MikeKozlowski
Fear God But Dread Naught
Kirk trotted down the corridor, weaving through the other shuttle passengers and shooting a quick glance at his wrist chrono only to discover for the fourth time in the last couple minutes that he was, indeed, still late. Half turning, half skidding around one final corner, Kirk saw the holosign that said
The shuttle from Blue Ridge, tucked neatly into the ops bay, was one of their standard personnel shuttles, gleaming white and christened BIG MEADOWS in perfect 304mm Starfleet Standard font, sitting quietly three pads down from everyone else in the busy terminal. Kirk slowed to a more or less dignified, purposeful walk as he came up to the Security CPO and showed his ID. A quick scan, the smile and salute, and Kirk ducked into the open hatch. Everyone was there and looked up as he came in, but only Scotty held his gaze for a moment with a mildly disapproving look. Sitting down next to Spock, Kirk quickly buckled in and sat back to catch his breath.
The pilot was polite and professional, giving his safety briefing the way he clearly had several hundred times before and blessedly unimpressed with his passengers. Just as well, Kirk thought as the shuttle lifted off with a bump, then smoothly accelerated away with a slow, steady increase in gees. Almost involuntarily, Kirk closed his eyes and relaxed, the lost night’s rest still weighing on him. His brain reflexively started to run through all the things he’d have to do once he got aboard, and just as suddenly remembered - he wasn’t in command this trip. Someone else had the conn this time; someone else had all the responsibility.
Now that was an odd feeling. It was one thing to let someone else ferry you around for a couple hours in a shuttle or hopper, but…dear Lord, how long had it been? Back on the Farragut. A lifetime ago.
They cruised northwest across the Pacific, passing hoppers and other shuttles in silence, flashing anti-collision lights and beacons tracing their paths across a black velvet backdrop. The NorthAm Pacific coast glided smoothly below, greens and browns and whites all discreetly veiled by clouds that slid past to reveal the Aleutians, and then Siberia and the lush forests that seemed to roll out forever beneath them - and then a bump as the reaction motors forward fired, and Kirk looked up and saw a blue-silver mushroom shape starting to grow in the forward windscreen.
The speakers buzzed slightly and the pilot announced, “Gentlemen, we are about ten minutes out from Irktusk Station, please secure your seats, buckle in, and we will be landing aboard Blue Ridge through the aft hangar bay. Thank you.”
The usual rustling of beings and gear, the whine of seat servomotors, the rattle of seat harnesses, and the Big Meadows began to slide obliquely to the right, now pointed towards a drydock a few kilometers past the station - reflecting a little bit of sun and star, but unusually dark. Normally, the drydocks were brightly lit - to help the repair and maintenance crews mostly, but otherwise to keep someone from hitting them and ruining their day - but this one was almost…hiding. The perimeter lights were on, and there were quite a few interior lights from the ship inside coming into view, but the overall effect was as if the ship inside really didn’t want to be seen. Scotty caught it too, leaning across the aisle and asking, “There really is a ship in there, I hope…”
Spock was still looking at the screen on his PADD as he replied, “It seems reasonable that someone has decided that there is no need to call any more attention to our departure than absolutely necessary. Of course, any attempt to hide a vessel coming in at seven hundred and twelve thousand, five hundred metric tons, may be considered ever so slightly futile to begin with.”
“Bothers me a little,”, McCoy said.
Kirk leaned forward to see McCoy. “Why’s that, Bones?”
McCoy folded his arms with a dubious look. “A ship that dark usually has something wrong.”
It seemed to be only a few heartbeats, and they were lined up with the drydock. Blue Ridge was clearly inside now, her aft shuttle bay doors opened and the brightly lit interior standing out - a dark gray deck with sequential lights running, first a pulsing blue/white glow that, as they came closer, resolved into a long series of individual lights rolling from the fantail forward. The landing alignment lights - three lights on the outer fantail itself - suddenly snapped on, red-green-red, and the speakers buzzed.
“Big Meadows, this is Blue Ridge Approach, call the ball.”
“Blue Ridge, Big Meadows copies.” The shuttle rose slightly, skittered slightly to port, and the central green light suddenly became a flare that settled down to a circle with a smaller red bar to each side. “I have the ball.”
“Big Meadows, Blue Ridge copies you have the ball. Maintain heading and level, do not reply.”
Blue Ridge was growing in the windshield now, shadows becoming dimly lit shapes that bore a vague resemblance to the Dreadnaught she came from, but with bumps and protrusions going in all directions, the third warp engine standing out above everything else.
“Lord almighty,” Scotty breathed. “She’s a big ‘un, isn’t she?”
Kirk grinned. “I’ve seen prettier.”
