The Merged U: Sic Transit Kirk

[Lightbend]

Sic Transit Kirk




Captain’s Log, Stardate 2821.8. After a skirmish with a rogue Romulan battleship, the Enterprise has sustained damage enough that it has to go into drydock for repairs. Due to damage to the Warp Core, only one star system is in range.

I have the feeling this week is going to very deeply suck.




Muttering curses under his breath, Captain James Kirk exits the bridge of his ship, closing the door to his office behind him. Once behind the semi-soundproof walls, he begins loudly swearing as the rest of the bridge crew looks on.

“If I may,” Chekov says, “Exactly vhat am I missing, here?”

Eyes turn to Spock, who regards them evenly for a moment from his chair on the science console before he turns back.

“Actually,” Sulu chimes in, “It has to due with the C.O. of the station we have to drydock at. The Captain and him have a bit of a rivalry.”

“Rivalry,” Uhuru asks.

“Define rivalry,” Chekov says, “Do they argue? Do you mean they have shouting matches or somethink like that?”

“No,” Spock says, the bridge members turning to him, “The Captain and he have engaged in physical fights on 28 different occasions. Three in the same day.”

Silence comes over the bridge, interrupted by Chekov acknowledging the nugget of information with an “Ah.”

“So,” Sulu says, “That’s why the Captain doesn’t like our destination. But, with the Warp Drive damaged, it’d take us weeks to reach another base and that’s not acceptable. So, we don’t really have a choice.”

“One could postulate that the reason for the rivalry is due to profession,” Spock continues, “As the Enterprise is part of the scientific and exploration arm, the station we are heading to is part of Earth’s military hierarchy. Furthermore, the concentration of aliens…”

Sulu sighs. Eight hours until they reach communications range.

It’s going to be a long trip.

“Not much of a choice,” he sighs, “Setting course for Babylon 5.”

[Lightbend]

Chapter 1:
Welcome to Babylon 5. May God have Mercy Upon Your Soul
__________________________________________________ ___






“Okay, here’s what we got today.”

Taking a second to adjust her braid and then setting the reading glasses on her nose, Commander Susan Ivanova mentally reads off the schedule before looking up and staring at her sitting CO.

Next to her, the balding, middle age third wheel that is Security Chief Michael Garibaldi waits patiently for her to get on with the schedule, albeit nudging her ankle with his foot every now and then.

And leaning back in his chair, Captain John Sheridan, CO of Babylon 5, simply stares at them. After commanding the station for over a year, he has come to expect this in his morning routine. He may even be able to blame some of his cropping gray hair for it, he doesn’t know.

He only knows that he wants them to get on with it so he can plan ahead.

“Alright,” Susan says, clearing her throat, “Not the first thing but the most important. The new Ambassador from Jurai is coming aboard tonight. She wants you to be there to meet her. And she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Great,” Sheridan says with a sigh, “Have you asked the other ambassadors if they know her?”

“Yes. High opinion all around. And Ambassador Delenn says she’ll be there for damage control. She says she knows how to deal with the new ambassador.”

“Deal?”

“The new ambassador’s a little peculiar.”

“More peculiar than that Seiryo fruitcake,” Garibaldi interrupts.

“The less said about him,” Sheridan says raising his hand, “The better. And as appreciative as we are of G’kar’s actions in that case, let’s not make it official policy.”

“Understood. And Michael, it’s not ‘fruitcake,’ it’s ‘fruit.’ Next issue,” Ivanova says, checking back on the memo, “The dock union has something they want to bring up about their contract…bring your gun…Stephen wants to talk with you about power consumption during peak hours at the Medlab…and Ambassador Mollari demands an hour of your time this afternoon.”

“Demands?”

“Yes,” she responds, “Londo literally demanded. He was quite flustered. We have pictures.”

Sheridan begins rubbing his temples, groaning.

“Oh, and a Starfleet ship has requested drydocking,” Ivanova says, flipping through the memo to the exact entry, “Let’s see…ah! The Enterprise.”

“The WHAT?!”

The two snap to attention. Looking up, they see Sheridan standing with his hands braced against the desk.

“Okay,” Sheridan says, his voice coming in low grunts, “Which Enterprise? There has to be more than one.”

Ivanova and Garibaldi look at each other, before she turns back to the memo and goes down to the specifications.

“The…NCC-1701. Constitution-class. Commanded by Captain James T.-”

“Kirk.”

The name rolls off of Sheridan’s tongue like the vilest of curses. Ivanova and Garibaldi back away, as the station’s second-in-command tugs at the security chief’s sleeve.

“Well?”

“Dunno,” Garibaldi whispers back, “But I think the Captain might have issues with this guy.”

