when we beam over with 'the prisoner'. We can chit-chat later, Jim. Let's get this sorted first so we can feed my people. Signal when all those damn protocols are in order and you're ready for us to beam over. I'll be beaming over with the prisoner, my chief medical officer and the... prisoner.”

“Very well, Captain. See you in five. Kirk out.”

At his signal Uhura opened a shipwide channel. “This is the Captain speaking. All hands, prepare for prisoner transfer according to Dawnstar protocols. You know the drill, people so let's do this by the numbers.”

As Kirk and Spock moved towards the transporter room, he saw his order carried out with the sort crisp professional efficiency that filled him with pride. Every corridor between the transporter room, turbolift, and brig was cleared except for a security detail at each intersection. He strode into the transporter room and saw all was in order. Four security men held at the ready phaser rifles set to heavy stun, Giotto and Shaikatra both held ones that weren't. He nodded to Mr. Scott. “Energize when ready.”

“Aye, Cap'n.”

The shimmer of the transporter lit two pads, not three. The one pad held what appeared to be Captain Granger, but the second clearly showed two figures, the larger hunched in close behind the smaller. “Hostage situation!” barked Giotto and Shaikatra simultaneously, moving apart in hopes of getting a clear shot. The security team brought their weapons to bear and even Kirk held his breath wondering what last minute stunt the cunning Augment had pulled.

The form of Captain Granger finished materializing on one pad, with the medical officer and prisoner on the other. Kirk's jaw dropped. He was expecting any number of things, a desperate superhuman holding an improvised weapon to the physician's throat or an arm locked about her neck only a few ounces pressure from breaking it. That's what Khan Noonien Singh would have done. Of course, Kirk doubted that Khan Noonien Singh ever, at any point in his career, cowered behind a petite Vulcan doctor barely half his size. Much less while clutching a rag doll and what appeared to be a pillow case half full of emergency ration bars. The girl was damn near six feet tall, but had that coltish gawkiness that was usually only seen in children around 12 or 13. She was staring fixedly at the floor and looked ready to collapse in terror.

Doctor T'Shia, sometimes instructor at Starfleet Academy, frequent lecturer at the Vulcan Science Academy, and current Chief Medical Officer of the USS Avalon eyed the heavilly armed security detail cooly and raised an eyebrow slightly. She gently placed a hand on the whimpering girl's shoulder.

“Greetings, Captain Kirk. If you are concerned, I am confident that I can restrain her while you summon more guards.”

[Sky Falls In Thunder]

“Jim, meet Dr. T'Shia, and our guest here goes by 'Sky' near as we can figure. Permission to come aboard?” Captain Granger spoke in the quiet, gentle tones of one trying not to frighten a skittish animal. He clearly wasn't intimidated by the girl, and an amused snort from Crewman Shaikatra told him that the shen didn't regard the prisoner as much of a threat. The shen might have a singular gift for getting under people's skin, but her instincts had proven themselves in the field. For his own part, Kirk was inclined by nature of professionalism to err on the side of caution, but the cringing child on his transporter pad wasn't ringing any alarm bells with him either. Still... security protocols existed exactly for those moments when nobody thought they were needed.

“Granted. Commander Giotto and his detail will see 'Sky' here to...”

“Sickbay.”

The Vulcan doctor had interrupted without the slightest concession to the high premium Vulcans usually placed on formality and proper etiquette. “My patient is no threat, and is under sever emotional distress. The presence of your security detail is heightening her anxiety unnecessarily. If you cannot provide me with adequate medical facilities for her, please return us to the Avalon immediately before we place any more unnecessary stress upon her. She requires medical attention, and I must confer with your Chief Medical Officer regarding both her and the women we've rescued from the raiders.” Her face was lined with fatigue and had that greenish pallor of a Vulcan who was at the end of their rope physically... but a cold, hard light burned in her eyes. Considering the stress she must have been under for the past weeks as well as his own read on the girl, Kirk chose to let slip the impropriety of giving instructions to a ship's Captain.

“Very well. Ensign Saunders, if you'll see to our... guest's... luggage?” The brawny Security Ensign stepped forward and extended a hand to take the pillowcase from the girl, who squeezed her eyes shut and seemed to drawn in on herself even further, turning her face away from him as though she expected a blow and didn't want to see it coming. As the ensign reached for the bag, the doctor's glare was taking a sharper edge when crewman Shaikatra snapped, “Belay that Ensign. Take my rifle, I'll tend to the kid's bag.” Did I get demoted to Cabin Boy and nobody told me? Am I now the only person on this ship who doesn't get to give orders? Kirk thought, temper rising. He could hear Giotto's teeth grinding and knew that the Security Chief would be tearing a strip of ass off of a certain protocol-ignoring crewman at the first opportunity. So long as he leaves plenty for me to tear off. Kirk turned to glare at the Andorian security rating, but she was as cold and smooth as the ice of her homeworld as she safed her rifle and thrust it into the baffled ensign's hands. Shaikatra then moved slowly up onto the transporter pad, gently reaching for the girl's bag.

