Welcome to the Jungle - Part 5

“Auto Destruct in three seconds… two seconds… one second...”

Shadoweye raised his muzzle and howled to the Gods, the rest of his crew on the Bridge joining in. The Clan of the Coiled Southern River Pride was about to join the Great Hunt!

Seconds passed.

Then more.

Shadoweye glanced down, his tail twitching. The Auto Destruct had reached Zero. But nothing had happened. They still lived! Why?

One of his Technicians rushed up to a console, paws moving furiously over the controls. “No...”

Shadoweye looked to him. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

Second Technician looked up at him, already wincing at the reaction he would get from his Captain when he reported what he had learned. “The- The Starfleeters- they had left the Auto Destruct sequence seemingly intact, active, accessible… but had disabled the detonators themselves. They made us think we could destroy ourselves, but- but-”

“But we never could,” Shadoweye finished blankly, turning back to the viewscreen. “They had tricked us… tricked me.” He glanced down at the displays.

They had reached the point of no escape.

*

“Now, Captain,” Haluk confirmed.

Mistry nodded, already feeling the increasing pressure of the gravimetric forces outside. “Lt Ross! Veer off, head back towards our sister ships, full impulse! Now!”

*

“Now!” Wixtar ordered.

Nola opened the rear entrance doors.

She stood up on the right side, with Granch and T’Shak covering the left, all three of them firing at the huge figures, even as the Kzinti roared, some of them charging in the opposite direction, to fall under a volley of phaser beams from Wixtar’s Security team, to judge from the sounds Nola heard.

Closer still, one last Kzin charged, faster than she had ever seen anything move, burst past her and the others and into the Radio Shack.

She fired at him again, even to the point of singeing his fur. But he kept going, until he dropped to his paws and knees, looking up at S’Li, baring his teeth, his voice like dirt shovelled into a grave. “T-Traitor- Pet Cat to the Monkeys- I’ll- I’ll kill-”

S’Li raised his blade. But didn’t bring it down on him.

He didn’t have to. The last Kzin finally fell, and was still.

*

On the Reykjavik, Trujillo watched as the last of the Raiders erupted, and breathed a sigh of relief… even as she accepted that with them, went any clues as to how they arrived and what they were using to gain such a tactical advantage over a ship as tough as nails as the Reykjavik. One job at a time, Nandi. You kick their asses, let others work out where their asses came from… “Hail the Tico, send Captain Demlin my compliments. Security status, Mr Glal?”

“All Kzinti onboard accounted for and secured… one way, or the other.”

“And what’s the status of the Harken?”

“On its way to join us, Ma’am… and recommending we all get at least two light years away, in case their calculations are wrong.”

She nodded. “Well, let’s get going.”

*

On the Ticonderoga, Demlin leaned back, using proven meditative exercises to let his heart calm down. It helped that the battle was over, they had won, and now they could get out of this system, and, hopefully, survive whatever the pulsars do to those damned warheads.

His XO Commander Gabriel Saez drew up to him, his dark Mediterranean good looks making Demlin feel more than a little envious at times. “Captain, Damage Control is completing their work, and we are currently heading out of the system.”

Demlin nodded. “Excellent, Commander.” He waited for the younger man to return to his station.

But he didn’t. He stepped closer and lowered his voice now. “So… perhaps you can take the time to have a walking tour of the ship?”

Demlin frowned. “Walking tour?”

Saez nodded. “Perhaps you can start in Sickbay? See how Doctor sh’Nasa is doing?”

Demlin stared back, amused and annoyed by his XO’s less-than-subtle approach. “I’m fine, Commander. Really. There’s no need.”

His First Officer never budged.

“You’ve told her already,” Demlin prompted. “Haven’t you?”

Saez blushed.

Demlin rose. “I’m going to get you for this, Commander. Mark my words.”