There was a bump as they slipped through the atmosphere field across the shuttle bay doors, and Big Meadows reared upwards slightly, then settled gently onto the deck. “Welcome aboard the Blue Ridge, gentlemen. We’ve got some folks waiting for you and to get your baggage sorted out.” With that, the hatch popped open with a hiss of hydraulics and they unbuckled from their seats. Kirk was first out, followed by Spock, Scotty, and McCoy as they stepped down to the deck. Berenice Marchal was standing at parade rest, coming to attention and saluting as Kirk’s feet touched the deck.
“Captain Kirk - gentlemen - welcome aboard. Captain Dillon has asked me to show you to your quarters.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Kirk answered, adding with a smile, “we don’t need anything fancy.”
Marchal smiled back, replying, “As it turns out, we have a full set of flag quarters but no command staff aboard this trip, so Captain Dillon thought you’d like the upgrade to the first class suites.”
“In that case,” McCoy smiled graciously, “it would be rude to turn down the opportunity. Lead on, Commander.”
“With pleasure.” Marchal gestured forward, saying, “We’re going to go forward through the R and R deck, so we can give you the five-credit tour. Through this hatch right here -”
-And they stepped into a literal cathedral of technology, the hull arching a few stories overhead, with galleries lining the sides, dozens of machines - plasma lathes, 3D fabricators, jigs and frames with crew members surrounding each one, the sounds of activity and construction echoing through it. Kirk turned to see Scotty grinning from ear to ear, looking like a kid in a candy store. “I take it you approve, Mister Scott?”
“Aye indeed,” Scotty shot back. “Turn me loose in here long enough and I might never come back. I’ve never seen anything quite like this away from a full dress orbital yard or starbase.”
Marchal laughed back over her shoulder. “Glad you approve, Captain Scott - it’s why we’re here and once we’re underway, you can play down here to your heart’s content.” Scotty’s only reply was a long, appreciative look at all the gear on the R&R deck, and a quiet, “You can count on it, lass….”
It is axiomatic that Klingon life is not quiet. Klingons are - surprisingly - a naturally loud people, and the concept of an ‘inside voice’ does not seem to have developed in their culture. There are several excellent multi-volume works that discuss the many possible reasons for this, but never mind. The Klingon personality is not inclined to silence, the native animal life is raucous - to put it gently - and their technology is much louder than others.
It therefore stood to reason, many centuries ago, that silence could be disturbing. Many a Klingon commander noticed that if the immediate environment was quiet - without sound - their warriors became…well….nervous. This is why Klingon interrogation facilities are as silent as technology and ingenuity can make them - sound absorbing walls and floors, utterly noiseless hatches, and very little conversation allowed outside the interrogation rooms themselves.
All of which made Senior Lieutenant Kast, formerly Security Officer of Imperial Klingon Ship Dragon, very, very nervous. The only sound in the tiny cell was his own breathing, but after a few hours here - and he wasn’t at all sure by this point how long that had been - he was starting to think he could hear his own heartbeat. Not feel, mind you, but hear it.
No. Remain calm. You are a warrior. They know nothing.
Kast tried to stand up, only to discover for the hundredth time that the room was just too low for him to stand up completely…as it was too narrow for him to extend his arms, and the shelf that extended from the rear wall was just too skinny and too short for him to sit or lie comfortably. Kast fought down the urge to scream and pull the shelf from the wall, but -
- The hatch opened with a metallic SNAP. Kast looked at it in confusion for a moment, waiting for someone - something - to show itself, but nothing did.
Remain calm.
Slowly, carefully, with skills and reflexes honed by years of practice and training, Kast carefully stepped through the hatch.
“Good morning, Senior Lieutenant.”
Kast spun to his left, to see a gray haired warrior standing calmly a few feet away. He looked positively benign for a Klingon, a true smile on his face.
But it’s not morning - is it?
“I was beginning to wonder when you would come out.”
“Who are you? Why am I here?”
“I’m afraid you do not ask any questions here, Senior Lieutenant. I do.”
“WHO ARE YOU??”
“The warrior who asks the questions.”
It all sank in to Kast, with the brightness and violence of an unexpected solar flare. He briefly, so briefly it was not worth even noting, considered making a run for it, or going after the warrior.
No.
He knew where he was, and he knew escape was impossible. The only option remaining to him now was -
Honor.
Death, with honor.
Kast straightened to attention and looked the warrior straight in the eyes. “I shall tell you nothing.”
The warrior inclined his head, and smiled once more, a smile that would have warmed the heart of a child, a smile that spoke volumes. He stepped forward, taking Kast by the elbow and turning him towards the long passage that stretched out before them. Patting him on the back, the warrior said gently, “Of course you will.”
To Be Continued….