“I just need to take a quick look, then you can have it back, okay?” she asked. As tightly as the girl had been gripping the pillowcase, Kirk was surprised to see her release it into the Andorian crewman's possession without any sort of resistance. Shaikatra took a few steps back and knelt, carefully examining the contents of the pillowcase. “Ration bars. Lots and lots of ration bars. The old kind, even. The ones that taste like somebody tried to make boots out of sawdust.” The shen rose, and moving with exaggerated care handed the bag back to the girl who mutely accepted it. “Can I take a look at your doll? What's her name?” The girl murmured something, a faint churchmouse whisper as Shaikatra examined the doll. “Princess Widdershins, you say? That's a lovely name. Okay, I need to check your pockets now, I'll try not to tickle.” Shaikatra kept up a cheery, one-sided banter as she conducted a pat-down of the girl that was thorough enough to make Kirk feel a little awkward. Yet both the girl and T'Shia relaxed visibly, and Kirk found himself wondering Who is this, and what have they done with the crewman voted Most Likely To Cause A Minimum Of Three Diplomatic Incidents Before Winding Up In A Penal Colony, and do I even want to know, much less want her back?

“She's clean, sir. With your permission, I'd like to help the doctor here get her to Sickbay. I think we can manage with just Ensign Garov and myself.” The husky Tellarite security officer at least had sense enough to remember who was actually in charge and turned to Kirk, his snout wrinkled and head cocked to one side inquisitively.

Kirk eyed the girl for a moment. Her features were refined and aristocratic, yet not quite delicate. She had dusky skin and raven black hair with a hint of red highlights. “Sky” could have stepped right out of an old Orientalist museum painting from Earth's antiquity. She looked as though she'd be right at home carrying a clay jar of water on her head, swathed in brilliantly-hued silks and chattering merrily with the other girls... or equally at home reclining on a Sultana's throne and coldly deliberating the fate of some unfortunate peasant or Crusader.

But what caught his attention were her eyes. Brilliant green, the sort of eyes that should be snapping with wit and humor, sparkling with a pure joy in life itself. But instead Kirk saw something else there. Something he'd seen plenty of times in history-book pictures, but saw for the first time in living, breathing human beings when he was 14 years old on Tarsus IV. It was in the eyes of old lady Sato's daughter and her children as Kodos' Revolutionary Militia pulled them from their homes and marched them, along with some 4000 other gaunt colonists, out into the freezing darkness beyond the colony's perimeter. It was the sort of burnt-out hopelessness that meant a person was no longer capable of anything beyond a sort of resigned despair that left them unable to resist whatever was coming next.

“Very well. Please take...” he rolled a word around in his mind for a moment, and thought about her eyes. Kirk decided that the word “prisoner” suddenly had a rancid and foul taste to it and could see why Granger felt the same way. “...the young lady... to sick bay. See to any requests the good doctor here makes, and then report to me whenever Commander Giotta decides he's finished... discussing... certain matters with you.” And pray to whatever you consider holy you've got a good enough explanation for that little stunt to save your belligerent yet shapely blue ass from my boot. Rather than using the intercom, he flipped open a communicator, and manually coded it to a pre-arranged frequency.

“Kirk here. Tell the security details to stand down, the Dawnstar Protocol is no longer required.”

Spock answered, and the unspoken curiosity in his voice was something anyone who hadn't known him for years would miss. “As you wish, Captain. Does this mean we shall be enjoying our usual chess game this evening then?”

“Negative, Spock. I'm afraid we're going to have to put that on hold for a few nights, I suspect. Kirk out.”

Sitting in the center chair on the bridge where he had been watching the entire odd little drama on the main screen, Spock considered the situation briefly simply to ensure he hadn't missed some small detail. The captain had used the proper, pre-arranged frequency and provided the correct response indicating he was under no duress. Therefore Spock began issuing stand-down orders to each of the security details, using yet another series of pre-arranged, dedicated frequencies and challenge/response protocols. The young human on the transporter pad was most definitely not what they had been expecting.  He was certain Captain Granger's report would be fascinating.

