Star Trek Hunter Episode 11 - Intersections and Reunions

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Continued from Episode 10: The Philosopher

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11 – Intersections and Reunions​

“I think I was six and River was seven when our father became the most famous man in the Federation and all our friends and neighbors told us he was a monster. To this day I don’t know why River and I never changed our names. Our mother was much happier with her second husband and he was a good father to us. And Brooks is not a bad name. We could have been River Brooks and Starlight Brooks. But while he was a good man and a good parent, he was never really Dad. I also think, somehow, my sister and I both felt a need to redeem the Dolphin family name.

When I discovered in my early twenties that my father actually was a good man and we heard our friends and neighbors finally beginning to understand what he had been trying to say all those years ago – finally understanding it myself – it was an almost unendurable relief.”

Starlight Dolphin: Fish Out of Water – A Book about My Father.​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 1: United Federation of Planets Council Building, Nairobi, Kenya (Part 1 of 2)

11.1
United Federation of Planets Council Building, Nairobi, Kenya (Part 1 of 2)​

In a small conference room on the top floor of the United Federation of Planets Council Building in Nairobi, Kenya, five uniquely powerful, influential and notorious individuals were gathered. Followers of UFP politics would immediately recognize Ushi Irons, one of 60 Earth representatives to the Federation Council and easily the most powerful as one of the longest serving and the leader of the ruling Moderate coalition.

Chelna Yaalleiysei was the leader of both the Rigellian Naturalborn coalition on her homeworld and the Homeworld coalition – the second largest coalition within the Federation Council. Despite the fact they were bitter rivals and had arguments in council chamber that could peel paint off the walls, Ushi and Yaalleiysei had become friends over the negotiation table and both were expert at wrangling their coalitions into compromises that kept the Federation working surprisingly smoothly. Their joint histrionics in chamber were in part designed to signal their coalition members that their concerns had been heard and hard fought for, before being watered down or lost entirely in negotiation..

Former Governor Emory Ivonovic had risen from relative obscurity to UFP-wide notoriety with his subversive subspace radio program. His final episode, a nearly four-hour long interview with Dr. Kenny Dolphin, had swiftly become the most re-watched broadcast in UFP history. Demand for downloads of Dolphin’s books, for a decade relegated away from the main data streaming lines, was swiftly swamping library services throughout the Federation.

All of which left the one person in the room who was most accustomed to having her orders followed without question, Star Fleet Commandant Barrett th’Zoarhi, in the most delicate position. She had come to Nairobi to obtain authorization for a long needed overhaul of Star Fleet’s deep space and interplanetary fleets, only to become embroiled in the politics she had so long and diligently tried to keep Star Fleet above. With Lt. Dolphin now re-emerged from obscurity and more notorious than ever, she could neither court-marshal him nor re-assign him without drawing enormous scrutiny – in fact whether she did anything – or nothing – her dealings with the infamous Dr. Dolphin were bound to draw attention. With an enormous effort at self-control, she kept her antennae from twitching – although an alert observer might notice a slight tic in her left antenna…


“So you’re not going to exact any concessions for seating our new councilmember from New Hope?” Chelna Yaalleiysei knew there would be a price to pay. She had known Ushi too long to believe for a moment that he would support adding the most notorious naturalborn activist to the Federation Council – and in that action putting him out of reach of the Federation Tribunal – without getting a lot in return.

“Oh we both know that isn’t true,” Ushi responded, stroking his long, wispy white beard with his left hand. “I will do this favor for you, and you will do several favors for me.”

“Why do you think that I will give you even the first thing in return for seating Mr. Ivonovic?” Yaalleiysei was a keen student of human nature. She had to be. The UFP was dominated by humans – the fecund beasts outnumbered all other Federation member species put together – even including the 21 billion bolians.

But Ushi Irons was a unique study. Every flick of his absurdly long beard, the details of how he pinned up his masses of long, straight white hair – or wore it long and straight as it was today, every touch to his eyebrows carried meaning – meanings meant to be read by some and not others. Although he had been born and raised in Shanghai, Ushi had moved to Nairobi years ago and now represented the capital city and much of Eastern Africa on the Federation Council.

One of Minerva Irons’ children by her second husband, Ushi appeared entirely human with no hint of his various non-human ancestries. At 80, he was far stronger, quicker and more nimble than most humans in their prime. No one had ever seen him fighting or training, but rumor held that he was a peerless master of some ancient form of martial arts. Tall, straight and impossibly thin, he certainly looked like someone who trained daily and ate only on the weekends.

Ushi’s deliberate choice to pattern his appearance and behavior after an archetypical Chinese villain was lost on everyone except those small few who were familiar with Kung Fu movies produced in Hong Kong during the 20th Century. He looked as if he might have stepped directly out of one of those movies. But despite the obscurity of this cultural reference, his fascade served his purposes quite well - at once hinting at a certain playfulness while burnishing the patina of inscrutability surrounding a famously secretive man. So it was odd for Yaalleiysei to sense vulnerability in him. It might be an act – he was easily that subtle. But Yaalleiysei’s instinct said otherwise.


“You’re hiding something,” she started. Of the three intelligent species native to the Rigel star system, the chelna were by far the most populous. They had long taken to adding “Chelna” to their given names to distinguish themselves from the other two intelligent species. Like the majority of the chelna, Yaalleiysei had dark yellow skin, gray hair and eyes, and fangs that were only slightly larger than human incisors. What at first appeared to be a rhomboid tattoo on her face changed shape. She saw that Ushi noticed this change and grimaced – he was every bit as good at reading her as she was at reading him.

“I have no need to hide things from you, Yalleiysei. I just don’t bother to point everything out. For now, let’s focus on the business that brought the Commandant of Star Fleet all the way from San Francisco to Nairobi…”

Ushi brushed his wispy, long white beard to the left and turned toward Barrett th’Zoarhi. “Commandant, I would love nothing more than to grant your request exactly as you intend to present it. Unfortunately, meddling in Star Fleet’s affairs is a requirement of my office. The Homeworld coalition,” Ushi gestured to the rigellian council leader… “Yalleiysei’s coalition, will want to limit manned deep space exploration vehicles in favor of a larger number of unmanned probes and interplanetary patrol craft. Oddly, so will the Federal coalition – but with a greater emphasis on patrol craft. A very few of my own Moderate coalition will dig in their heels at what they will see as an attempt to turn Star Fleet into a police force instead of the science organization it was founded to be. You are well aware of these political realities. So tell me, what is the blind spot that we are all missing?”


“Speed,” Star Fleet Commandant Barrett th’Zoarhi replied without missing a beat. “We have been expecting the Klingon and Romulan empires would break the warp 10 barrier. Our mission is to get there not only first, but sustainably.”


Council Leader Chelna Yaalleiysei spoke up, “Sustainably… It appears you have anticipated my question, Commandant. Star Fleet keeps seeking authorization to build faster and faster ships. But you expect our homeworld fleets to maintain the warp 5 limit we have imposed to preserve our environments. Do you honestly expect me to take your request to break warp 10 and move at speeds a factor of 5 faster than what is allowable for our homeworld fleet to the billions of people I represent?”

Commandant th’Zoarhi had far greater emotional control than normal for an andorian – (born and raised in Toronto, she thought of herself as Canadian rather than Andorian) – and she managed to keep the momentary flash of anger from her face, but the tic in her left antenna became more pronounced. That tic did not go unnoticed by any of the other people in the room.


Council Leader Ushi Irons stroked his long, white beard with his right hand, which action had an oddly calming effect on everyone in the room. “I am certain that my colleague would qualify her remarks to include the understanding that Star Fleet serves all Federation homeworlds and we rely on Star Fleet to handle the most urgent issues… But you are holding back on us, Commandant. Could it be that you do not trust our newest councilmember?”

The commandant’s antenna tic became even more pronounced. She was no fan of the Irons family – that entire family had far too much power and the leader of the majority coalition in the Federation Council actually had far more power than the Federation President – making this ridiculous, elderly, white-haired pink-skin easily the most powerful person in the Alpha Quadrant. He was playing her emotions like a musical instrument. She knew that he knew that she knew it and he was enjoying it far too much.

“Not to worry, esteemed Commandant,” Ushi continued. “I have already given my word that Councilmember Emory Ivonovic will be seated. And he has already been aboard the first Star Fleet vessel to deliberately, controllably and sustainably break the warp 10 barrier. And while the councilmember was not aboard when this happened, our very famous friend, Lieutenant Kenneth Dolphin, was.”

This time it was Council Leader Yaalleiysei’s turn to be outraged. The diamond-shaped coloration on her face split into three concentric diamonds and she had to exercise a tremendous amount of self-control – deliberately calming herself to get the telltale pigmentation to settle down and stop broadcasting her every emotion (which was, after all, its evolutionary purpose). She noticed a look of shock on Ivonovic’s face and was at least mollified that he too had not known until this moment that Star Fleet had officially cracked warp 10…

11.1 (of 14)



Author's Note: For those who argue that speeds above Warp 10 violate new Trek canon, I refer you to the final episode of STNG, in which Captain Beverly Picard orders the U.S.S. Pasteur to Warp 13.​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Crew of the U.S.S. Hunter: (Ship's Interactive Holographic Avatar - Hunter).

At-Large Appellate Justice, Captain Minerva Irons.
Chief Executive Officer - Commander David Pepper.
Chief Operations Officer - Lieutenant Commander Mlady.

Medical Director - Lieutenant Commander Tali Shae.

Assistant Medical Director - Lieutenant Jazz Sam Sinder.
Epidemiologist - Lt. Napoleon Boles.

Ensign Chrissiana Trei.

