Star Trek: Maximillian BEYOND THE FINAL FRONTIER

Chapter Eleven R E V O L U T I O N S

Written by Chris Stephenson

 

Editors Note:  This story is a serial novel, taking place about 3 years ago, using characters that served on the Maximillian at that point in time. New chapters can be found monthly in "The Mighty Max" and online at Maximillian.org Past chapters can also be found at Maximillian.org.  

Critch blinked, and awoke, lying in a pile of broken metal and grating. He shook off the general fuzziness that affected him as his systems attempted to readjust themselves, and he remembered what had happened. The sight of the other occupant of the vessel had shaken him, and he chose to believe that he had imagined the entire incident, that possibly the visage of his adversary was so terrible that his systems simply couldn't comprehend it, and reset themselves, displaying Critch's face. He closed his eyes, trying to shake off the memory. If he had seen what he knew he had, what could this mean? He couldn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it. No, he would instead focus on the task at hand: Finding the power source of this vessel, and disabling it, or destroying it. No easy task, considering what the sheer size of this vessel was now. But it had to be done. It would be better if he knew how much time he had, if Admiral Lyon had been more forthcoming with his information.

It was Lyon, Critch decided, Lyon that had caused all of this. If the plan had went as scheduled, if he had been allowed to come along and be in charge instead of some obscure excuse, about how he was 'too close to the situation', things would have turned out much different. Instead of menial work on the Maximillian, he would have been able to pour over their plans for the extra time needed to make them successful, instead of the disaster they had turned out to be. It was a miracle that things were going as well as they were. At the very least, he was still here, and that brought some comfort to his mind. He chuckled as he began to stand slowly, his circuits and gears noisily complaining as he did so, even though he felt no pain.

He was sure Lyon was mad as he'd ever been, knowing that Critch was the only thing left that could stop this thing. Critch stretched as he reached his standing position, still unable to shake some long-standing provision in his program to act as human-like as possible, and looked around his new location.

It looked, not surprisingly, much the same as it did on the upper levels. Grating and catwalks and alien panels stretching into the distance for miles and miles, going on for much longer than the exterior of the vessel would suggest, and Critch thought a moment about what this entailed. He had heard things about subspace pockets, ships from the future that could hide things much larger than themselves inside them. He wondered for a moment if this might be some sort of holodeck. The average holodeck had a relatively small size, but when the right program was running, would have expanses as large as the imagination of the user, and sometimes beyond even that. He dismissed it almost as soon as it came to his mind. The fall he had taken seemed to discount that hypothesis. He had turned off most of his sensors on the way down, did not want to know if his existence would be ended by a sharp spear or something else. He just hoped for the best, as usual, counting on his superiority and his uncanny luck to come through this ok. He began to walk carefully, avoiding the debris that he had apparently knocked down when he either plowed through something or ran into during his plummet. He thought more about the ship, and its vast power.

And what of the being in this place? The apparent Doppelganger that had killed members of the Rapid Response Team, had fought Critch to a standstill, and then, just as he had began, had withdrew, and had eventually tried to welcome Critch. He didn't know what it meant, and Critch hated being in a place where he didn't have all the answers, or couldn't pretend he knew everything about the situation. He shook his head as he strolled slowly through the lower deck, glancing all around, looking for any sign of his adversary. He thought about the few races that he knew of that were capable of taking on other life form's looks. Certainly the most dangerous beings were the Founders, beings that had led an invasion recently into the quadrant. But this didn't seem their style. They seemed more likely to use other races to do their dirty work, or simply just to blend in among the Federation, entangling themselves in the politics until such time that they could attack with the most damage. He mulled over the other races. Some hadn't been seen in some time, others were too rare to even be an option. He supposed he couldn't remove the Errsedorians, Admiral Blobbin's race, completely from this thought. Normally Blobbin was in the form that had given him his name, a blob of mercury with a great grin. From what he had heard, though, the race was pretty far away, and not capable of such a thought. This was the race, Critch had heard from Blobbin's stories, that had let themselves be enslaved by an empire just because their homeworld was boring. He allowed a smile as he thought of an evil Errsedorian, and shook off that thought. But the blood of this thing was silver, that was true enough. It had left a shining splatter after the initial encounter, and this worried Critch most of all.

Because he knew that the fluids that lubricated the circuits inside him, though the Federation and he himself had no idea of their content, were silver and thick, like blood itself, and just like the liquids of his enemy. He wouldn't allow himself to see the obvious, having learned many times since his awakening that the obvious is usually only there to throw you off the scent of what the truth really is. He wouldn't, couldn't, let himself even consider the fact that this thing was one of his people. That they could be on the same side.

Critch continued to move for several more minutes, noting that the exterior of the vessel had moved away from the populated systems of the Gorn worlds, and he wondered for a moment what had happened, regretting that he had switched off so many of his recording sensors from the fall. He figured he would find out later. There were few stars in the region of space that the vessel was moving through, and so the interior was dark, only lit by a few purple lights of curious design, sort of a loop hanging from a string which started out from the very top of the vessel, a top that Critch couldn't see even with his vision. Critch's vision did not fail him when it came to studying his surroundings, however, as he could make out the many panels and lettering that he had passed by. He noted that the coloring of the panels had changed, though he still couldn't read what they had said. They did seem somewhat familiar, though unmistakably alien to any race, species, or group that the Federation had ever encountered. He was able to extrapolate from what he knew that he was in a different section of the ship, and this brought some comfort, because it promoted familiarity, that this thing had at least something in common with ships that he had come into contact with, with the type of equipment and systems that he had been trained and learned on, and that would mean that everything would be run from a central power source. Which could be destroyed, or disabled. And that was a very encouraging thought.