*

A minute from the Slim Belly’s destruction, its sensors failed, leaving the screen in blackness. But they weren’t needed; the hull was making a constant mewl of protests at the unrelenting gravimetric pressures against it.

Everyone had taken their posts, to die at them, Shadoweye no different from the rest. But then his ears picked up a distant sound, above the rest, and he rose from his seat, looking to the door that led to his quarters. “Let her out.”

Third Technician, sitting closest to the door, obeyed, and the door slid open to release Shadoweye’s Female, who scurried out, frightened, confused, angry, all in equal measures that eclipsed each other. She hissed and yowled at the surrounding males.

Shadoweye made a noise, attracting her attention, and she rushed to him, clinging tightly for comfort, having no idea what was happening.

He knelt at the foot of his chair and wrapped his arms around her. He would take them all to the Gates, and ensure they all pass through to join the Great Hunt.

But he would stay behind, in the Endless Night… his punishment for leading the Coiled Southern River Pride, his Pride, to their destruction in this life. He would be lost. But it would be worth it. It would be worth it. It would be wo-

*

Between the binary pulsars, intense gravimetric torque ripped the Slim Belly apart, the pressures triggering a detonation of isolytic elements that ripped through the fabric of space, and into the subspace layers.

The rips spiralled out in the directions of the pulsars, fighting with the gravity wells of the stars for dominance, threatening to draw the two stars together in a collision unlike anything seen in this part of the Galaxy for aeons. In fact, the subspace tear did begin having an effect on them, pulling them together several kilometres, and slightly altering the frequency of the smaller of the pair.

In an astronomical survey conducted in the coming weeks, it would be confirmed that the rotation and the orbit of the smaller of the Xibalba pulsars had altered, and that it would eventually crash into the larger of the pulsars… in approximately nine thousand years.

*

In the Nipoc, Colonel Gentaq listened to the whine of the freighter’s engines as it continued to exceed their safety capacity, in an effort to escape the pursuing Starfleet vessels, who had somehow defeated the force of nine Kzinti raiders, who had appeared from nowhere. He listened less to the protests from the petaQ crew. Miserable scum-

“Colonel!” one of the scum barked, “We are receiving a transmission!”

“I have no interest in speaking with Starfleet.”

“It is not Starfleet! They claim to be… Moonfleet.”

Gentaq started. He had heard of them, in his bureaucratic capacity, but had assumed them to be more myth than man. He leaned back in the chair. “Put them through.”

Seconds later, the viewscreen changed from the aft image of the Starfleet vessels rapidly closing in on them, to a still image of a crescent moon, and a mechanical voice speaking. “Colonel Gentaq, I believe the transaction in the Xibalba system did not conclude fortuitously.”

The elderly Klingon made a harsh laugh. “That depends on your point of view, Whoever You Are. For the Kzinti, not so well. I, on the other hand-”

“You, on the other hand, are two minutes away from being intercepted by Starfleet, arrested, and having your hundred thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum confiscated. Unless, of course, you wish to make a deal with us.”

Gentaq grunted. “I don’t make deals with shadows and lore.”

“Colonel, we are all too real. You witnessed a demonstration of our capabilities today, in sending the Kzinti raiders across ten whole sectors to assist Captain Shadoweye.”

Now the Klingon laughed. “For all the good it did him! He’s dead, your ships destroyed-”

“And we would like to recover something from this day’s business, by offering you a chance to escape, using the same means that sent our ships to your part of the Galaxy. You will remain free.”

Gentaq stared hard at the screen. “I see. And what would be the price of your services?”

“All of your latinum.”

The Klingon rose to his feet. “You would take it all? Hab SoSlI’ Quch! I would sooner bend over and take it like a targ from Starfleet than accept such terms!”

There was a pause, before the Voice finally responded. “We anticipated such an attitude from you, Colonel… and have taken the latinum anyway.”

“WHAT?”

“We thought it would be a waste of valuable currency, given that your vessel’s antimatter containment field is about to collapse under the strain of extended travel at maximum warp.”