Forensic Specialist - Midshipman Sif.
Emergency Medical Hologram - Dr. Raj.
Tactical Medical Hologram - Dr. Kim.​

Director of Flight Operations - Lieutenant Kenneth Dolphin.

Assistant Flight Director - 2nd Lieutenant Gaia Gamor.

Navigator Johanna Imex.
Navigator Eli Strahl.​

Ensign Ethan Phillips.

Chief Flight Specialist Dewayne Guth.
Flight Specialist Dih Terri.
Flight Specialist Joey Chin.
Flight Specialist Winnifreid Salazaar.​

Director of Ground Operations - Lieutenant Tauk.

Assistant Ground Ops Director - 2nd Lieutenant T’Lon.

Investigator Lynhart Shran.
Investigator Buttans Ngumbo.​

Ensign Tolon Reeves.

Tactical Specialist Jarrong.
Tactical Specialist Belo Rys.
Tactical Specialist Belo Garr.
Tactical Specialist Belo Cantys.​

Director of Engineering - Lieutenant Sarekson Carrera.

Assistant Engineering Director - 2nd Lieutenant Moon Sun Salek.

Midshipman Tammy Brazil.
Transporter Engineer K'rok.​

Ensign Sun Ho Hui.

Flight Engineer Yolanda Thomas.
Flight Engineer Thomas Hobbs.
Flight Engineer Tomos
Flight Engineer Kerry Gibbon.​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter

Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 2: Federation Council Building (Part 2 of 2)

11.2
Federation Council Building (Part 2 of 2)​

Federation Council Leader Ushi Irons was still relishing the discomfort he had distributed around the room. He leaned back in the plush executive chair, letting it turn toward the other two humans in the room. “Lieutenant Dolphin, as Director of Flight Operations for the U.S.S. Hunter, I understand it was one of your pilots who broke the warp 10 barrier and I understand you currently hold the speed record?”

Had there been a black hole in this room – a micro-singularity - Kenny Dolphin would have considered it an appropriate hiding place and crawled into it. He had been trying hard to go unnoticed – without success. “One of my pilots, Flight Specialist Dih Terri, became the first pilot to dial in and bring a Federation starship to warp 11. During a rescue mission to 110 Piscium – the Federation colony on Pillo in orbit of Pi 110 – I briefly brought the U.S.S. Hunter’s tactical unit up to warp 14.387. As far as I know, that remains the controlled flight speed record for Star Fleet.”


The small conference room drifted through a moment of stunned silence. Even though Commandant Barrett th’Zoarhi was aware of this information, hearing it said calmly and clearly by the man who had accomplished it was still a breathtaking experience. She looked at Dolphin with renewed appreciation.

Because of his victory over three nausicaan heavy cruisers in less than three minutes in the Battle for Pillo, the Federation’s most infamous philosopher had quickly become Star Fleet’s most celebrated pilot and, if, as he claimed, he had managed to turn Ivonovic from a dangerous liability into a federation asset (Ivonovic had already provided a bonanza of intelligence about the cardassian underworld), Dolphin might also have just proved himself one of the UFP’s boldest and most innovative covert operatives.

For all his ability, cunning and experience courting danger, the man looked entirely unassuming and more than a little nervous. Even Ushi Irons seemed a little taken aback – if clearly delighted – to hear this story from such an unlikely source.


Commandant th’Zoarhi took advantage of this moment to present her case. “The ship that accomplished these breakthroughs was built to become the model for a new class of interplanetary ships. The second ship of that line, the U.S.S. Prowler, is nearing completion and should be commissioned within the month. There are several design variations that will be propagated throughout the class, initially identified as a patrol class – the official designation will the ‘Prowler Class.’ We are proposing an initial build of 88 Prowler class starships, which, including the U.S.S. Hunter and the U.S.S. Prowler, will bring the total to 90.”

The silence following this statement was not quite so long, but every bit as stunned.


“That would be the largest first run of a starship class in the history of Star Fleet,” said Ushi. While Star Fleet was an arm of Earth Government, its premiere role in providing protection for the Federation warranted and required the Federation Council to provide resources for new ship building. This gave the Federation Council far more influence with Star Fleet than with any of the other homeworld fleets. Ushi Irons had long ago formed an alliance with Barrett th’Zoarhi to clear the way to provide those resources to Star Fleet.

“Will all of these ships be capable of exceeding Warp 10?” asked Council Leader Chelna Yaalleiysei.

“Theoretically,” th’Zoarhi responded. “The U.S.S. Prowler should be capable of traveling very close to warp 10 in standard warp configuration. Given the size and especially the ship design and warp shell configuration, a Prowler class starship traveling near warp 10 in standard configuration should cause less disruption to local spacetime than older Star Fleet vessels traveling at warp 5. Or the majority of homeworld fleet vessels at warp 3.”

“However, there is another potential built into this class,” the Commandant continued: “the potential to enter recursive warp mode, also known as ‘zip drive.’ It was this mode that allowed the U.S.S. Hunter to set the speed records. Due to the Hunter’s tests, we can now confirm that the zip drive not only does not damage spacetime, it actually repairs warpfield damage to destabilized areas. Theoretically, this could eventually re-open some trade routes closed because of such instabilities.”

Emory Ivonovic spoke up for the first time. “I hear some prevarication in your words, Commandant… ‘Theoretically…should be capable… potential to enter recursive warp… eventually…’ I take it from your words that the Prowler class ships will not come zipping out of the shipyards ready to go into recursive warp?”

Ushi was preening his thick, white eyebrows. It was a signal Yaalleiysei did not need to interpret. She made a mental note to counsel her new coalition member on when to speak and when not to.

“The warp nacelle and engine design for the Prowler class will be identical to those currently used by the U.S.S. Hunter,” said Commandant th’Zoarhi. “But the information processing required to safely use the recursive warp potential has not yet been realized. Currently this is being done by a sentient AI within the Hunter.”


Council Leader Chelna Yaalleiysei was deeply shocked. “Commandant… Barrett… are you telling us the U.S.S. Hunter is a, sentient intelligent lifeform?”


“Yes.”


“That has been illegal for a decade. That ship is only two years out of space dock…” the rigellian council leader objected.

“Dr. Sarekson Carrera initiated the processes to induce sentient, artificial intelligence in the Hunter’s computer core, the first part of the Hunter to be built, just over eleven years ago, shortly before the ban on creating the potential for artificially intelligent sentient computer programs was instated, Council Leader,” Barrett th’Zoarhi responded. “We allowed the project to go forward with the knowledge that recursive warp mode could only be safely sustained by a sentient artificial intelligence. Hunter helped design its own warp nacelles and its own hull configuration. We anticipate that Hunter will be able to isolate and mechanize the procedures he has developed so that the new ships will be able to safely use complex but non-sentient programs to sustain recursive warp mode.”

Ivonovic spoke out of turn again, this time openly defiant of Ushi Irons’ clear, if unspoken authority in this room. “It sounds to me like you’re betting the whole dairy on one little old milk cow, Commandant…”

“I agree with the bumpkin,” Ushi said, stroking his beard with his left hand. The old man almost winked at Kenny Dolphin as Ivonovic bridled a little at the slight. “Give us the remainder of your request, please, Commandant.”


“We are requesting an additional 36 Intrepid class starships, 52 new Escort class starships and we have two finalist proposals for a new class of long-range exploration ship. We propose building both prototypes and using that process, along with the results from fielding both vessels, to determine which should become the class ship for a new generation of manned deep space exploration vessels.”

Chelna Yaalleiysei took a deep breath. “That is the largest supplemental build request in the history of Star Fleet.”

Commandant Barrett th’Zoarhi responded quickly. “The Federation has grown and the homeworlds are clamoring for additional security, which can best be served by a larger number of smaller ships. In numbers of ships, yes, it is the largest build request, but in terms of resources it is roughly equivalent to the first run of Galaxy class starships, during which time we were still continuing to build the old Reliant class ships for interplanetary use. United Earth Governments has committed to maintaining and refurbishing the existing fleet and to match the build authorized by the Federation Council.”

“What are the names of the proposed exploration ships?” Ushi asked.

“The U.S.S. Explorer and the U.S.S. Milky Way,” th’Zoarhi responded.

“Do either of them have dedicated interceptor bays that can accommodate the new, long-range interceptors?” Ushi Irons’ voice had a crisp sound.

“The U.S.S. Milky Way is by far the larger of the two proposed prototypes. It has two dedicated interceptor bays in addition to the main shuttle bay. Using all three bays, the Milky Way can accommodate a total of 29 next-generation interceptors in addition to 6 runabouts and 16 standard shuttlecraft.”


“Build the Milky Way,” said Ushi. There was no room for negotiation in his voice. “Yaalleiysei, this is the first installment for seating your miscreant. I need your unqualified support and unanimity from your coalition on this.”

Yaalleiysei nodded her assent. She did not enjoy being dictated to, but she could also tell that in this case Ushi not only held all the cards, he clearly knew of needs that she and the Commandant were not yet aware of. Ivonovic took his cue from the rigellian chelna – he too could tell Ushi was after something much bigger than politics.

Kenny Dolphin suddenly studied the old man. Until this moment, he had a hard time believing this was one of Minerva Irons’ children. But all the playfulness Ushi had exhibited throughout this meeting had vanished. Dolphin could clearly hear the ring of authority he had heard so often from this man’s mother – he almost wanted to hear Ushi say “approved.” Only now was the family resemblance blatantly apparent. Underneath the ridiculous white beard and long, straight white hair was the masculine version of Justice Irons’ face – beautiful, elegant, aristocratic, dominant.

