The Devil In The DNA: Part One.

***It cannot stay.  There will be Punishment.  They 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 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 the 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 accommodating 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.  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.

  “Approaching 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 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'Shau, 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.”

by paynesgrey on 2011-07-22 11:29:28