After verifying with Granger that nobody was likely to come tearing in at hot pursuit, Kirk ordered the Enterprise teams to mate up with their counterparts aboard the Avalon and proceed with the recovery plans. The next several hours were a blizzard of reports, comparisons thereof, and fine tuning adjustments to the rescue plan. The Avalon was barely spaceworthy, her condition cheerfully described by Mr. Scott as “aye, she'll probably not blow up on us too much, most likely willna' anyway, but we can get 'er right enough ta continue on 'er own. Poor lassie'll be spendin' some quality time in'a shipyards though, she will.” He'd expedited the repairs by having assorted supplies and equipment pre-positioned for transport with priority on “all'a the thing's I'd be hard pressed ta fix a ship w'out, and most likely ta run out of first.” He sounds happier than a tribble in a salad bar, Kirk thought with a grin as he heard Scotty's voice shifting from concern to enthusiasm about the challenge at hand. Engineers, he had determined, were only happy when they had something to fix. Lacking something broken, they would proceed to “improve” things until something broke, “incidentally” giving them something to fix. In this case, there was plenty of joy to go around for all the engineers, as it would be at least a few days before the ship would be able to proceed. Both captains had agreed that once the most urgent systems were at least made safe to operate,the pace of repairs would be slowed to allow Granger's people some much-needed rest. The possibility of catastrophic failure in equipment could be handled by replacement and repairs, but the possibility of catastrophic human error by an exhausted and under-nourished crew was something only some decent rest and hot meals could avert.

Medical found its services in almost as high a level of demand, tidying up the results of “meatball surgery” that the Avalon's medical staff had been forced to adopt given the number of casualties, refugees, and damage to their medical facilities. They had beamed aboard dozens of refugees and “walking wounded” who were being transferred to the Enterprise not only because it was less likely to fall apart any time soon, but to relieve some of the strain on the Avalon's wheezing and sputtering life-support system. Kirk had time to note that they were all human females, with the exception of one young Vulcan woman who had been actually shuttled to the Enterprise because her injuries apparently left her too unstable to transport.

Not to be outdone, the ship's steward saw to it that Services stepped up to the plate in quartering the battered and traumatized refugees and supplying fresh food to the crew of the Avalon, taking a certain prim delight in wordlessly reminding certain other branches of the crew of the importance of a hot meal to crew efficiency and morale and thus wasn't something to be sniffed at.

While all the pieces settled in to motion, Captain Granger had refused even a cup of coffee until he knew his crew's needs were taken care of. Only when he'd confirmed with every one of his department heads that each section was eating did he allow Kirk to escort him to the ship's mess. The tables there were mainly occupied by some of the more battered but mobile members of Granger's crew and several groups of women Kirk presumed to be the rescued colonists. He felt a cold lump form in his stomach as he took them in. The colonists were all roughly between the ages of 14 and 30 and clad in a mix of those godawful issue jumpsuits and mismatched bits of what Kirk suspected to be civilian clothes donated by the Avalon's crew. The women tended to cluster at the tables in the corners and edges of the room. Many looked like they couldn't quite believe their ordeal was over...and a few simply stared into space as they mechanically ate. One rather delicate and pretty young lady simply sat with her back pressed into a corner, holding an orange and weeping silently while some of the older women hovered protectively about her.

A tall, rangy woman of about 30 caught Kirk's eye and mouthed a silent “thank you” with a small gesture to one of the several platters of fruit distributed throughout the room. Kirk realized that the ship's botanist must have ruthlessly plundered her hydroponics garden to provide this extra touch of hospitality and comfort. Kirk was impressed, considering that last month the normally mild-mannered botanist had demonstrated her zero tolerance for “locusts” and had used a watering can to beat near-senseless a hungry crewman foolish enough to think he could get away with cadging a snack from “her” garden when nobody was looking. Kirk decided he'd have to make a point of putting a letter of commendation in the botanist's file despite the now infamous “Battle of Locust Hollow” incident. He valued creative thinking, after all.

Granger made a point of visiting each table and introducing Kirk to his battered crewmen as well as some of the refugees who were present. A pat on the shoulder here, an inquiry about how an injury was healing there, but with the rescued women he was more restrained in his body language, careful to allow them to maintain a larger bubble of personal space. Finally Granger allowed himself to be served a bowl of stew and some of what everyone but Doctor McCoy considered to be cornbread. He sat for a moment staring at it as though he'd forgotten what it was there for.

“You take good care of your people, Chuck. But you've got to take care of yourself to look out for them. I might start stealing some of your engineers if you pass out on me.”