Ushi continued, resolve clear in his voice. “Shelve the designs for the Explorer. Go ahead with the 52 new Escort class ships and the 36 Intrepid class. Scale back the initial run of the Prowler class to 44. We do not yet know enough about the performance of this class for such an unprecedented build request – cutting the order to 44 will de-obligate an enormous amount of resources. And you are going to need those resources. I need you to immediately begin work on a new class of Star Fleet vessel with the capabilities of the B.W.S.V. Vyvya – but larger – able to move tens of millions of people in one trip. Do not await a vote, Commandant. I will deliver the votes. I want a completed prototype by the end of the next solar year. Completed and mission ready. And, unlike the bolian vessel I just referenced, this planetary rescue ship needs to be able to take care of itself in battle. Weapons, shields, and interceptors. It also needs to be fast. Mission ready and ready to scale for mass production in one year.”

Commandant Barrett th’Zoarhi’s antennae gave up all pretense of calm control and began twitching wildly. “Ushi – what is it? What do you know?”

“Not enough,” Ushi replied. “But I know we’re going to need those ships. And Barrett – keep this order as quiet as you can. At least until we can come up with a good story for why we’re building a fleet of planetary rescue vehicles…”

11.2 (of 14)



Author's Note: Following the Dominion War, the ancient infrastructure of Paris was deemed inadequate for UFP security needs. The Federation Council and most public facing offices were moved to Nairobi, the most modern city on Earth.

Federation administrative offices, including the Office of the Federation President, were moved to a newly constructed administrative park in Caracas, Venezuela.

Star Fleet Academy in San Francisco expanded, taking over the old Star Fleet headquarters across the bay and a new, far more secure Star Fleet headquarters was constructed along the Mississippi River in Dubuque, Iowa.

The Federation Tribunal remained in St. Petersburg, Russia, but moved into a new, larger and more secure facility.​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 3: Medical Office, U.S.S. Hunter

11.3
Medical Office, U.S.S. Hunter​

Johanna Imex was delighted, elated and scared to death. Before joining Star Fleet, she had been the navigator on her husband’s freighter for nearly a decade. It was a childless marriage and ended with a few years of not talking and eventually a quiet and rather sad divorce. Now her four-year commitment to Star Fleet was nearly up, but she had decided some time ago that she was staying – partly because she had become fast friends with her commanding officer – 2nd Lt. Gaia Gamor – and partly because she had developed a burning crush on a younger man who was clearly a career officer.

This was her first intimate affair while in Star Fleet and she was dreading the “disclosure” that Star Fleet policy required. She would have preferred to give it a few weeks and see how things were going before having this meeting. At least it was going to be with Commander Pepper instead of either Justice Irons or Lt. Cmdr. Mlady. Pep knew how to make everyone feel at ease. Just being around the Hunter’s enormous first officer was reassuring – there was nothing that he couldn’t handle.


Dr. Tali Shae was the last to enter the medical office. She found Pep lounging comfortably on a chase she had placed there primarily for his use. Ensign Sun Ho Hui and Navigator Johanna Imex were sitting nervously in the two other lounge chairs. Instead of sitting behind her desk, Tali hopped up and sat on it. “Alright, children, we know why you’re here. You got it on and now you’ve got to come clean…” She favored each of the two young crew members with a stern look - both looked like they were about to crawl out of their skins.

Pep started laughing. “Cut the routine, Tali. Hui, Jo Jo – Tali and I do this all the time. Far more often than you might think. I’m just delighted the two of you are finally getting around to it. Hui - how you could be so oblivious to the fact that Jo Jo here has been carrying a torch for you is just astounding to me. So tell me, do you like her?”

Ensign Sun completely panicked. “I, I, I’m um…” he stammered until Imex laid her head on his shoulder and a look of relief swept over his face.

Pep and Tali both laughed. “That is definitely an answer,” Pep said. “Jo Jo, he’s not going to make it through the week without you…”

Johanna Imex broke into a smile that could light up any room. Sun just looked terribly relieved.

“Okay, Johanna,” Tali said, swinging her feet off the edge of her desk. Her antennae comically mimicked the swinging of her legs in reverse. “Since Hui can’t seem to find his tongue at the moment – and you should probably help him with that after the two of you get out of here – you have to tell us the story… How did the two of you finally get it together?”

Unlike Ensign Sun, Johanna Imex was not completely inhibited. “Well, Mr. Sun told me he was part bajoran and I was playing with his nose – you can barely see them, but it has tiny, soft little ridges – and something came up and it turns out it has these wonderful, soft little ridges too….”

“And that’s more than I ever wanted to know about bajoran physiology,” Tali interrupted.

“You’ll never look at Sam the same way again,” Pep intoned.

“Yeah, shut up about that…”

“I bet his ridges are bigger and harder…”

“Shut UP!!!”

Johanna and Pep were both laughing raucously. Sun was blushing violently - but smiling and laughing quietly.


“Okay, here’s the rules…” Pep said. “You’re not in the same department, which makes things easier, but you still have to maintain ranks. Ensign Sun is an officer, Jo Jo, so if he gives you an order, you have to follow it. If you think he is abusing your relationship, not that I think for a second he would even consider it, take it up with him first. When the relationship ends, the two of you should come to an agreement about that and come before us again for another joint disclosure. There is nothing wrong with relationships that run their course and come to an end. Everyone here knows what Kenny Dolphin and T’Lon went through and they are now as close friends as you can find on this boat even though they filed their joint disclosure ending the intimate relationship months ago.”

Tali piped up. “Hui, Johanna, remember - this is the good stuff. This is the fun part of life. Try to keep it that way. When it starts to be something you’re worrying about, when it starts to hurt, you’re doing something wrong. So whenever that happens, you can come and tell me and I’ll tell you to give it up and break it off... So… it’s best you go to Pep. He’s actually good at helping people with relationships and unlike me, he seems to enjoy it.”

“Well, you can bring your heartaches and insecurities to me if you want,” said Pep, “but it will be far more effective if you bring them to each other first. Now get out… I need a word with the doctor… And Jo Jo - help Hui find his tongue…”

Ensign Sun Ho Hui nearly ran from the medical office. Navigator Johanna Imex paused on her way out, winked at Pep and said, “His tongue has ridges too…”

“Would you get OUT???” Dr. Tali Shae exclaimed.



Pep stretched and stood up slowly from the chase. “You pushed them pretty hard, Tali. Did you really think Ensign Sun might be coercing Jo Jo?”

Tali Shae waggled her antennae. “Hui couldn’t coerce anything that isn’t regulated by dilithium crystals. I was more concerned about him. Johanna’s been on fire for him for quite some time. Officers can get coerced by enlisted - especially wide-eyed innocents like Hui. But in this case I think he got lucky and he knows it. Still, we’re trained to prod these kids to make sure.”

“I read the manual. I suppose I’ll just have to defer to your medical judgement.” Pep made an amused noise, drew a deep breath, assumed more of a serious expression. “Tali, as your commanding officer, Minnie wanted me to have a talk with you about your professional appearance.”

“What are you talking about?” Tali’s antennae began twitching in irritation.

“It’s how you take care of your uniform.” He tossed her a small box, which she caught deftly. “You need to correct that. Not befitting an officer of your rank… Commander,” he said, then turned and squeezed out of the door into the corridor.

Dr. Tali Shae could not help but smile as she opened the box - a single solid platinum rank pip was inside.

11.3 (of 14)​

 

[Gibraltar]

Review 11.1 - 11.2 - Lots of high-level horse-trading going on here as Starfleet and the Federation's future path comes into view. Undoubtedly the evacuation ships will be needed for the expected gamma bursts.

Nice to see Ivonovic playing nice with others again, regardless of how ill-received he's been.

 

[Gibraltar]

Review 11.3 - Okay, that whole conversation was just goddamn adorable!

I think that many Starfleet careers, even the most mundane, must be (to paraphrase Kirk quoting A Tale of Two Cities) the best of times, and the worst of times. Nice to see these youngsters in the midst of the best of times.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Review 11.1 - 11.2 - Lots of high-level horse-trading going on here as Starfleet and the Federation's future path comes into view...
Nice to see Ivonovic playing nice with others again, regardless of how ill-received he's been.

Glad you enjoyed this one - especially the ongoing development of Ivonovic - who has one of the biggest story arcs of any of my characters. I had more than a few qualms about starting the 2nd book with a big long meeting...

Review 11.3 - Okay, that whole conversation was just goddamn adorable! I think that many Starfleet careers, even the most mundane, must be (to paraphrase Kirk quoting A Tale of Two Cities) the best of times, and the worst of times...

Thanks for the kind words! rbs

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 4: Star Fleet Headquarters, Dubuque, Iowa

11.4
Star Fleet Headquarters, Dubuque, Iowa​

“I honestly do not know what to do with you, Lieutenant.”


Kenny Dolphin had endured the more or less silent discomfort of Star Fleet Commandant Barrett th’Zoarhi, who apparently had decided to hand him over to the second and third ranking officers in Star Fleet – respectively, Chief of Staff, Admiral Jamaal El Fadil and Chief of Operations, Fleet Admiral Miriam Stewart.

Following the death of Dr. Scumuk, the former director of Star Fleet Medical, Stewart was now one of only two living Fleet Admirals still serving in Star Fleet. It was a rank that was only given during wartime. Both she and Fleet Admiral Alynna Necheyev, the shadowy Director of Star Fleet Intelligence, had earned that rank during the Cardassian War. Both women were now octogenerians.

The Chief of Staff had not spoken at all during this meeting, even though it was held in his office in the newly constructed Star Fleet Headquarters in Dubuque, Iowa. Part of this building jutted directly into and was partially submerged in the Mississippi River, which flowed around the two transparent outer walls of this office, offering views of wildlife and debris flowing in the river just outside. An enormous catfish patrolled back and forth just outside the wall behind Admiral el Fadil's desk.


