The Alpha Search

Chapter Two: Old Man Trouble

Alexander decided he was the only one here who'd slept well last night. His Klingon physiology was more adapted to certain stresses and states of mind than Humans, and like any Klingon warrior the night before battle, he had slept deeply and well. Now he stood next to Major Marks at the foot of the ramp leading up to the StarGate and tried not to let his excitement show too much.

"Please do not approach the Gate until the wormhole is stable." Gnosis warned over the intercom. "Powering up the Gate now."

Alexander had been half-expecting the lights to dim for a second, but all that happened was an increase in the background hum, which he realised came from the Gate. It seemed to be vibrating slightly and the chevrons around the circumference were now glowing a dull red.

"Power-flows stable." Gnosis reported. "Gate online."

"Commence dialling sequence." Admiral Janeway ordered.

"Commencing," This was Barclay.

The inner part of the ring began to spin, then stopped, and one of the chevrons altered configuration and turned orange.

"Chevron One encoded." Barclay announced. The ring began to turn in the opposite direction. The sequence continued until finally the seventh chevron, at the top of the ring, turned orange.

"Chevron Seven, locked!" Barclay crowed.

There was a whoosh, and a gout of what looked like water shot out of the ring, then fell back. The centre of the ring was now covered in something that resembled a gently rippling pool.

"Wormhole established and stable." Barclay reported.

"Gate performing within expected parameters." Gnosis added. "Automatic shutdown in 36 minutes, eighteen seconds."

"Congratulations, everyone, Stage One complete." Said Janeway. "Beginning Stage Two. Attempting to communicate with the Bajoran end.

"Bajoran Temple, this is Admiral Janeway at StarGate Command, Earth. Are you receiving me?"

There was a moments' pause, then a male voice came through. "Admiral, this is Captain Sisko on Bajor. Receiving you loud and clear. The Gate here is active and appears stable. Confirm that communication via the wormhole is possible."

"Acknowledged and thank you, Captain." Janeway replied. "Proceeding to Stage Three, prepare to receive travellers.

"Captain Rozhenko, Major Marks, you are clear to cross the event horizon. Godspeed."

Alexander and Marks walked up the ramp and paused at the very brink.

"Should we hold hands?" Marks asked.

"Not on a first date." Alexander told him.

Then both men instinctively took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

It wasn't like the Transporter at all, Alexander thought. It was more like side-along Apparation – something he had experienced once and had heartily disliked. There was the same sense of being pulled or pushed along a narrow, twisting tunnel, but without the feeling of being squeezed through a tube at the same time.

Then he completed his step and was somewhere else. He stood at the top of a short flight of worn stone steps, in a chamber easily as large as the Gate Room he had just left, but very different. Ancient, vaulted stonework with artistically carved pillars marching down each side. Beyond them, richly frescoed walls full of odd symbols and strangely stylised images of living beings.

"Well, that was...different." Major Marks said quietly beside him.

"Are you OK?" Alexander asked.

"Pretty much, sir." Marks replied. "I'll be ready for it next time!"

Then a tall man in StarFleet uniform was striding up the steps toward them.

"Captain Rozhenko, Major Marks. I'm Captain Sisko. Welcome to Bajor!"

This was the famous Captain Sisko. 'The Emissary' to most Bajorans. The man who had refused promotion and transfer to stay close to the wormhole where he had spent two years after the Dominion War and which he still entered regularly, sometimes remaining for months. What he did there, and what he learned, was either passed on to the Vedek Council and thence to the Bajoran faithful, or to StarFleet Command, where it was sealed under the mysterious Bad Wolf Protocol.

"It's been a long time, Alexander," Sisko said, shaking the younger mans' hand, "how is your father, these days?"

"Busy," Alexander allowed, "and happy as can be. Technically, he's in command of a Starbase, but he spends at least half his time on a ship patrolling the edge of the DMZ."

"That's Worf!" Sisko responded, then shook his head. "Martok was a friend, and a good man. I was sick about what happened to him. Especially after all he did for the Empire."

Alexander shrugged. "I don't think anyone except my father realised how deep the tensions in the Empire ran. That's why he decided to leave when he did. Martok wouldn't listen, and father – for all his pride in his Klingon heritage – is first and foremost a StarFleet officer. When he realised he was doing no good where he was, he came back, and I came with him."