Granger managed to shoot him as venomous a look as one can with a mouthful of cornbread and beef stew on his chin. Washing it down with half a glass of milk, Granger fired back “You even try that, and it'll be pistols at dawn, Jimmy boy. God, this is so good. I'll give you three engineers for your steward. And let you use me as a character reference at your next court martial.”

Kirk eyed the rescued colonists for a few minutes, letting Granger polish off his bowl of stew before quietly saying “Slavers.”

“Not just slavers, Jim. They were Augments, all right... but they were looking for breeding stock. That's what the Security Council wanted to keep under wraps, to 'prevent undue concern.' All the kidnap victims were young women of what you could call 'breeding age', and they were all human except that poor Vulcan girl. God help me, it's like something from a b-grade holo-drama like 'Romulus Needs Women.' I've read your logs and the official report about Khan, Jim. We were going to be one of the ships that was to ensure the quarantine around Kahn's little empire wasn't violated, at least until Ceti Alpha V did us all a favor when it decided to crap the bunk and explode. And I'd say these guys were a new and improved model. More like those Soong Augments that Archer ran into back in the old days, but possibly tweaked some beyond that.”

“That bad?” Kirk asked, taking a halfhearted bite of his chicken sandwich. He had a thousand questions but knew Granger was in no shape for a proper debriefing. He'd let him ramble at his own pace to get a feel for the shape of the situation then go over Granger's logs and report while his hag-ridden fellow captain got some rest. Now that he knew there was no immediate danger to his ship, the details could be sorted later.

“Honestly Jim, I'd rather fight Klingons and Gorn than those monsters. Strong and fast. Stun just pissed them off. Saw one literally tear the arm off one of my men. We quit using stun then. They were honest-to-god berserkers. Every last one of them crazy as a mugato with a pain-stick up its ass. The men, anyway, and thank God for that. The women, well, they were pretty much docile, scared, and utterly uneducated. They just cowered down and covered their eyes, then scurried away when they thought we weren't looking. The prisoners tell me they were called “Breed Things” and were pretty much forbidden from acting like anything but. Speaking, names, clothing, anything resembling sentience was punished brutally and gleefully.”

Granger motioned for the steward to bring him another bowl of stew and some dessert, and he took a few bites before continuing. “Here's the weird thing, Jim. They're goddamn geniuses, with some pretty advanced technology. That kid in sickbay pretty much learned Standard just listening to the other prisoners before we rescued them, and had it down well enough to read at a teenager's level after about 3 weeks with us. But despite high quality stuff in their melon's, it's like they were too arrogant and too stark raving mad to bother maintaining their defensive systems. Like it was beneath them or something. They had a pretty impressive civilization once, but they must have bombed themselves back to the Stone Age. Okay, not the stone age because they still had their gate-thing and ships, but it was all just falling apart and their biosphere's completely slagged.”

Granger's cornbread mopped up the last fugitive bits of stew and he was silent for a long moment.

“Anyway, imagine Khan Noonian Singh, Jim... but with the soul of Caligula. Squatting in the ruins of a once magnificient palace, drinking and passing around some captured village girls. Monsters. What we dealt with were a few dozen, raiding in small, fast, cloaked ships to capture 'breeding stock' to rebuild their empire. Never mind that they had immense gene banks already and the technological means to grow all the kids they wanted to in bottles. It's like they had to do it on the backs of those poor women or it just wasn't worth doing. Goddamn Caligula, Jim. We might actually have gotten all of the men, but they had more automated defense craft howling in at us, so I had to get the prisoners and un-ass the area of operation without doing a proper mop-up. Their women and some girls scattered into the ruins... I had to leave them behind, Jim. God forgive me, but if I'd had a planet-buster to drop on them, I would have used it, just to make sure those poor kids weren't going to be left in the hands of more of those monsters.”

Kirk saw the grief and shame in Granger's eyes and understood that, Prime Directive or not, some things you just couldn't leave alone out of “respect for differing cultural values.” He took a pull of his coffee. “Chuck, you're going to have your hands full with debriefings and a refit, but I can take the Enterprise back and see what we can do for those kids.”