Gentaq’s jaw dropped. “You lie! YOU LI-”

*

“USS Harken, Captain’s Log, Stardate 2320.51, Captain Audea Mistry, Recording: We have departed the Xibalba system, and as my civilian specialist Mr Colossale had predicted, the controlled detonation of the isolytic warheads within the gravity vice of the binary pulsars contained the subspace tear.

The Klingon freighter that had delivered the warheads, the Nipoc, blew up while attempting to escape, and the Kzinti raiders that had appeared to engage us in battle were also destroyed. We have Kzinti prisoners from those ships, but none seem willing to speak about where they came from or where they obtained the advanced technology they displayed…. Except for one mention of an organisation I have heard about before: the ‘Moonfleet’.

My compliments to Captains Trujillo and Demlin for their invaluable support and expertise in making this mission successful.

But our victory has not been without cost. There have been numerous wounds suffered by our respective crews as a result of the Kzinti incursions… in the case of the Harken, a serious injury to Crewman Charles Sebastiere, who will be transported to Starbase 25 by the Ticonderoga to undergo extensive reconstructive surgery and therapy to deal with his physical and psychological trauma. And he won’t be the only one.

As for myself, I have never almost lost a crewman. My academic side wants to compartmentalise it all, wrap it in logic and store it away, neat as you please. That’s what my father would expect me to do… while also reminding me that I would never have had to face such burdens had I listened to him and taken that Chair at Oxford.

But at least there are people… new friends… I can talk to in confidence about it.”

*

Trujillo was pouring another shot of whiskey for them all. “You don’t ever really get over it, you know.” She nudged the shotglasses towards her fellow Captains around the table. “It’s always there, like a scar you never have removed.”

Demlin reached for his glass, cradling it in his fingertips without drinking. “Or want to. That’s the punishment you give yourself: the guilt. No matter the circumstances, whether or not you could have done anything differently to prevent it, when one of your crew is hurt… or killed… a part of you is, too.”

Mistry leaned back in her chair, leaving her glass untouched for now. “Still, I should have anticipated-”

“Anticipated what?” Trujillo countered. “That raiders would appear out of nowhere, using technology beyond anything we have to counter our shields, to beam through them and attack?”

“And remember,” Demlin pointed out. “Despite that, we succeeded. And without any of our side dying.”

Mistry considered the other Captains’ words. “I suppose that’s something.”

“It’s everything,” Trujillo amended. “Writing one of those letters to the next of kin is the harshest duty a Captain will have. Your crewman has suffered life-changing injuries…. but he’s still alive.”

Mistry finally nodded at that. “The so-called ‘Moonfleet’… this isn’t the first time I’ve encountered them, at least peripherally. They’re responsible for this, and for other events I’ve been involved in. I’m going after them.”

Trujillo smiled. “You think Starfleet Command will let you go a-hunting? They tend to frown on personal vendettas.”

Mistry smiled back, though hers took on a grimmer aspect. “I have some influence with the upper echelons.”

Demlin grinned. “You know where the bodies are buried, huh?”

“With my sensors, how could I not- oh, yes, that reminds me...” She lifted up her wrist communicator to her face. “Mistry to Dr Dzenabe: are you free?”

A gruff female voice responded, “What do you want?”

Mistry caught the look the other two Captains exchanged at the response, before she continued. “I want you and Dr Thizheris to study the current sensor and astrogation specifications of the Ticonderoga and the Reykjavik. See what software and hardware improvements the two of you can offer their Chief Engineers before they depart.”

The Wakandan woman grunted. “I doubt if their minions will fully appreciate our work, but… we will comply. Dzenabe out.”

Mistry lowered her arm. “Sorry about that.”

Trujillo smirked. “Is she a Tellarite, or just an ass?”

“She’s Wakandan royalty. But I suspect she would be an ass even if she wasn’t.”