17 DELTA
DEPARTING
SSM
ID REQUIRED
The wisdom of advertising a Special Shuttle Mission was lost to Jim Kirk, but on the other hand there were plenty of SSMs launching from here every day - VIP transports, special maintenance teams, couriers, even photo opportunities. One more, he considered, probably didn’t stand out.DEPARTING
SSM
ID REQUIRED
The shuttle from Blue Ridge, tucked neatly into the ops bay, was one of their standard personnel shuttles, gleaming white and christened BIG MEADOWS in perfect 304mm Starfleet Standard font, sitting quietly three pads down from everyone else in the busy terminal. Kirk slowed to a more or less dignified, purposeful walk as he came up to the Security CPO and showed his ID. A quick scan, the smile and salute, and Kirk ducked into the open hatch. Everyone was there and looked up as he came in, but only Scotty held his gaze for a moment with a mildly disapproving look. Sitting down next to Spock, Kirk quickly buckled in and sat back to catch his breath.
The pilot was polite and professional, giving his safety briefing the way he clearly had several hundred times before and blessedly unimpressed with his passengers. Just as well, Kirk thought as the shuttle lifted off with a bump, then smoothly accelerated away with a slow, steady increase in gees. Almost involuntarily, Kirk closed his eyes and relaxed, the lost night’s rest still weighing on him. His brain reflexively started to run through all the things he’d have to do once he got aboard, and just as suddenly remembered - he wasn’t in command this trip. Someone else had the conn this time; someone else had all the responsibility.
Now that was an odd feeling. It was one thing to let someone else ferry you around for a couple hours in a shuttle or hopper, but…dear Lord, how long had it been? Back on the Farragut. A lifetime ago.
They cruised northwest across the Pacific, passing hoppers and other shuttles in silence, flashing anti-collision lights and beacons tracing their paths across a black velvet backdrop. The NorthAm Pacific coast glided smoothly below, greens and browns and whites all discreetly veiled by clouds that slid past to reveal the Aleutians, and then Siberia and the lush forests that seemed to roll out forever beneath them - and then a bump as the reaction motors forward fired, and Kirk looked up and saw a blue-silver mushroom shape starting to grow in the forward windscreen.
The speakers buzzed slightly and the pilot announced, “Gentlemen, we are about ten minutes out from Irktusk Station, please secure your seats, buckle in, and we will be landing aboard Blue Ridge through the aft hangar bay. Thank you.”
The usual rustling of beings and gear, the whine of seat servomotors, the rattle of seat harnesses, and the Big Meadows began to slide obliquely to the right, now pointed towards a drydock a few kilometers past the station - reflecting a little bit of sun and star, but unusually dark. Normally, the drydocks were brightly lit - to help the repair and maintenance crews mostly, but otherwise to keep someone from hitting them and ruining their day - but this one was almost…hiding. The perimeter lights were on, and there were quite a few interior lights from the ship inside coming into view, but the overall effect was as if the ship inside really didn’t want to be seen. Scotty caught it too, leaning across the aisle and asking, “There really is a ship in there, I hope…”
Spock was still looking at the screen on his PADD as he replied, “It seems reasonable that someone has decided that there is no need to call any more attention to our departure than absolutely necessary. Of course, any attempt to hide a vessel coming in at seven hundred and twelve thousand, five hundred metric tons, may be considered ever so slightly futile to begin with.”
“Bothers me a little,”, McCoy said.
Kirk leaned forward to see McCoy. “Why’s that, Bones?”
McCoy folded his arms with a dubious look. “A ship that dark usually has something wrong.”
It seemed to be only a few heartbeats, and they were lined up with the drydock. Blue Ridge was clearly inside now, her aft shuttle bay doors opened and the brightly lit interior standing out - a dark gray deck with sequential lights running, first a pulsing blue/white glow that, as they came closer, resolved into a long series of individual lights rolling from the fantail forward. The landing alignment lights - three lights on the outer fantail itself - suddenly snapped on, red-green-red, and the speakers buzzed.
“Big Meadows, this is Blue Ridge Approach, call the ball.”
“Blue Ridge, Big Meadows copies.” The shuttle rose slightly, skittered slightly to port, and the central green light suddenly became a flare that settled down to a circle with a smaller red bar to each side. “I have the ball.”
“Big Meadows, Blue Ridge copies you have the ball. Maintain heading and level, do not reply.”
Blue Ridge was growing in the windshield now, shadows becoming dimly lit shapes that bore a vague resemblance to the Dreadnaught she came from, but with bumps and protrusions going in all directions, the third warp engine standing out above everything else.
“Lord almighty,” Scotty breathed. “She’s a big ‘un, isn’t she?”
Kirk grinned. “I’ve seen prettier.”