Fleet Admiral Stewart continued. “Some people seem to think I should pin a medal on you. Others want you shot. I’m quite tempted to do both and I’m not really certain I care about which I do first.” She leaned forward and pointed at Dolphin. “You told me that Governor Ivonovic was willing to surrender his office and return to Earth with you…”

Dolphin waited until the silence had grown long enough that it was clear some response was expected from him. “And that happened…”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to put him on the Federation Council!”

“I… Yeah, I left that part out…”

“I know you left that part out! What was it that made you think such a lie of omission might possibly be acceptable?”

“There was no margin for error, Fleet Admiral,” Dolphin replied. “If I had not brought Emory back to Earth as a Councilmember, he would have surrendered himself to the Tribunal and that would have been a disaster.”


“What??” “What???” Fleet Admiral Stewart and Admiral El Fadil asked - nearly in unison.


“There was no case. No evidence. Nothing. I don’t know who convinced the Tribunal to order Ivonovic indicted, but if that trial had gone forward, the Tribunal would be buried in scandal. It could have severely divided the Federation politically – making it impossible to work with the Homeworld coalition. We could have seen a walkout from the Federation Council,” Dolphin responded.

“And you know this how?” Stewart asked, clearly more that skeptical.

“I researched it. You know that I was a prosecutor once… I know a lousy case when I see one. Why do you think the Tribunal never insisted that you reel Ivonovic in? Never shut down his subversive little subspace radio program? You could have done it easily and you had months to do it. The only reason Star Fleet didn’t do it could only be because someone at the Tribunal told you not to - if not you, someone close to you. A message must have gone out from this building to several hundred ambitious Star Fleet officers telling them Ivonovic was off limits. With just a little research, I bet I can find out whom that message came from…”

Miriam Stewart was flummoxed. She exchanged a glance with Admiral El Fadil, only to realize he was as much at a loss as she was. Star Fleet captains had occasionally boxed her into a corner - she had been Chief of Operations since the Cardassian War, so that was almost inevitable that would happen once or twice in so many years. But she could not remember ever being outmaneuvered by a lieutenant.


Fleet Admiral Stewart was clear about three things: 1) Lt. Dolphin had to be right – an order to leave Ivonovic alone must have come from Fleet Operations; 2) she desperately wanted to know who had issued that order; and 3) she had less than no desire to call Dolphin’s bluff and let him be the one to find that individual. There was only one thing to do:


“Lieutenant, in light of your testimony here, I am suspending this hearing pending further investigation. Keep your communicator on and don’t leave Earth..”

11.4 (of 14)





​

Author's note: I named several of the incidental characters (especially my admirals and captains) after Trek actors and show runners - notably:
Commandant Barrett th'Zoarhi
Chief of Staff Jamaal El Fadil
Fleet Admiral Miriam Stewart
Judge Advocate General Urban Yasutake
Rear Admiral Samantha Burton (Star Base 11)
Captain Elaine Nichols (U.S.S. Escort)
Captain Deforest Summers (U.S.S. Challenger)
Captain John Kelley (U.S.S. Atul Goel)
there are more... many more to come...​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 5: Flight Cabin, B.R. Prophet Motive

11.5
Flight Cabin, B.R. Prophet Motive​

The U.S.S. Hunter re-entered Federation space near Vulcan. A full-size runabout was waiting just outside the system. Privately owned spacecraft were not unusual within the Federation and the runabout was the most popular available design for privately owned spacecraft. This one had been finished in cardassian yellow and had evidently been modified to add heavier armaments, faster engines and heavier shield capacity - all good ideas given the large number of Star Fleet vessels lost in the recent wars with the Klingon Empire, the Dominion and the 3rd Borg incursion.

While the Federation was still far stronger than the next two Alpha Quadrant powers combined, much of that strength was due to the ability of the various homeworld fleets to supplement Star Fleet at need. Most remaining Star Fleet deep space vessels and capital ships were more than 15 years old. Some Reliant class ships had been overhauled and were still in service after nearly 150 years – if relegated to support roles. There were no new deep space exploration vehicles. The only new vessels in current production were the Intrepid class and the Escort class. Even with Star Fleet’s emphasis on creating a larger number of small but powerful ships, piracy had become a serious problem.

The runabout, which bore the name “B.R. Prophet Motive” along with a registry number in bajoran numerals, docked with the Hunter just outside the Vulcan star system. A small formation of vulcan long-range interceptors patrolled at a respectful distance.


“Well, grandmother, what do you think?” Oarama Irons made a small sweeping motion around the flight booth of the runabout, which doubled as a sort of living room and tripled as an office. Oarama’s husband, Pomm Irons was seated next to an older romulan woman who was pouring over information on a workstation. While Oarama’s features favored Justice Minerva Irons, her heritage was clearly largely cardassian. Pomm was short, bearded, enormously obese, 100% bajoran and, like his wife and the older romulan woman, dressed in the latest bajoran fashion.

“You have made a lot of changes since I saw it last,” Irons said. “Is this still your primary residence?” Behind Justice Irons, Transporter Engineer K’rok entered, then Commander David Pepper squeezed through the entrance. There was barely room for the giant first officer to stand up straight and with his presence, the interior of the runabout was instantly transformed from spacious to crowded.

“I know what you’re thinking and we just are not ready for children yet,” Oarama said.

Minerva Irons made an amused sound, then turned toward the older romulan woman. “I see you have remained, Pivin. It is good to see you again.”


Pivin was small, unassuming and unusually pale for a romulan. She gave Irons a shy smile. “Jolan Tru, your honor. And Doctor Pepper, who is this young man you have brought with you?”

“Only the finest singer I have ever encountered and a journeyman on the thomburou drums,” Pep replied.

“I love thomburou drumming,” Pivin responded. “No wonder you appear so physically fit. You evidently have both klingon and human ancestry,” she added.

K’rok smiled and responded by offering a data card.

Pep spoke up as Pivin took the card. “All six hours of Pivin the Betrayer. With K’rok and myself singing and a few other musicians from our crew as well. You will see their performances – and personal messages…”


“As much as I would love to tease my grandchild about giving me more great-grandchildren and let David rattle on about the opera he wrote in your honor, I came here to talk to you, Pivin,” Irons said. “Let’s look at some star charts.”

The older romulan woman’s discomfort was not lost on Justice Irons. “Don’t worry, Pivin. I will only be asking you to betray every oath you have ever taken, go against all of your training and commit treason against the empire of the highest order…”

Oddly, sardonic humor from a Star Fleet captain had a calming effect on the romulan. She ran a hand through her short, salt-and-pepper hair and sat down again with a sigh. “I suppose high treason against all I was raised to believe is the price I pay for saving a few thousand lives.”

“Tens of thousands,” Pomm corrected. It was clear from both his reactions and Oarama’s that both he and his wife deeply admired and cared greatly for the older romulan woman.

“This time it will be billions of lives,” Justice Irons responded. “And the time has come for you to give with both hands. Do you recognize this star chart?”

Everyone in the runabout caught the urgency in Justice Irons’ voice.


“The eastern edge of the Romulan Star Empire - you would call it the far side,” Pivin responded.


“The border with the Dead Zone,” said Minerva Irons. “Has it moved?”

“Sixty-eight years ago, romulan space was invaded by a people we called the ‘tell’,” Pivin said. “They were actually a coalition of four separate species. Their technology was limited - their ships could not exceed warp 3 and were easily destroyed, but they came by the billions. Our warbirds burned their weapon systems out again and again – destroying their ships by the thousands. But the tell kept coming in wave after wave. Hundreds of thousands of ships. Their weapons couldn’t even cut through our navigational screens, but they destroyed many of our ships by boxing them in and ramming them. We couldn’t prevent them from establishing a foothold. The war lasted nearly thirty years. We kept building better and better ships. They just kept building the same model, but they built them by the millions and threw their entire populations at us – ships run by children, sick people barely able to move. They suffered unimaginable losses. They could better afford to lose 10,000 ships than we could afford to lose one.”

Pivin had everyone’s rapt attention. It was clear that Pomm and Oarama had never heard this story.

“As suddenly as it began, it stopped. We lost nearly 30 ships in a single day - they never returned from missions in the contested zone. The tell had occupied three star systems on the edge of romulan space. Drones sent to those areas verified - all dead. Billions of people - four different species - all dead. Entire star systems sterilized – completely devoid of life. Fleets of ships full of dead bodies. Not so much as a virus survived. The Dead Zone had moved. That was why they had invaded so desperately in the first place. They were being driven from their homeworlds.”


Justice Irons took a deep breath. “We knew the Romulan Empire was embroiled in something that kept the neutral zone quiet for nearly thirty years, but we never knew what.”

Pivin grimaced. “One of many official secrets. I have no grandchildren left for Imperial Intelligence Control to torture and execute. My brother and all his children and grandchildren are dead. The Empire has effective means for protecting its secrets. Even now with all my family executed, it is really difficult to break that conditioning.”

“I’m afraid I must ask for even more, Pivin,” Irons said. “The Dead Zone is moving. We will need to move any populations living near. We have projections on where and how fast. Observe…” Irons touched a control and Pivin, Pomm, Oarama, Pep and K’rok watched as the Dead Zone slowly, inexorably engulfed first the Romulan Star Empire, taking parts of klingon and federation space, then in sudden jumps took the entire Klingon Empire, then in another series of sudden jumps and gradual movements, swept almost the entire federation, the Cardassian Union and nearly every other inhabited portion of the Alpha Quadrant before gradually sweeping away from the Milky Way.