Ivanova glares at him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll check records from my office.”

“Alright,” Sheridan speaks up, rolling his head and straightening his uniform’s collar, “Alright. Have one of the small military drydocks set aside for the Enterprise. Michael, have a security detail set up. Captain Kirk has pissed off no end of alien races, so he may need protection.”

“Oh…that Kirk. Right. Keep the Klingons away from him.”

“Right. And the other way around. Susan, how long will repairs take, and what are we looking at?”

Ivanova, thrust once more into the conversation, turns back to her memo.

“The most serious damage is to their Warp Core. We can fix that, and if what they need after that is more than we can spare, they’ll be able to head to the nearest Starbase.”

“Good. Do it.”

He walks past them and to the door.

“I think I’ll give Londo that hour of my time, now.”

And he walks out. They note that, if the doors were on swivels and not sliding, he would have slammed it shut behind him.

“Okay,” Garibaldi says, shaking his head, “I’ll get back to you on what just happened.”

“I don’t want the Captain in a fist fight.”

“May not work out that way.”

“It better work out that way. I don’t like being wrong. And I’m not going to be wrong, and do you know why?”

“Because Ivanova is God.”

“Damn straight.”




Border of the Federation, Kamidoor system.

Currently, a pitched battle rages between the Federation Marine Forces, and the insectoid race found on the planet below. The horde of creatures, an apparently hive-minded collective, has so far overrun the colony built on the planet and slaughtered thousands in a feeding frenzy.

Hence, the Marines being sent in.

Hence, the small one-person pod going through forced entry, now that they’ve found out the Bugs have emplacements capable of targeting orbital ships.

His problem comes from the fact that, while their ship managed to warp out before taking severe damage, his job is to clear out those turrets before he can call them back in.

Now you’re getting cold feet?

“Just saying I would have appreciated reinforcements.”

You’re kidding me. You’re REALLY kidding me. You’ve seen what those things can do; you have to be certifiable, like YOU, to drop into that situation.

He ignores her, tapping on the retrothruster controls, taking a quick look at the vidscreens laid out in front of him, displaying the swarm and the larger bugs, huge bulbous tentacle creatures, lazily floating over them.

The pod violently rocks.

Don’t tell me. You just used us to whack one of the floaters.

“Mm-hm.”

You. Are. Insane.




The pod, a 12’ tall coffin with the back arranged in now-cooling jets, and covered in what appears to be blood, slams into the ground, tearing up grass and the field as the door loosens and folds down, forming a ramp for the occupant to climb out of.

The occupant is tall, covered in green solid armor, a yellow visor over his face, steam escaping the joints of the armor as he hefts up a submachine gun and peers out.

Jeez, could we MAKE any more noise?

He reaches back in and pulls out a shoulder-mounted RPG launcher.

Okay, forget I asked. Now what?

“Cortana, give me coordinates of the nearest battery.”

Sure thing. Hey, better idea. Look up.

He looks up, spotting a towering, purple and red spire jutting out of the crashed starship directly in front of him. Lines of glowing green, like plasma-filled veins, run up the sides, coming to a head at the green crystal embedded on its zenith.

The crystal glows and launches a sphere of energy into the sky. Hefting up the RPG, he takes a moment to target the crystal.

Hey, is that organic technolo-

A missile fires out, hitting the crystal despite being aimed with one hand. The results are immediate; with the focus gone, the plasma veins release their cargo inward, the spire seeming to catch fire at the impossibly high degrees…

And then it explodes, sending debris flying.

-gy…Well, that was fun. What next?

“Point me in the direction of the nearest batch of targets,” the Master Chief responds, “Transmit to the ship that they now have a safe zone in the area I landed. You said that it was organic technology. Vorlons?”

No, no. The reports we’re getting is of the little bastards biting and clawing. Vorlons use energy weapons. Big energy weapons. We’re dealing with an entirely new race here…let me scan through archives…hm. Mythical bestiary…ah, shit.

“What?”

Zerg. They’re called the Zerg. Major baddies in some mythos-like spacefaring Locusts. They come to a planet, consume it, leave. Happened to Narn Prime a few millennia back-the entire race went underground before this third race came and sterilized the surface. If the pattern holds, we’re dealing with something even worse.

A shadow falls over them. Master Chief looks up to see a massive starship, a huge split oval with atmospheric wings and engines spouting blue flame, hovering over them distant in the sky.

From his built in helmet rangefinder, he estimates the ship is roughly 1.4 miles long, larger than one of the Star Destroyer wrecks they found in the Rim, and easily the size of a Kheran Warcruiser.

Energy readings are roughly the same level, as well.

“Cortana?”

It’s the Protoss.