"Well, we're glad to have you both!" Sisko declared. "Now, I've got a runabout waiting to take you both to Deep Space Nine. Dr Bashir needs to examine you both -see if this method of travel has any side-effects. Colonel Kira also wants to welcome you.

"Then you should get a little R and R before your return trip tomorrow."

Dr Bashir had been both thorough and talkative, asking far more questions than either Alexander or Marks considered entirely necessary, before giving them both a clean bill of health. Colonel Kira, the commander of Deep Space Nine, was brisk and courteous, stating that her purpose was simply to ensure neither of the men had suffered any immediate ill-effects, and that they would be fully debriefed by Admiral Janeway upon their return to Earth. Then they were free.

Quarks' was virtually unchanged, down to the familiar figure of Morn on his usual stool. Though the business was now ostensibly managed by a young family member, Draag, Quark was still to be found in the bar most days. Not interfering as such, but keeping an eagle eye on proceedings. The venerable Ferengi was still sharp of mind, and was believed to have amassed a considerable fortune over the years. He greeted Alexander with real pleasure, however, and asked after Worf.

"Your father has made me a good deal of profit over the years." He revealed. "Klingons will pay as much for prune juice as for blood wine, and the juice costs me half as much as the wine!"

While Alexander chatted with Quark, Major Marks was casting an eye around the place – he had never been here before. The customers were a heterogeneous lot, Humans, Bajorans, Klingons, Andorians, even a few Cardassians and Romulans. But one man caught his eye. A Human, sitting alone in a quiet corner with a bottle and glass in front of him. There was something about the stocky build that made Marks think he might be a fellow heavy-worlder. More interesting than that, however, was the fact that it was almost impossible to tell the mans' age. There were lines on the rugged face, it was true, but not a single wrinkle on either it or the large hands. The head was covered with thick, vigorous, jet-black hair, but the astonishing side-whiskers were snowy white.

"Excuse me," Marks said in a pause in the conversation, "but who's that guy over there? I seem to remember him from somewhere."

Quark glanced over. "Him? I don't know his name. He never gave it and my people know not to ask. He's some kind of freelance courier, got a runabout of his own and he goes off for days or weeks or months at a time. Keeps an apartment and a berth here, pays on time, or in advance if he's going to be away.

"He's got a reputation, though. Even the Nausicaans leave him alone. People call him 'Old Man Trouble'. I don't mind him."

The conversation passed on to other matters.

The one they called Old Man Trouble had noticed the young Marine staring at him. Unlike the Major, however, he recalled that they had seen each other three years ago. It had been on a Federated Klingon colony where the 'freelance courier' had been sent to take out a Secessionist cell that was poised to cripple the planets' orbital defence array. The heavy-worlder had been a Captain then, leading a unit of Marines that had been among the reinforcements sent by StarFleet.

He shrugged. Even if the kid did remember him, it would be as just another civilian caught up in a border skirmish.

Then, unexpectedly, someone sat down opposite him.

"I brought a glass," said a gravelly voice, "thought you'd not mind sharing the bottle."

Medium height, Old Man Trouble noted, but heavily-built and powerful. Rugged, harsh-planed face, close-cropped fair hair, piercing blue eyes and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

"You smell like somebody I used to know." Trouble said. "He had a scar just like that."

"Yeah?" The other replied. "I heard that guy died."

"They never found a body." Was the reply. "I always say, never count a Human dead until you've seen the body..."

"And even then, you can make a mistake!" The blond man finished. "You're as quick as ever, Logan, if you're still using that name."

"Yeah, I'm Logan at the moment." Logan replied. "I've used other names, but I'm comfortable with that one. So, how did you pull this one off..."

The other man raised a warning hand. "Don't use the name, Logan. Some of the Humans in here are wizards, and that name pricks ears. I'm the Seeker.

"As to how, it's a long story about clones, nanoprobes, Dark Energy and Phoenix feathers."

"And you don't got time right now, good enough." Logan allowed. "So, what are you seekin', and can I help? Anything you want, you got."

"Answers, of course, same as always." The Seeker replied. "There's stuff going on, mate. Too much to explain right now. But I do need your help, again. That Klingon Captain over there…."