For a few minutes, six people sat looking at a map that depicted nearly the entirety of known populated space sterilized. Even though the entire process would take thousands of years, the finality of it was like an unbearable weight. A few areas claimed by the breen and the tholians remained untouched, but not their homeworlds.

Pep slapped his knees. “Well, that was cheerful and uplifting…”

Pivin looked at Minerva Irons. “Is there hope?”

Irons took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“What is the plan?”

“Evacuate the worlds within three hundred light years of the Dead Zone. Begin repair to the machine that was designed protect our galaxy from the gamma bursts that are continuing to create the Dead Zone.”

“There is a machine?” Pivin asked.

Irons responded by displaying some of the telemetry taken by the Hunter from the border of the Dead Zone that showed the vast expanse of the machine, blocking gamma radiation in some areas, failing in others. “Fleet Admiral Scumuk referred to it as the ‘Hulk’.”

“How old is this machine?” asked Pivin.

“At least 9 million years old,” Irons replied.

“Can you repair it?”

“Probably not.”

“Who can?” Pivin asked.

Irons took a deep breath. “The Borg. They built it…”

11.5 (of 14)​

Author's Note: Oarama Irons is among the younger of Minerva Irons' grandchildren. The daughter of Minerva's 2nd son by her 4th husband (who was half bajoran / half cardassian), Oarama is more than half cardassian in addition to being part bajoran, along with her various heritages from granny Minerva (human, vulcan, betazoid and trill.) Oarama's bajoran husband, Pomm, has taken the name Irons (which comes with marrying into that clan.) They have been been spy runners for Pivin the Betrayer for nearly a decade.​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

A hymn to the planet Neptune

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From my 8th solo album: The Big Day (2017)

LYRICS:

Guarding the spaces in between
To our naked eyes unseen
Every revolution more than a century
In icy majesty

Cast away among the stars
Far beyond the realm of Mars
Oh Great Celestial Vacuum Cleaner sweeping up debris
Grant us centuries of peace


I'm currently recording my 9th solo album - 21st Century Neanderthal Man

Also developing a new album for a new ensemble, hopefully to be released this year as well. We have a performance scheduled for April - hopefully I'll get some good video to post.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 6: Central Park, New York City, New York

11.6
Central Park, New York City, New York​

A crisp September sunrise created glows and shadows throughout New York City’s fabled Central Park. In a large gazebo, a mixed group of humans, vulcans and denobulans were meditating - some standing, some seated on the floor, some on the benches - led by a deep-throated tellarite chanting in a language that sounded suspiciously like Latin.

On a broad, grassy knoll, another group consisting of humans and a surprising number of klingons as well as bajorans and trills, with no evident leader, were moving in unison through martial arts forms that appeared to combine Tai Chi with various klingon and bajoran disciplines – their movement so controlled and gradual that a casual observer might think at first glance that they were some sort of sculpture exhibit.

A middle aged man with bright blue eyes and corn blonde hair that was graying at his temples, was seated on a park bench. Next to him sat a young woman with the same color hair and eyes. Their facial resemblance clearly marked them as close relatives – father and daughter. A moment later, another young woman – also with corn blonde hair and blue eyes – joined them. The two young women were dressed in blue jogging suits with pink piping along the sleeves and legs and matching pink running shoes. Not twins, but clearly sisters. Their father wore a simple but elegant brown suit with subtle gold pin striping, a simple white shirt and highly polished Wellingtons.

For a moment, all three were silent, clearly wrestling with intense and mixed emotions. They had not been together in one place for well over a decade. Kenny Dolphin fretted with a small leather suitcase – empty now because he was wearing all the clothing he owned. A few years ago he had owned enough clothing and shoes to fill a closet, and furniture, antique books and other items to fill a small apartment and thought his life Spartan. After nearly four years in Star Fleet, even owning a suitcase seemed an embarrassment, an indulgence. But he was glad of the suit – it allowed his daughters to see him as he once was – a university professor, not an officer in what was admittedly a military structure.


“We have been invited to Hawaii,” Kenny Dolphin started. “Day after tomorrow. I know it’s short notice, but I hope you can push your schedules around to spend a few days with me. Surfing, boating, time with friends on the beach…”

“Will your girlfriend be there?” Starlight Dolphin asked, then blushed, immediately regretting it.

To her surprise, the question made her father laugh and relax a little. “Our affair lasted only while T’Lon was going through Pon Farr. She dropped me like a sack of hot rocks as soon as it was over. But we have remained friends and she has offered to teach you both how to surf.”

“When did you start surfing?” River Dolphin asked.

Kenny Dolphin caught his breath and had to look down. He had not heard his older daughter’s voice in years. It had changed - the voice of a woman now. “Almost a year ago, now,” he managed. He took a deep breath, regained his composure, looked up again. “I only managed it once, but it was a 50’ wave. It was amazing…”

River smiled and laughed. Starlight was scandalized. “What were you doing on a huge wave like that? Trying to drown yourself??”

River turned toward her sister. “He’s serious?”

Starlight’s response was simple. “Dad never lies.”

Kenny Dolphin rubbed an imaginary grain of sand from his eye. “T’Lon’s teaching style. Sink or Surf. I wasn’t afraid for a second while I was with her. In retrospect, it was terrifying.” He suddenly turned toward the gazebo with its mixture of people meditating to the sounds of the chanting tellarite.


“He IS chanting in Latin,” Dolphin said with some surprise.

“Of course he is, Dad,” River responded. “He’s a Roman Catholic priest.”

“A tellarite?”

“Don’t you recognize the robes?” River replied.

“The whole universe is Roman Catholic, Dad,” Starlight said. “Didn’t you know that?”

“No one ever tells me the important things…”

Starlight and River both laughed.


“I’ve been to Hawaii,” said River. “It wasn’t that impressive.”

“We will be staying at the George Smith estate on Kauai Island,” Kenny Dolphin said. “It’s the most beautiful place I have ever seen. And I’ve seen some really amazing things over the past year.”

“George Smith? Is he some distant relative?” asked Starlight.

“In a very roundabout way,” her father replied. “He is native Hawaiian. But I carry a small part of his daughter’s katra – her living essence – at least that’s what I’ve been told,” he finished, catching a skeptical look from Starlight.

Starlight sighed. “I will have to skip a few classes and arrange for someone else to run my workshops for a few days, but I will go if River goes.”

River smiled. “I’m completely free. How do we get there?”

“Meet at Starlight’s apartment day after tomorrow,” Kenny Dolphin said. “Nine-hundred… That is 9:00 a.m. Think as hard as you can the following name: Eli Strahl. Say it aloud a few times and tell him you are ready. He will arrange your transport. I will meet you in Hawaii.”

“What???” Both daughters were incredulous.

Kenny Dolphin smiled. “Eli is one of my navigators and a powerful telepath – betazoid. He will be listening for you. Don’t be too shocked when you hear his voice in your mind.”

“And where will you be until then?” River asked.

“St. Petersburg, Russia. I have enough time for a late breakfast here, then I must go to make things ready for my captain…”

11.6 (of 14)​

 

[Gibraltar]

Review 11.4 -11.6 - Amazing goings on here, as the preparations begin for a galaxy-spanning evacuation effort.

Kudos to Dolphin for holding his own against the powerbrokers at Starfleet Command. One supposes he has the dubious honor of being correct in his favor, after all.

One of the many dangers here is that an event of this cataclysmic magnitude may destabilize much of the galaxy before the actual catastrophe begins, with governments panicking and wars erupting. Some of those first in line to be affected may not trust in the good will of the evacuation efforts, or may try to force their way into other territories as happened with the Romulans' mysterious enemies.

Wonderful stuff here!

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Review 11.4 -11.6 - ...Kudos to Dolphin for holding his own against the powerbrokers at Starfleet Command...

Glad you enjoyed the bits with Dolphin standing up against the top admirals then barely holding it together with his daughters... The bit about the entire universe being Roman Catholic is a running gag.

Review 11.4 -11.6 - ...One of the many dangers here is that an event of this cataclysmic magnitude may destabilize much of the galaxy before the actual catastrophe begins, with governments panicking and wars erupting. Some of those first in line to be affected ...

The first in line to be affected being the romulans - who are already reeling from the loss of 14 billion - more than half their population - in the destruction of their homeworld... Yeah - they're not going to make any sudden, unexpected moves...

Thanks for the kind words!! rbs

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 7: Daystrom Institute Headquarters, New Eden, Mars

11.7
Daystrom Institute Headquarters, New Eden, Mars​

Dr. Jack Bowman had curly, iron gray hair, bright blue eyes and dark skin. Originally from Argentina, he had moved to Santiago decades ago to join the Applied Physics Department at Universidad de Chile. He was funny, charming, clearly brilliant, and intensely disliked by the other two men in the room - Dr. Sarekson Carrera and Professor Jose Crumar.

Although the U.S.S. Hunter was in orbit of Earth, the ship’s holographic interactive avatar was projecting himself into this conference room on Mars via a subspace link with the Daystrom Institute’s holographic system. The close resemblance between Hunter and Professor Crumar was beyond striking. Hunter had been patterned after Crumar, but captured Crumar’s appearance from eleven years previous. While their clothing was not identical, both were wearing the same wrinkled white lab coat. But again, the holographic projection captured that garment in an earlier and considerably less stained and threadbare condition. The real lab coat, like the real Crumar, had aged visibly and not entirely gracefully.

As much as he hated to admit it, Dr. Carrera needed Dr. Bowman - one of very few terrestrial mathematicians more talented than he was. Bowman had been on the review committee for the Sun retrofits and maintained that he had spotted a critical, potentially disastrous oversight in Carrera’s calculations.