“At any rate,” Demlin added, “Thanks for that, on behalf of myself and my minion.”

“And if you ever need any muscle to back you up again,” Trujillo added, “You have my number, as they used to say.”

“And mine,” Demlin confirmed, finally grasping his glass and raising it up. “Here’s to our crews: we’re nothing without them.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Trujillo confirmed, reaching for hers.

“So will I,” Mistry concluded.

*

Sebastiere blinked weakly as he looked up from the biobed, offering a slight smile; the colour had returned to his features, though the harsh lighting in Sickbay, and his semi-sedated state, lessened the improvement since Dr Morgan stabilised and cleaned up the wound.

Around him, Nola, T’Shak and Granch stood, maintaining calm composures as they spoke, Nola leading most of the conversation. “And Dr Morgan was saying that cybernetic limbs have come a long way since the early days of bionics, you can’t tell them from the real thing without a tricorder! Even you’ll forget!”

Sebastiere kept looking straight up at the ceiling. “Bet I don’t.”

The cold blankness of his response struck her, and Nola looked across at the others, prompting T’Shak to follow up with, “And I have promised to make your bunkmate feel like you are still present, by entering your quarters, randomly borrowing his personal items without asking, and making ribald comments about the physical attributes of certain female crewmembers.”

Granch, standing beside her, harrumphed. “She will obviously not have your natural Human flair for vexation, Charlie, but she’ll have to do.”

Sebastiere didn’t respond.

Nola glanced at the other two once more, before continuing with a tentative, “Listen, we’ll come see you again before they transfer you over to the Tico, okay?”

He remained silent.

At least, until they turned to leave. “You didn’t fire.”

She and the others stopped, turning back, Nola asking, “What?”

Now Sebastiere turned to look at her, his voice low, angry, his gaze unwavering. “You had your phaser out. But you didn’t fire. You let that... thing do this to me...”

He raised his right shoulder, and the empty sleeve in the medical tunic, in her direction.

Nola’s heart leapt into her throat, and her pulse trebled. She knew she had been startled, and then pulled away by S’Li before she could fire at first. But that didn’t mean she let them harm him! Did it? “N-No- I-”

“Charlie,” Granch said, in a gentle tone that belied his usual Tellarite bluster. “You can’t blame Nola- it wasn’t her fault-”

“You weren’t there,” he accused sharply.

“You are correct, Charles,” T’Shak admitted, sounding patient and sympathetic, but also resolute. “We were engaged with the Kzinti ourselves elsewhere. We experienced the speed and ferocity of their attacks. More experienced Security crewmen have already confirmed to us that we were all fortunate to have survived.”

Sebastiere let out a harsh sound, raising his voice. “Yeah, ‘fortunate’. I feel real fortunate right now, T’Shak! SO GODDAMN FORTUNATE!”

Then Dr Morgan approached, glancing with concern between his patient and his patient’s visitors, before suggesting to the latter, “Let’s give the man some rest, okay? He’s been through a lot.”

Nola stared at her friend on the biobed, wanting to stay, wanting to run away. She chose the second, hurrying down the corridor until her friends caught up with her, T’Shak stopping her in her tracks. “Nola… you cannot accept what he said as truthful. It is born of shock and fear and anger.”

“T’Shak’s right,” Granch agreed, resting a hoof on Nola’s shoulder. “He needs to lash out at someone. It could have been any of us.”

“But it was me,” Nola pointed out. “And he was right. I- I hesitated. It was only for a second… but it was enough for one of the Kzinti to- to do that to him.” Tears welled in her eyes, as did the events of the past day. “I-If I- I hadn’t-”

“There would have been no difference,” finished a new arrival.

The three crewmen straightened up as Captain Mistry approached, Nola wiping her face quickly and stammering, “C-Captain, I’m- I’m sorry, Ma’am, I didn’t mean to-”

“No difference, Crewman,” Mistry repeated evenly, folding her hands behind her but standing informally. “The standard phaser settings would not have stopped the Kzin… as you yourself discovered, when you found you had to shoot one more than once to have any appreciable effect.”