"Alexander Rozhenko." Logan replied. "Three-quarters Klingon, son of Vice-Admiral Worf, just finished his first tour as a Captain. Section 31 keeps me up to date on persons of interest."

"Good." The Seeker said. "I need you to stick with him, Logan. He's going to do important things, and some people are going to want to stop him. He's going to need backup. The sort of backup who doesn't mind getting dirty and isn't keen on rules. Keep an eye out. I'll be in touch."

Synthehol promotes a feeling of well-being and good humour, but doesn't cloud the mind. Which is fortunate, because DS9 is a large station and it is necessary to find ones' way to quarters eventually. Even so, Alexander and Marks were happy to accept the proffered assistance of a friendly Bajoran Security officer to find their way to their rooms.

They were chatting and in a good mood. As it was now station night, the lights were dimmer than usual, and none of them were on their guard. So when three figures stepped out into their path, Alexander was about to wish them a pleasant 'good evening' when it happened. Three bolts of lighting-like blue-white energy were fired simultaneously.

Marks and the Bajoran both gave strangled groans of pain and collapsed. Had Alexander been any less Klingon in his make-up, he might also have done so – the pain was intense beyond anything he had experienced, even pain-sticks didn't come close. But he responded as a Klingon.

A red mist descended over his eyes and mind, and everything except himself seemed to slow down as he lunged forward. He grabbed the nearest attackers' wrist and twisted. A scream, a snapping sound and a weapon falling to the floor. Alexander picked the man up and smashed him into the wall. A meaty thud and more cracking bones. He let the body fall.

The mist cleared, time came back. The two other attackers – Bajorans, he now saw, but civilians – had discarded the alien weapons in favour of businesslike phaser pistols. One of them, who stood slightly ahead of his fellow, gave an approving nod.

"When our God returns, your kind will serve as excellent Jaffa." He noted. "You, however, we cannot permit to..."

The man behind him gave an odd, sobbing grunt. He looked down at his chest. A dark stain was growing there, around three slightly-curved blades that had emerged from his chest. Then, with a snicking sound the blades withdrew and the Bajoran fell to his knees before slumping forward. Behind him, Alexander saw a short, stocky, vaguely familiar figure.

Then the last Bajoran fired his phaser at the newcomer. There was little room to dodge in the corridor, and the blast took the man full in the chest. But Alexander had by now drawn his own weapon and stunned the Bajoran.

He tapped his comm badge. "This is Captain Rozhenko. I need Medical and Security, this location, fast!"

"Major Marks and Officer Sano will be fine." Dr Bashir reported. "It was some sort of neural shock, designed to cause pain and unconsciousness in humanoids. Clearly it has a different effect on Klingons!"

"It pissed me off." Alexander replied. "Luckily I'm part-human. My father would probably have taken down all three before the rage went."

"No doubt, I know your father." Bashir noted. "He's a little...uncompromising. The one you slammed against the wall is beyond help, I'm afraid. You shattered his ribs and sternum and crushed all of the thoracic vertebrae. His skull is also severely fractured and the brain past repair. Remind me never to upset you!"

"What about the other two?" Alexander wanted to know.

"Well, one was stabbed cleanly through the heart with a three-bladed weapon." Bashir said. "He needed a new heart, which I've fitted, and he'll recover. The other was just a phaser stun and he's in the cells now. Colonel Kira wants you to assist with the interrogation when you're done here."

"What about the one who tried to help? Who was he?" Alexander was angry at himself. "If I'd been quicker, he'd have been alive now!"

"Ah, well." Bashir shook his head. "He is, actually, alive, and recovering nicely!"

"That," Alexander said flatly, "is not possible. I saw him take a phaser blast full in the chest!"

"I know." Bashir said. "I don't understand it either. Come and take a look for yourself."

Even in repose, the craggy face was still hard. The muscular body, covered with masses of dark hair, seemed to belie the white whiskers, even marred as it was with phaser burns.

"I remember him from Quarks' last night." Alexander said. "He was sitting by himself. Quark called him Old Man Trouble. Said he was a resident here."

Bashir nodded. "I know, I've seen him around. Look, that phaser bolt should have gone straight through him and burned his heart to ash. But what it actually did was to hit his sternum and stop. Oh, it spread around and along his ribs, burned a lot of his chest and even scorched his lungs.