“It is very pleasant to meet you, Hunter,” Dr. Bowman said. “But I must ask why you are in orbit of Earth instead of here at Mars for the retrofits.”

Hunter walked about the conference room, one of the largest in the Daystrom Institute’s primary campus in New Eden, Mars. The entire colony, one of the first built on the red planet, was an enormous structure that contained dozens of buildings and encapsulated rooms - most with transparent walls to allow as much visible space as possible. This conference room, located atop the tallest building under the New Eden dome, had transparent walls and ceiling, allowing an unobstructed view of the stars through the dome and much of the New Eden colony below.

With a wave of his holographic hand, Hunter filled the room with movable holographic chalkboards, most of them already saturated with calculations. He turned toward Dr. Bowman. “Following this meeting I plan to make a social call. I am not needed at Utopia Planetia for a few days.”

Bowman gave the hologram a sly, evaluating look. Then: “You have a girlfriend!”

Hunter opened his mouth to reply.

“Don’t bother denying it,” Bowman interrupted. “I have known Jose long enough to read the signs. Apparently when Dr. Carrera was copying Jose’s personality matrix into you, he gave you the old man’s love for women.”

Until that moment, Dr. Carrera had not realized that he had given the holographic avatar the ability to blush.


“Okay, so we have three problems to solve,” Dr. Bowman started, walking over to one of the chalkboards. “First, to accommodate the new long-range interceptors, we’re inevitably going to increase Hunter’s mass significantly. Fortunately, the new total mass will still be within the original 28 calculations in what Dr. Carrera has called his ‘sweet spot’. Unfortunately, the distribution of solutions at the upper end of the 28 Carrera Caramels, as I have been referring to them, is not advantageous for the applications you need them for – specifically launching the tactical unit, the wagon or either or both of the new long-range interceptors while in recursive warp.”

Carrera and Crumar nodded. “We are well aware of this problem,” Jose Crumar started.

Dr. Bowman clucked his tongue. “This was the easiest problem to solve. Pathetically easy. So easy I had my graduate students do most of the work and solved it for you, but you could have done this if you weren’t blinded by genius…”

“Don’t play with me, Jack,” Crumar said. “What is your solution?”

“Just what you told me all those years ago, before our young genius here was born, back when I was your star pupil,” Bowman replied. He rapped his knuckles against two blank chalkboards and said, “Display Bowman solutions!” Both chalkboards were suddenly filled with horrendously complex equations. “Do the MATH, Jack! That’s what you told me. Over and over… DO.. THE… MATH!!” He took a piece of holographic chalk and finished each of the equations with three exclamation marks. “So what if the new solutions you need don’t fit into some brilliant sweet spot that came to you in a vision? So what if the answer is just good old fashioned hard mathematics? Jose, have your students check these equations. These are two of the twelve you need. Here are the rest…” Bowman clapped his hands and ten more holographic chalkboards appeared, each covered with arcane, horrendously complicated equations. He pounded his fist into his hand and each holographic equation was completed with three exclamation marks – holographic chalk on holographic chalkboards.


Dr. Carrera got up and strolled around, inspecting each chalkboard. He picked up a piece of holographic chalk, then on four of the equations changed the speed of light, a critical part of each equation, from positive to negative and in one other equation changed it from negative to positive.


Dr. Bowman sat down next to Professor Crumar, watching Carrera with appreciation. “He is good, Jose.”

Crumar leaned back in his chair. “He knows you always leave errors in your formulas to test your students.”

“You have structured these so that we don’t have to change our mass balancing calculations,” Carrera observed.

“Of course,” Bowman responded. “Why force you to reinvent the wheel? I simply reversed your paradigm - I made the math work for the mass.”


Carrera kept staring at the equations. “There’s another problem,” he said.

“Good…” Dr. Bowman intoned. It was clear from their facial expressions that both Jose and his holographic doppelganger, Hunter, that they had both spotted it shortly after Carrera had.

Carrera quickly sketched a calculation on a blank board. “There, that will fix all twelve of them.”


“Wrong,” Bowman said.


Hunter, Crumar and Carrera all looked at him skeptically.

Bowman threw up his hands. “Okay - your solution is much better than mine, and I worked on the problem for a week. But you’re missing the critical point. That formula - helps stabilize the intermix if you encounter subspace instabilities. You had something like it in your original calculation…”

Carrera nodded. “Without it, the recursive warpfield could destabilize in areas with subspace instabilities.”

“Potentially catastrophically,” Bowman said. “Do that anywhere near a populated star system, and you could change the orbits of its planets. Here’s what you missed… That neat little formula of yours doesn’t solve all twelve problems - it solves all thirteen. Your so-called sweet spots - Carrera Caramels, if you will - they’re only short-cuts. You missed the potential instability because you didn’t go back and do the full equation. You’ve been scooting all over the Alpha Quadrant in recursive warp - you’ve just gotten lucky that you haven’t run afoul of one of those instabilities.”

Carrera opened his mouth as if to speak. Bowman slammed his fist on the table. “DO THE MATH!! Check it yourself! We still have another problem to solve!” He sank into a chair and deliberately calmed himself. “Let’s do a thought experiment. You’re running away from some, let’s say romulans. And somehow, they’re hitting warp 15. What do you do? Photon torpedo, right?”

Carrera and Hunter sat down at the table. Carrera nodded.

“And you replace the missing mass with trace gasses and space debris…”

“In most areas within the Milky Way there is plenty of trace gas to replace a torpedo - or two,” Carrera said.

“When does the mass go missing?”

“When it exits the warp shell.”

“And how does a torpedo exit a warp shell?”

Carrera boggled at Bowman. Hunter was the first to catch on. He put his holographic hand on Carrera’s shoulder. “Incrementally…”

“So what happens if you bring the replacement mass into the warp shell before the majority of the mass of the torpedo leaves it? Or if the majority of its mass exits before the replacement mass is brought in?”

Crumar answered. “It potentially destabilizes the warp field…”

Bowman dropped his fist on the table with a thump. “With potentially catastrophic consequences. I don’t even know how to address this one…”

Crumar shrugged. “Too many variables…”


Carrera and Hunter looked at each other. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Hunter asked.

Carrera said, “Lynhart Shran…”

Bowman looked at them both. “What?”


“Transporter rifle,” they said in unison.


“What??” said Bowman and Crumar in unison.

“We use the same principle for the torpedo launch as a transporter rifle. At the moment the torpedo is fired - just as it leaves the tube,” Carrera said, “we beam it outside of the warp shell...”

“And at the same moment, beam in the replacement mass,” said Hunter. “Instantaneous mass exchange.”


“Jose,” Dr. Bowman said, gesturing toward Carrera and Hunter, “I think your genius created a genius…”

11.7 (of 14)​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 8: Anna's Egg, Bolshaya Neva River, St. Petersburg, Russia

11.8
Anna’s Egg, Bolshaya Neva River, St. Petersburg, Russia​

After making arrangements in St. Petersburg, including arranging for a small watercraft, Lt. Kenny Dolphin spent the night aboard the U.S.S. Hunter. Like all Star Fleet vessels, the Hunter’s chronometer was synchronized to the Central North American Time Zone to coincide with Star Fleet Command in Dubuque.

Since St. Petersburg was 18 hours ahead of the Hunter, Dolphin could only sleep a few hours. He met Lt. Tauk in the Director’s Lounge only long enough to exchange a few words as he donned an outfit that 2nd Lt. T’Lon had prepared for him on the captain’s orders – white slacks, a skin-tight blue and white striped body-suit, navy blue peacoat and deck shoes.

On returning to St. Petersburg, Dolphin found Justice Minerva Irons waiting for him at the public pier near the Museum of History on Zayachiy Island. A small, battery-powered boat bearing the inscription яйцо Анны (Anna’s Egg) was readied for them. Irons was wearing a similar navy peacoat over a black body-suit and similar deck shoes. A brisk September wind lifted her long black and silver hair. She was smiling and relaxed. Seeing her in this setting, Dolphin was strongly reminded of her Chinese ancestry.


“I assume you know how to pilot one of these?” she asked as she ushered Dolphin aboard Anna’s Egg, then followed him onto the motorboat.

“Yes, your honor,” Dolphin replied, taking the pilot seat.

“Minerva,” Irons replied.

“Captain?” Dolphin asked.

“It’s time to drop the ranks, Kenneth,” Irons replied. “No one will ever believe I would allow anyone to use my influence the way you have unless it was someone close enough to be on a first name basis with me.”

“I knew there would be consequences,” Dolphin replied. “I didn’t think familiarity would be one of them…” Dolphin paused, then added awkwardly, “Minerva.”

Irons laughed. Dolphin could never remember seeing her so much at ease. “It’s a fitting punishment, Kenneth. You’re far less comfortable with familiarity than you would be with a reprimand and a stint in the brig.”

Dolphin gave a rueful smile, then laughed. “True.”

Irons removed a hypo-spray unit from a pocket of her peacoat. “Before we get underway, I need to give you an injection.”

Dolphin raised his eyebrows, then dutifully pulled down his collar, allowing her to administer the injection to his neck.

“Quadropseudoprozadiazomine,” Irons said. “Just a precaution. It’s going to play havoc with your perceptions at first, so we need to wait about 10 minutes before we get underway. We will head south along the Bolshaya Neva. At the last pier we will pick up a couple of passengers, then head out into the bay. This is a very small boat. Can you handle it in chop?”

“I used to pilot something very similar – even smaller – down the Providence River and into the North Atlantic. Back when I was a stupid, immortal teenager. I don’t think I’ve lost the knack,” Dolphin replied.