There was a bump as they slipped through the atmosphere field across the shuttle bay doors, and Big Meadows reared upwards slightly, then settled gently onto the deck. “Welcome aboard the Blue Ridge, gentlemen. We’ve got some folks waiting for you and to get your baggage sorted out.” With that, the hatch popped open with a hiss of hydraulics and they unbuckled from their seats. Kirk was first out, followed by Spock, Scotty, and McCoy as they stepped down to the deck. Berenice Marchal was standing at parade rest, coming to attention and saluting as Kirk’s feet touched the deck.
“Captain Kirk - gentlemen - welcome aboard. Captain Dillon has asked me to show you to your quarters.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Kirk answered, adding with a smile, “we don’t need anything fancy.”
Marchal smiled back, replying, “As it turns out, we have a full set of flag quarters but no command staff aboard this trip, so Captain Dillon thought you’d like the upgrade to the first class suites.”
“In that case,” McCoy smiled graciously, “it would be rude to turn down the opportunity. Lead on, Commander.”
“With pleasure.” Marchal gestured forward, saying, “We’re going to go forward through the R and R deck, so we can give you the five-credit tour. Through this hatch right here -”
-And they stepped into a literal cathedral of technology, the hull arching a few stories overhead, with galleries lining the sides, dozens of machines - plasma lathes, 3D fabricators, jigs and frames with crew members surrounding each one, the sounds of activity and construction echoing through it. Kirk turned to see Scotty grinning from ear to ear, looking like a kid in a candy store. “I take it you approve, Mister Scott?”
“Aye indeed,” Scotty shot back. “Turn me loose in here long enough and I might never come back. I’ve never seen anything quite like this away from a full dress orbital yard or starbase.”
Marchal laughed back over her shoulder. “Glad you approve, Captain Scott - it’s why we’re here and once we’re underway, you can play down here to your heart’s content.” Scotty’s only reply was a long, appreciative look at all the gear on the R&R deck, and a quiet, “You can count on it, lass….”
It is axiomatic that Klingon life is not quiet. Klingons are - surprisingly - a naturally loud people, and the concept of an ‘inside voice’ does not seem to have developed in their culture. There are several excellent multi-volume works that discuss the many possible reasons for this, but never mind. The Klingon personality is not inclined to silence, the native animal life is raucous - to put it gently - and their technology is much louder than others.
It therefore stood to reason, many centuries ago, that silence could be disturbing. Many a Klingon commander noticed that if the immediate environment was quiet - without sound - their warriors became…well….nervous. This is why Klingon interrogation facilities are as silent as technology and ingenuity can make them - sound absorbing walls and floors, utterly noiseless hatches, and very little conversation allowed outside the interrogation rooms themselves.
All of which made Senior Lieutenant Kast, formerly Security Officer of Imperial Klingon Ship Dragon, very, very nervous. The only sound in the tiny cell was his own breathing, but after a few hours here - and he wasn’t at all sure by this point how long that had been - he was starting to think he could hear his own heartbeat. Not feel, mind you, but hear it.
No. Remain calm. You are a warrior. They know nothing.
Kast tried to stand up, only to discover for the hundredth time that the room was just too low for him to stand up completely…as it was too narrow for him to extend his arms, and the shelf that extended from the rear wall was just too skinny and too short for him to sit or lie comfortably. Kast fought down the urge to scream and pull the shelf from the wall, but -
- The hatch opened with a metallic SNAP. Kast looked at it in confusion for a moment, waiting for someone - something - to show itself, but nothing did.
Remain calm.
Slowly, carefully, with skills and reflexes honed by years of practice and training, Kast carefully stepped through the hatch.
“Good morning, Senior Lieutenant.”
Kast spun to his left, to see a gray haired warrior standing calmly a few feet away. He looked positively benign for a Klingon, a true smile on his face.
But it’s not morning - is it?
“I was beginning to wonder when you would come out.”
“Who are you? Why am I here?”
“I’m afraid you do not ask any questions here, Senior Lieutenant. I do.”
“WHO ARE YOU??”
“The warrior who asks the questions.”
It all sank in to Kast, with the brightness and violence of an unexpected solar flare. He briefly, so briefly it was not worth even noting, considered making a run for it, or going after the warrior.
No.
He knew where he was, and he knew escape was impossible. The only option remaining to him now was -
Honor.
Death, with honor.
Kast straightened to attention and looked the warrior straight in the eyes. “I shall tell you nothing.”
The warrior inclined his head, and smiled once more, a smile that would have warmed the heart of a child, a smile that spoke volumes. He stepped forward, taking Kast by the elbow and turning him towards the long passage that stretched out before them. Patting him on the back, the warrior said gently, “Of course you will.”
To Be Continued….