"But the tissue is regenerating, by itself, almost as fast as I could do it with a regenerator! If my estimates are right, he'll be fully-healed and back on his feet in less than three hours. At the moment, he's in a deep sleep, almost a coma, which seems to be accelerating the healing process.

"Look here!"

Bashir activated a holographic imager, which produced a quarter-scale image of the patients' skeleton.

"I'm no doctor," Alexander noted, "but that doesn't look right!"

"It's not." Bashir confirmed. "The entire bony structure is either coated or laced with an extremely dense, hard alloy that I don't recognise. I can barely analyse it, much less get a sample! There seem to be some kind of primitive nannites crawling around in it that open pores to allow the bone marrow to do its job properly, but to all intents and purposes, the skeleton is indestructible!"

"What's that in the forearms?" Alexander asked.

"Claws." Bashir said. "As far as I can tell, they're natural bony growths and the neuro-muscular systems that allow him to extend or retract them are all natural to him -he was born with them. But they've also been coated with this alloy. He used them to stab that Bajoran. He could use them to slice a starship hull into scrap metal!"

"So who is he?" Alexander demanded.

Bashir shook his head again. "I checked the Federation database. He has a credit account in the name of Logan – no first name. Planet of birth named as Earth, but no date of birth or family records. Owner and master of a warp-capable runabout – the Ororo – occupation given as 'courier'."

"And that's it?" Alexander was surprised.

"No, it's not it." Bashir said. "There is more, but it's not accessible through normal channels. I've met some odd people in my time, Alexander, and I know Section 31 work when I see it!

"If they're interested in your programme, you may be in some trouble. I'll look into it and let you know anything I find.

"Now I'm sure the Colonel is waiting for you."

The Bajorans' name was Salvar Kenon. He was a middle-aged man with the gaunt face of an ascetic and burning eyes. Alexander noted that he did not wear the d'ja pagh, the elaborate ear jewellery traditional for most Bajorans. Unusually, then, Salvar seemed to have no regard for the beliefs of the majority of Bajorans. This was confirmed when Alexander and Colonel Kira sat down opposite him. He directed a withering sneer at the Colonel.

"To you I do not speak, shol'va!" He spat. "You, like the others, have abandoned our true God to worship the phantoms of the wormhole. You also ally with the rebel tau'ri. You will suffer the fate of your kind in the fullness of time."

He turned to Alexander. "You, however, though guilty of a heinous blasphemy, are only so through ignorance. Your death is an unfortunate necessity."

"So what did I do?" Alexander asked.

Salvars' eyes burned even hotter. "You, and your tau'ri companion, have defiled the chappa'ai and the Paths of the Gods! It happened before, long ago, and we slew the defilers. But we knew we must wait until the Paths were made pure again, before our God could return. But now the tau'ri have used the chappa'ai again, and once again the Paths are impure. Once more, we must wait. But unless your blood is shed, the Paths may never be cleansed! The Lord Apophis would never return to an unclean place."

"Apophis?" Alexander asked. "That's the name of your God?"

"It is!" Salvar declared. "Thousands and thousands of years ago, Apophis ruled all of Bajor. He brought His tau'ri slaves to work the mines and His Jaffa warriors to guard them. We of Bajor worshipped Him as we ought, and farmed our lands and gave Him tribute of our first fruits and first-born.

"But then wicked Ra made war upon Lord Apophis. So that we might be protected, He took the slaves and warriors and left. But before He departed, he charged His priests -the Children of the Serpent, the first-born given in tribute – to guard the chappa'ai and keep it pure against His return.

"This we did, until the rebel tau'ri came with their Federation and their starships. Those of Bajor who had forgotten their God made alliance with the rebels. We tried to overthrow the Vedek shol'va, but were betrayed. But we will not abandon our duty to Apophis! When He returns, He will find His children waiting!"

"I've heard enough!" Kira snapped. "You've already confessed to attempted murder, but after hearing all that, I think I'll have Dr Bashir look into your mental state before I go any further!"

She summoned the Security officers to take Salvar back to his cell, then turned to Alexander.

"He's clearly insane." She said. "Did any of that actually have any kind of meaning?"

Alexander was frowning. "I'm not sure...something he said….Computer, information on names Ra and Apophis."