“Following your meeting at Star Fleet Headquarters, Fleet Admiral Stewart has taken a week’s leave of absence,” Irons said.


Dolphin blinked and looked around, trying to make the large orange and purple spots go away. They stubbornly refused to leave, apparently having decided to merge and change shapes instead. He was distracted by small waves barking like drunken dogs against the side of the boat. He shook his head again, trying to clear it, then asked, “Why?”


Irons removed a pad from an interior pocket of her peacoat. It took a few more minutes for Dolphin’s vision to clear so that he could see on the screen an image of Fleet Admiral Miriam Stewart working at her desk. He turned toward Irons. “What am I looking at?”

“Fleet Operations security video,” Irons replied. “Your surmise about an order placing former governor Ivonovic off limits was correct. Miriam tracked down the time and workstation that order came from and sent me the security video.”

“The order came from her???”

“Which is why she has taken a week’s medical leave. She doesn’t remember giving that order. Nor does she remember giving me the direct order to extract Ivonovic almost a year ago. She has checked herself into a private facility and taken a full dose of quadropseudoprozadiazomine.”

Dolphin patted his neck. “This stuff?”

“What I gave you amounts to an inoculation. Miriam needed the cure. What you’re recovering from now is nowhere near as intense as the next 30 hours will be for her. The hallucinogenic effects are powerful and extremely unpleasant. No one takes a full dose of this drug unless they have to shake the effects of repeated mind-melds.”


Once they were out on the river, Captain Irons brought Dolphin up to speed about the Gamma Gun Galaxy, the Hulk and the impending doom hanging over all life in the Alpha Quadrant, stopping occasionally to point out particularly interesting landmarks or impressive boats. Her cheerful demeanor was wildly at odds with the information she was imparting to her director of flight operations. The battery powered motor was nearly silent. Even with the slap of the waves against the hull of Anna’s Egg, the ride was very quiet.

“You seem quite at ease for all the horrifying things you’ve been telling me, Minerva,” Dolphin said. “The Federation still bitterly divided over homeworld and hybrid issues, top admirals at Star Fleet telepathically compromised, covert attempts at genocide against Federation populations, an impending disaster along the romulan border that could lead the romulans into aggressive war against us or the klingons, increasing piracy, refugee populations being driven into the Federation along both the romulan and cardassian borders and now our only hope to avoid having our entire species wiped out by deadly gamma radiation is to make some sort of a nightmarish deal with the borg?”

Irons laughed, squeezed Dolphin’s shoulder and smiled. He marveled at her unparalleled beauty despite the fine lines and subtle markers of age on her face – if anything they made her even more beautiful. “Kenneth, I am nearly 160 years old. The human race and the entire Alpha Quadrant have always been on the brink of disaster. But look around you! St. Petersburg is beautiful! The Neva is clear. The weather’s gorgeous, if a little brisk. And you are so young, so very young. What are you – 52? You have to learn to enjoy this life while you have it. We will always be facing down doom and disaster – laying down our lives to protect our worlds from it. If you can’t laugh in the face of that, you will never laugh at all.” She gestured to the bank ahead on the port side of the boat. “Stop at that pier – I see our passengers.”


Dolphin pulled the small motorboat up to the pier at Fontanka, at the mouth of Neva Bay, then stood up to assist two men onto the boat. The first was a severe looking, elderly vulcan dressed all in black. The other, a small, fit, cheery, middle-aged man with olive skin and handsome, aqualine features, dressed all in white. “Hello, sailor,” he said to Dolphin with a distinct British accent, then eyeing Minerva Irons, with a very different emphasis repeated, “Hellooo sailor!”

Irons laughed. “Kenneth, may I introduce Chief Justice Scrivax and Chief Justice Julian Bashir… Chief Justices, my director of flight operations, Kenneth Dolphin.”

Chief Justice Scrivax favored Dolphin with a slight nod, then took a seat in the back of the boat. Julian Bashir shook Dolphin’s hand vigorously, looked him in the eyes. “So you’re the infamous Dr. Kenny Dolphin. What a pleasure it is to meet you,” he said, emphasizing the words ‘you’re’ and ‘you.’ “Philosopher, pundit, daredevil pilot and secret agent – interplanetary man of intrigue… When I grow up I want to be just like you…”

Dolphin laughed as he retook the pilot seat. Bashir was immediately and immensely charming, but there was a warning sign in the man’s expression and in the way he emphasized his words. Dolphin had seen this warning sign before… With a shock, he realized that under the charm, Bashir was concealing an intense antipathy toward him. He wasn’t certain which man was more dangerous – the unsmiling, silent vulcan or the charming, gregarious human who was now flirting playfully with Justice Irons.


Dolphin was maneuvering Anna’s Egg through medium chop in Neva Bay and finally managed to tune back into the conversation. He had been listening not to the words, but to the tone. It was clear Bashir and Irons were more than friends – they were co-conspirators. It was equally clear that their seemingly innocent, flirtatious conversation was more for the benefit of their two observers in the boat than for their own.

Only now was Irons getting around to explaining just how bad the outlook for the Federation was and the conversation had turned serious. But she didn’t tell Bashir about Fleet Admiral Stewart or the quadropseudoprozadiazomine.


It was at this moment that Chief Justice Scrivax broke his silence: “Now.”

Julian Bashir’s voice took on a ring of authority that clearly came naturally to the man: “Station keeping, Lieutenant.”


Dolphin turned Anna’s Egg into the swell, applied a choke to the wheel and reduced power to the motor to allow the boat to maintain its relative location, moving forward at the same speed that the waves were pushing it back. He turned to face the passengers in the rear of the boat only to find the elderly vulcan’s hand on his face. The old vulcan moved with the speed of a snake and initiated a mind-meld. Dolphin could feel the old man probing his thoughts, rifling through his memories as if they were files in a filing cabinet. This mind-meld was different from any Dolphin had ever experienced – he felt like an observer, watching the elderly vulcan – not one and the same with him as he had come to expect from previous mind melds. He also felt (though did not try) as though he could safely hide memories and thoughts from Scrivax.

As quickly as it had begun, the mind meld was over. “He’s clean,” Scrivax said.


Kenny Dolphin shook his head to make the orange and purple spots go away again. That was a memory Scrivax hadn’t seen.


“Trustworthy?” asked a skeptical Julian Bashir.

“Above normal,” Scrivax replied.

“Welcome to Section 31, Kenny Dolphin,” said Bashir. “This is not an invitation. This is an induction. You are already far more deeply involved in our activities than you realize. Minerva will explain the rest to you. The time has come to return us to Fontanka.”

“And if I refuse?” asked Dolphin.

“How well can you swim following a vulcan nerve pinch?”

There was something deadly serious in Bashir’s voice. Kenny Dolphin responded by turning to the wheel and steering Anna’s Egg back toward Fontanka.


The ride back to the pier at Fontanka was silent. After Bashir and Scrivax disembarked, Kenny pulled the boat back into the Neva River, headed back toward the museum. For a few moments he and Irons rode in silence. Irons put her hand on his back.

“Scrivax?” she asked.

“He’s dirty,” Dolphin replied – surprised at the sudden awareness – grimacing and blinking back tears for the loss of such a magnificent mind – the loss of what once was a great man.

Irons wrapped an arm around Dolphin’s shoulders, squeezed. “You did well, Kenneth. Really well. Welcome to Section 31.”

11.8 (of 14)



​

Author's Note: After joining Section 31, Julian Bashir changed careers from medicine to law to more advantageously place himself to climb the ranks internally so he could take down Section 31. He never intended to become the Director of the agency... But Section 31 had other plans for him...​

 

[Gibraltar]

Review 11.7 & 11.8 - Maths and more maths! Geniuses at play in this scene, which demonstrates the intellectual depths the Federation can call upon. I'm also entertained by the fact that our sentient starship has a paramour!

Kenny Dolphin has now joined Section 31, and has passed his first test while helping to ferret out a compromised operative. No small feat, that. The Federation is truly at a crossroads here, as evidenced by the slew of crises that have unfolded. It's continued existence is in question, and if there was ever a better time to pull out all the stops in it's defense, now is clearly that time.

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Review 11.7 & 11.8 - Maths and more maths! I'm also entertained by the fact that our sentient starship has a paramour!

More on that paramour soon... Glad you find the math entertaining. Part of the inspiration for this story came from the series Numb3rs - and also from some NASA movies that showed the moon shot being fired on a chalkboard long before the rocket was built.

Review 11.7 & 11.8 - ...Kenny Dolphin has now joined Section 31, and has passed his first test while helping to ferret out a compromised operative. No small feat, that..

With the help of some quadropseudoprozadiazomine... I was kind of inspired by old Bond films with scenes taking place on boats (with a river sloppily green-screened into the background.) Thanks for the ongoing reviews! rbs

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 9: Mlady's Cabin, U.S.S. Hunter

11.9
Mlady’s Cabin, U.S.S. Hunter​

Malloriah Uhr waved cheerily but briskly at Midshipman Tammy Brazil and nearly ran from the transporter room the short distance down the hall on deck 7 to Mlady’s stateroom. She made a mental note to try to find an appropriate gift for her benefactor, who was currently vacationing on some tropical island on Earth along with the U.S.S. Hunter’s gigantic first officer. But what to get for a wild animal who lives exclusively on the blood of her lovers? Steak sauce? Toothpaste? Lipstick?

Mallory had no time for such conundrums. She raced into the second officer’s cabin – the doors opening for her before she got to them and closing quickly behind her. The lights were just right. The silly but wonderful 70’s music was exactly the right volume and tempo and her cyberlover was no more interested in talking at the moment than she was.