Granger shook his head, chasing bits of pie around his plate with little enthusiasm, and ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to focus. “I wish it were that simple, Jim. But you know what that area of space is like. A navigator's nightmare to begin with... but those 'supermen' had come through some sort of artificial anomaly to get here. God only knows where... or when... that planet actually is relative to here. Those arrogant bastards just left the door open, so sure that nobody could find them or that they could handle anyone who did. We only found them because Sky... the kid... showed some of the prisoners how to get out of the breeding pens...yeah, that's right, breeding pens... she wanted to show them how to steal more food, you see. If you can call the sludge they fed the prisoners 'food', that is. That tall lady there... she's Tatiana Romonova from the Novy Pskov colony. Settled here on the fringe. Anyway, she found a room where the raiders had piled up any weapons and personal gear from their victims. Just tossed it in a corner and left the door open. Tricorders, communicators, med kits, phasers... Tatiana... she was a commo tech, and managed to get a derelict transmitter station running on a federation band. We picked her signal up, barely, and followed it through the anomaly. When I saw what was on the other side, I left this crazy engineer rating I'd borrowed from Starbase 39 on the station that generated the anomaly. With about a dozen photon warheads to make sure that whether we made it out or not, that door was going to be slammed for good. On the way back through, he disengaged the deadman and set the timer and we beamed him aboard. The station went up as we cleared the anomaly, and it collapsed behind us.”

Kirk eyed the tall woman who was still mother-henning some of the dazed rescuees. “Let me guess. When you hit the beach, she and some of her flock started shooting the sons-of-bitches in the back? I like her already. Also like to have a word with the recruiter who let that one slip past Starfleet. What did that engineer rating think of the plan?”

Granger grinned. “You know engineers. It was his idea. Said he wasn't even supposed to be here anyway.  At heart, I think they just love blowing stuff up, and only learn to fix it so they can know how to blow it up better. I swear, when he hit the trigger he actually said 'Hey, y'all... watch this!'”

Kirk sat back, considered another slice of pie. Considered his next physical, and McCoy's sadistic food plans, and decided not to chance it. “So what about the girl? The superhuman I was convinced was going to try to conquer the Federation all on her own? She helped the prisoners so they'd take her with them?”

“Nothing so cheerful, Jim. She didn't understand that there was any other place to escape to. Food deprivation was something used to keep the prisoners docile, and as a tool of petty cruelty. Not even a 'be good, get food' sort of conditioning, just another bit of random viciousness. She just wanted to show those hungry, scared women how they could get a little more food from the vats. During the raid, she hid behind some wreckage where we blew the roof.... whatever they build out of, we can't transport through it without cracking the lid...and then she jumped into the transporter beam with one of the medics when we beamed out. Scared the hell out of everyone, but it worked out okay. Jim, she had no comprehension of escape, of transporters taking you to other places. She thought we were 'going to nothing,” said “it is better to go to nothing than to stay a Breed Thing here.' So I guess in a way she thought she was escaping. Doctor T'Shia says the poor kid's been pretty much beaten and ...abused... since she could walk. She still can't wrap her head around the idea that people aren't going to start hitting... or using... her.”

Kirk sat forward, caught his friends eyes. “Chuck, I'll see she's treated properly. She'll be safe here, and I'll see to it that Starfleet's notified that we don't have some new rogue Kahn on our hands, just a scared kid. She'll be okay. Bones is a pretty good shrink and has run into some rough stuff. Between him and your doctor, she's in good hands. We'll see what ideas they have for finding some sort of fostering for her for the long term. Now, you get some rest. I need to chew over your reports and I'll need you fit to fight come ship's morning when we get into all the wonderful paperwork getting your ship put back together's going to generate.”

She is quite puzzled. These People let her have all the food she wants, and they don't hit her or take the food back. Nor do they hit their Breed Things, who talk and look them in the eye and know no fear of Punishment. Some of the New People here still frighten her. The Patriarch of this new place smelled fighty...no, she corrected herself... “aggressive” is the proper word. He was very angry when the blue Breed Thing spoke and looked at her food, but he didn't hit her, the blue one, or anybody. Perhaps blue means one doesn't get hit. She would study and see if she could learn blue, but she suspected it was like being a Person or a Breed Thing, that one had to be born that way. T'Shia told her this place is safe, that nobody will ever hit her again or take her food. The Person in blue cloth, the Patriarch? of this “sickbay” touched her with machines and spoke with T'Shia, and then began to speak very quietly and insistently to himself. He also began to smell very, very angry so she hid her eyes and waited to be hit. But he never hit her. T'Shia spoke quietly with him, and he apologized, and T'Shia said “The cause is sufficient, Doctor. The cause is sufficient.” Then he smiled at her, and ordered food to be brought to her. These People want her to study and learn more Words, even to Speak them, so she will do so because if they are happy with her, then perhaps they will continue to not hit her. But first, she will carefully hide some of her food, because one never could tell.