Nola stared up in disbelief at her superior officer. Was she right? She didn’t want to be excused so easily, and shook her head. “N-No, sorry, but you weren’t there, Ma’am-”

“No, but others were there, and provided accounts: your fellow crewmen behind you, Professor S’Li, Dr Leavitt-”

“N-No, they’re- they’re just trying to be nice-”

Mistry raised an eyebrow. “Dr Dzenabe’s account also corroborates the others’… and I don’t believe that at any point in her life she has ever been accused of being ‘nice’. And in fact it was noted how you took charge, making the recommendation to assist Security further in eliminating the remaining Kzinti threat, in order to get Mr Sebastiere medical aid.”

Nola swallowed, feeling her face burn, wiping her face again. Her voice cracked as she spoke again. “I- I was scared, Captain… I’m sorry, I was so scared-”

“A feeling we all shared,” T’Shak admitted softly behind her. “Even those of us in ostensible control of our emotions.”

“And a completely sensible feeling,” added a new arrival: S’Li, hobbling on his cane. “Under the circumstances, Young Cubs.”

“I don’t want fearless crew under me,” Mistry informed her softly. “Fearless people are idiots. They’re reckless. They make mistakes. They don’t care about the consequences, for themselves or others. Nor do I expect any of you to react instinctively, without training, to threats you never faced before, or expected to face.” Her expression sobered. “I wish none of you had to endure what you did. I wish I could promise to keep all of you safe. But I can’t. The uniform won’t allow that.”

“Life won’t allow it, Dear Captain.” S’Li drew up, leaning on his cane with both paws as he faced Nola. “I owe you an apology, Crewman Brice. You were perfectly right to admonish me as you did. You are not my grandcub, none of you are, and my actions and attitude undoubtedly exacerbated matters. I would like to make it up to you, by offering you some of my food synthesizer credits, to indulge yourselves as only cubs can.”

“Not just cubs, Professor,” Mistry noted dryly. “I’ve seen how much you consume.” The Captain straightened up. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Mr Sebastiere, to discuss his imminent transfer to the Ticonderoga and relay to Starbase 25… and if he has anything else he wishes to talk about.” She started to depart.

Until Nola caught her. “Captain… if- when he recovers… will he be able to stay in Starfleet? Return to the Harken?”

Mistry looked to her. “Starfleet will not dismiss him because of his disability; I promise you that. And assuming he chooses to remain in Starfleet after this, Crewman, there will always be a place for him onboard our ship. And if he wants to go anywhere else, he’ll have my more-than-considerable influence behind him.” She nodded to the others. “If you’ll excuse me...”

As she departed for Sickbay, S’Li looked to the remaining crewmen. “Well, shall we repair to the Mess Hall? While healing the injuries inflicted upon me by my Kzin opponent, I was reliably informed by the esteemed Doctor Morgan that I need to lose weight, so I must live vicariously through all of you.”

T’Shak nodded. “Mr Granch and I must decline at this time, Professor; we are about to commence our duty shift in Engineering. Nola is free, however, but as a personal request from her bunkmate, who must share the same space with her, I ask that you try not to indulge her insatiable demand for burritos.”

As the Vulcan departed, Granch cackling and making raspberry sounds as he followed, S’Li looked to Nola. “Well, Crewman Brice? Shall we?”

She looked at him, her expression grave, and replied, “No.”

He blinked, looking stunned now. “No?”

She shook her head now. “No. Not unless you start addressing me properly. None of this ‘Crewman Brice’ crap.”

Then she hugged him tightly.

He hugged back, patting her on the shoulder, his repaired tail swishing happily behind him. “Thank you, Dear Cub. Thank you...”

THE ADVENTURES OF THE HARKEN WILL CONTINUE...