"On Earth, Ra was the sun-god of Ancient Egypt, a major deity from the Fifth Dynasty onward. He was believed to travel in two boats, across the sky during the day, and through the underworld at night." The computer voice revealed. "Apophis was Ra's enemy, seen as a giant serpent who attempted to devour the boat and Ra each night as it passed through the underworld."

"I knew I'd heard the names before!" Alexander said. "When I was kid on the Enterprise, my father told me the legend of Kortar, the first Klingon, who slew the gods and was condemned to captain the Barge of the Dead. I asked my Human teachers if Earth had any such legends, and they did some sessions on old Earth gods – the Greek, Egyptian, Norse and others. I always liked the Norse best, especially Thor, because they seemed more like Klingons. But when Salvar mentioned Ra today, it rang a bell."

"That's a very big coincidence!" Kira said. "Even if according to Salvar, Apophis was the good guy on Bajor and Ra the bad guy."

"No stranger than four-hundred year-old Human skeletons buried in a Bajoran temple." Alexander said. "Obviously, there is more to this StarGate business than they've told us yet!"

Kira gave a short, humourless laugh. "And here we just thought it was a quick way to get from Bajor to Earth and back! Nothing is ever simple, right?

"Look, Alexander, your trip back has been delayed until tomorrow so Major Marks can recover. You could do with some sleep yourself -you haven't had any. I know how tough Klingons are, but you'll be better for some rest. Go take it easy, I'll let you know if anything else turns up."

It was early the next morning that Alexander was summoned to sickbay.

"It seems that Commander Logan wants to speak with you." Dr Bashir told him as they stood outside the ward.

"Commander Logan?" Alexander asked, incredulous.

"So it seems." Dr Bashir replied. "His commission in StarFleet was reactivated last night, after he woke up and asked to use the Comms for a while -secure channel, apparently. The commission is genuine enough, but it seems his last tour of duty was aboard the Constitution-class USS Lexington. Which is odd, as the last serving Constitution-class starship – USS Enterprise-A -was decommissioned nearly ninety years ago, and if I had to guess, I'd put my patients' age at less than fifty!"

"Odd doesn't quite cover it." Alexander noted. "Anything else I should know?"

"Well," Bashir dropped his voice, "somebody I know told me that Logan has worked for Section 31 before..."

The ward door opened and Logan stood there, in StarFleet uniform with the gold colouring of ships' services.

"I worked for the Obsidian Order and the Tal'shiar as well." He said. "I got good ears, bub, so whisperin' outside my door don't help, besides bein' bad manners.

"Anythin' else you want to tell the Captain 'bout me?"

"Only that you're an X-gene Mutant, a Feral." Bashir said. "Which means you must have been born before World War Three."

"Long time before." Logan told him.

"I thought Feral Mutants were extinct." Bashir said. "Genosha isn't part of the United Earth Government, despite all the invitations, but we do know that most if not all the Mutants there are Psykers. That strain seems to have been the only viable one."

Logan nodded. "It's the only strain that don't have lethal side effects or continuous mutation problems." He stated. "So, yeah, I'm about the last Feral, though I heard things that make me think Deadpool might still be out there somewhere.

"As to Genosha, they been through too much crap to be able to trust flatscans even now. Them folks just want to be left alone They don't want to be weaponised for StarFleet. Or spend their lives listenin' in to diplomatic or trade negotiations.

"But right now, Captain Rozhenko, I've been assigned to your command, an' I'm goin' back to Earth with you through the StarGate."

"Do I get a say?" Alexander asked.

"No, you don't." This was Siskos' voice. "I just got a call from Admiral Janeway. The orders come from her. Commander Logans' commission has been reactivated and he's been assigned to the new StarGate Division under your command, Alexander."

"Seems you've got friends in high places, Commander." Alexander noted.

"Hell, kid, if they liked me, they wouldn't give me these assignments." Logan growled. "In case you didn't notice, I just got shanghaied! Thought they abolished the press gang?"

"Me too." Alexander said. "Seems we're stuck with each other, Commander."

Logan grinned, it made him look as if he were about to go for someones' throat. "Yeah. How are you with grouchy veterans, Captain?"

"You've never met my father, have you?" Alexander replied.