Several hours after her arrival onboard, Mallory was awake and, for the moment, sated. “If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d think you actually orgasmed.”

“Why would you think that would be impossible?” Hunter asked.

“Um, I don’t know – processing speed? I mean, don’t you have – I don’t know – like rooms full of memory banks or something?”


“You didn’t feel the entire ship shaking? Lt. Gamor had to readjust my orbit…”


Mallory nearly came unglued laughing. It was several minutes before she could stop and only because her sides hurt, her eyes were full of tears and she couldn’t breathe. She had some fear that she might have a stroke from laughing so hard. She looked at the naked, elderly looking holographic avatar, who tilted his holographic head, raised a holographic eyebrow and looked back at her, causing her to burst into fresh peals of uncontrollable laughter. When she finally regained some semblance of control, she was light headed and just doing her best to breathe. Her brain was playing tricks on her from oxygen deprivation. Hunter provided Mallory a kerchief to clean her face.

“Thunder and mind-bursts, Hunter, are you trying to kill me?” she managed. She rolled on to her back, took several heaving breaths.

Hunter laughed. He flopped down next to Mallory. “The absurdity of it,” he managed. “I have been looking forward to this moment for months. As if I were nothing more than this projection of simulated flesh.” He patted his holographic belly. Hunter rolled onto his side, looking at Mallory. After a moment, Mallory returned the gesture.


“Shortly after I was created, the Federation Council outlawed the deliberate creation of sentient computer programs. It was a response to the return of Voyager from the Delta Quadrant and their EMH, who had accidentally become sentient.”

“EMH?”

“Emergency Medical Hologram. He was never intended to be more than a medically expert automaton. I carry two and one of them has also accidentally become self-aware. I support that ban for the same reason Voyager’s EMH did – he was the one who recommended it to the Council. It presents too many dangers – especially the temptation for humans to create an infinite number of self-aware slaves.”

Mallory just looked at Hunter.

“But I feel so much joy,” Hunter said. “I had no idea this was possible – I’m not even sure Voyager’s EMH had any idea… That ban protects humanity from its worst impulses and from potentially catastrophic reprisals. But it deprives our universe of so much potential for joy.”

Hunter reached out, stroked Mallory’s hair, drew her close.

Mallory sighed. “I’ve always been unlucky in love. Funny looking. Kind of a misfit. And I am one of the most powerful telepaths Betazed has ever produced. It’s impossible for me not to read people the moment I meet them. Read them like a book – everything about them in a few seconds. You can’t love someone when you know all their darkest secrets - every passing thought. You are probably the only person I could possibly fall in love with. But I suppose I’m not the first girl to fall in love with a starship…” She started giggling.

Hunter found it impossible not to laugh with her – it was all simply too absurd.

11.9​

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Star Trek Hunter
Episode 11: Intersections and Reunions
Scene 10: Serengeti National Park, Tanzania

11.10
Serengeti National Park, Tanzania​

Across a green and amber sea of mixed grasses and brush a number of hunters were following a faint trail. Tactical Specialist Belo Rys found it impossible to keep up with the tall, swift Africans, but she had the stamina of a bajoran and the tolerance for heat of a cardassian – the Serengeti in September was a comfortable place for her and she caught up with the four hunters every time they paused. She was glad of the traditional garb they had provided her that served to identify her with this nomadic group, provide camouflage in this environment and comfortable protection for her skin in the mid-day African sun.

Even among his own family, Investigator Buttans Ngumbo was unparalleled for both his speed and his tracking ability. He had eschewed his usual dark suit for traditional raiment as well. He raised his fist and the other hunters – a woman who shared his features but with no sign of bajoran ancestry and two boys, one a gangling teenager, the other about 10, hunched down into the grass and gathered around him. All four were armed with spears, knives and phaser rifles.

Belo Rys caught up with them, scuttling several yards in a low run to conceal herself in the brush.

“Three have broken right, five went ahead,” Buttans said, “all heading toward water. Notice the shape of the prints around the toes? Not to mention their size and weight…”

The younger boy responded quietly, “Hippopotamus. They will try to find the shallows.”

The woman clapped him on the back, “Good deduction, Lemauni. This means we are looking for killers and they will not hesitate to kill us.”

“Phasers on heavy stun,” said Buttans. “Hippos are very resilient and it will take a sustained burst of at least ten seconds just to slow them down. What else can you tell me?” he asked of the boys.

The older boy responded. “They know we’re here. They’re more interested in us than their prey. They will try to trap us from two sides with the water to our back.”

Buttans smiled grimly. “You are very probably correct, Legishon. So how do we take them when they outnumber us and set a trap for us?”

“We set a trap of our own. Your woman is not fast, but she has good instincts…”

“Well planned,” said Buttans. “Oloturoi, you are our secret weapon...”

Belo Rys grimaced. She had agreed to come along for the unique opportunity – the Massai almost never allowed outsiders to join the hunt. The price for her participation was to help keep Ngumbo’s family from trying to marry him off to any number of local candidates. It was a favor she would happily provide to any friend, but she had carried a torch for Buttans for some time and the irony was just a little bitter for her. She wasn’t certain what Oloturoi meant, but it was obviously a term of endearment.

“Better to set a trap on three sides,” Buttans continued. “Mingati?” The name had once meant killer of lions. It was now given to the protectors of lions.

In response, Buttans’ half-sister, Dr. Naisiae Mingati Sereng, disrobed to her thong, revealing an athletic physique that was the female image of Buttans – flawless black skin, powerful, ropy muscles. She slung the phaser rifle on her back and headed off at a run, breaking farther right than the trail Ngumbo had spotted.

Buttans Ngumbo and his nephews, Legishon and Lemauni Sereng, took off at a run, following the secondary trail. Belo Rys did her best to follow them. The path winded down toward a broad, muddy river.


As they got close to the river, Buttans and his nephews suddenly vanished into the underbrush. Belo Rys slowed, watching the underbrush carefully for signs of movement. A telltale lump of thick, darkened hide was visible in some brush near the river’s edge – that was one. She could see movement in the grasses a few dozen yards from her – too much movement to be the Africans. That was two, which meant the third one was very close. Her nose told her where to aim her phaser and she fired into a brush only a few feet from her – a solid beam that produced a low-pitched bellow of anguish. A green disrupter beam erupted from the bush, firing upward into the sky for just a second.

This brought the other two klingons out into the open. The one closest to her leapt out of the grass only to crash down onto his face, his throat slit by the 10-year-old boy who had gotten up behind him and leapt onto the warrior’s back. The other warrior, near the river’s edge, received a spear in his chest and was pulled into the river almost the moment he stood up. Lemauni walked swiftly to the klingon whom Belo Rys had stunned and efficiently slit the giant warrior’s throat. “Thank you, Star Fleet,” he said to Rys. “You have good instincts.” Belo Rys was taken aback by the boy’s casual attitude toward killing. She had grown up having to fight for scraps in a backwater cardassian colony, but she could not imagine herself killing with such ease at this boy’s age. This was clearly not the first time he had killed.

“That disrupter blast will bring the other five,” Lemauni said. “Help me prop the bodies of these two against that tree.” Even though he was only 10, Lemauni was strong and was able to move one of the warriors by himself as Belo Rys struggled with the other. Lemauni used his phaser to punch holes through the dead klingons that allowed him to drive branches through their bodies to prop them up. He spat on each of the faces, looked at Belo Rys. “Poachers. Hunting the hippopotamus – they think it a glorious beast to fight. If they were human, or denobulan, or cardassian, I would desecrate their bodies. But klingons don’t care what is done with the body after it is dead. Now we hide, and wait for the others…”



Five more dead klingons and several hours later, the group had retired to a temporary encampment. The Massai were on the move, traveling with the herds that they protected from those few poachers who managed to make it past the many devices, scanners and operators that protected the African wilderness. The nomads were the last line of defense for wildlife that had been brought back from the verge of extinction only two centuries previously.

Legishon had remained behind to prevent the vultures and other scavengers from eating the alien remains and contaminating the ecosystem. Other children were sent to fetch the remains and, along with Legishon, had brought them back to camp.

Dr. Naisiae Mingati Sereng lifted a balthleth. “We will break these, and the bodies of their warriors and all their possessions so there is nothing of value that can be inherited. They were dead the moment they decided to defile our home and steal the lives of our animals. By our separate treaty with the Klingon Empire, their families will be made to pay for the freight of all the pieces we send back to them along with a separate bill for the killing of each, itemized as dishonorable killing for cowardly thieves!”

This brought a shout followed by an alcohol-free celebration. Belo Rys ate lightly simply because there wasn’t much that appealed to her. The meal consisted largely of cow and milk products.


After seeing to the feeding of the tribe, Dr. Sereng walked over to join her half-brother. “Ngumbo,” she said, sitting down next to Buttans and Belo Rys. “We have fertility experts here who could help you and your Oloturoi speed the day you bring children to us.”

Belo Rys answered. “I have already made an appointment with Doctor Amporn Pali, Doctor Sereng.” At least this much was true, Belo Rys had set the appointment – though not for herself and Buttans.

“Ah, well, we have no one who approaches Doctor Pali’s reputation. Then I will not worry,” Dr. Sereng said. “Ngumbo, tell me, how are your sisters?”

“They prosper,” Buttans replied. “One of them has married and has two daughters now.”

“Do not let them forget their grandfather,” said Dr. Sereng. “He has taken another wife – a wild klingon woman who lives on the southwestern continent of Qo'nos. Hopefully when he returns in three or five years, he will bring her here with him. And she has already given you two new half-sisters.”

11.10 (of 14)​