Finding it amongst this expanse, however, was another thing altogether. Baby Steps, he reminded himself. First he get his bearings, then he would find the source.

What did worry him, more than anything, was the fact that the Maximillian was not following him. He had grown accustomed to the ship, to it's crew, and considered it his home more than any other ship he had ever belonged to. It was as strong as any ship in the fleet, certainly had more character than the almighty Enterprise, which seemed to just be in the right place in the right time more than anything else. He had faith in Captain Septaric, despite her status as a rookie to the Captaincy, to get the job done, though he would have been a bit more proactive in attacking this vessel. But alls well that ends well, he thought, still confident in his own abilities, and the abilities of the Mighty Max. He did wonder where they were, though...probably cooking up a surprise attack, knowing the collection of knowledge that existed on that ship right now. Three of the most decorated Admirals in the fleet were on the ship right now, he knew they would not disappoint.

A sudden clanging sound, as if something clattering to the metal ground, caught Critch's ear, and he stopped suddenly, taking up a defensive position. He waited a full minute before walking again, his hearing senses up as high as he could. But there was no sound, and no sight of anything. So he walked again, more alert as he went, knowing one thing now.

He was not alone.

The Maximillian floated in space, having been beaten soundly.

Barely escaping the destruction of the Gorn planet, it was severely damaged. Many of it's systems lay in ruin, and many crewmembers had been lost in the battle. The Errsedorian shielding had worked, for the most part, protecting from the beam that had in one hit destroyed everything else it had encountered, including an entire station, the Archer Observatory. But for the moment, all thoughts on the bridge, of the remaining command crew, were of their Captain, still lying against the first officer's chair, burnt, dead. And all eyes were on Admiral Robert Lyon, as he slumped in the chair that had just recently been reluctantly given to him. And for the first time, Lyon realized that he may have made a mistake. He looked up, at the crew looking at him, some with tears in their eyes, all expectant, waiting for his orders. And he saw Admiral T'Kill, his fists clenched, his head down. Even Admiral Blobbin could not make a joke at this point. And if he had attempted to, T'Kill would have stopped him.

T'Kill shook his head, and muttered, "We shouldn't have come out here."

Blobbin glanced up. "Why not? I'm certainly having a swell time." A sarcastic little grimace could be noticed, but T'Kill said nothing, as Lyon stood up, finally. Damn it, it was his ship now. It may be a mistake, but he would not let Septaric die in vain, and he would not let the aggression of the vessel go unpunished. The crew looked expectantly, seeming to stare into his soul, as he spoke.

"Medical teams to the bridge." He spoke silently, directly to the computer. "Stand down from red alert." He waited for the lights to return to their usual state of brightness, which only served to illuminate the destruction on the bridge. He turned to Science Officer Kelvok. "Send all sensors information since the explosion to my ready room." He turned again as another officer, Ben Ayers, rushed to a still functioning console. "Mr. Ayers, best possible speed on last known course and trajectory of the vessel."

"Yes sir...but Engineering reports that warp speed is unavailable..."

"Tell them to fix it. Best possible speed, Mr. Ayers."

"Aye." Lyon looked over the bridge, took a last look at Captain Septaric's body, and silently cursed this turn of events. Then walked steadily, quickly to his ready room. He knew he would be followed, and wished that this upcoming argument would be as private as possible. As he entered the room, and the door closed behind him, he heard it immediately open again, and knew who had entered the room. Of the people he trusted most in the world, it was his friend, Turock T'Kill, that he trusted the most. Having met in the academy, along with Admiral Blobbin, and being close ever since, the two men, one human and one Romulan, knew each other better than any other person on the Maximillian. And they had seen their share of Maximillians destroyed. The name had followed them throughout their careers, and both were irrevocably changed by it. By this, along with everything else, they were connected for life. Lyon, then, knew what Turock was there for.

"Go ahead, Turock." Lyon sat behind the desk, and folded his hands together.

Turock shook his head. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Taking back this ship, trying to get us all killed..."

Lyon sighed. "Trying to stop this....trying to keep anything else from happening..."

"It's time to stop, Rob, we couldn't help the Gorn, and now Septaric..."

"Over a billion lives just ended, Turock." Lyon stood up, and walked around the desk. "And that thing is headed towards Earth. Or, at least, that's where it was headed when it disappeared.

Back on it's original course." And it's my fault. Lyon didn't add what he felt in his heart.

"Get the fleet together, Rob. It's too big for just the Maximillian anymore."

"Not yet. We're still in one piece..."

"Barely." T'Kill interrupted.

Nonplussed, Lyon continued. "And now we have the element of surprise. They're going where we're going. And we can hurt them."

"Your torpedoes didn't do anything to them last time!"

"The yield was too small, if we increase it..."

"Rob, even Blobbin doesn't understand Errsedorian Technology! If we don't watch what we're doing..."

"You rang?" Blobbin pudged his way into the ready room, glancing at the two Admirals. Turock stopped mid-sentence.

"Uh...if you're here, and we're here..."

"Relax, I left Kelvok in charge out there, he at least acts like he knows what he's doing. Unlike you people. The weapons can go higher in yield. I oversaw their construction, and they did come here with me, remember. And we're all going to blow up pretty big anyway, we might as well do it with my rockets o' fun."

Turock shook his head. "You two are dealing with a lot more than just us here. The lives of every human on Earth could depend on us..."

"Call your ships, Turock." Lyon looked at him seriously.

"What?"

"If I'm wrong, then the fleet will try and take care of it. They have to be outfitted with the new torpedoes and shields, however, otherwise they'll last about as long as the Gorn did. Blobbin, you see to that." Blobbin formed a short arm out of himself, waved it around in the air a few times, and saluted wildly.

"There's your insurance. At last speed, before it headed off, the vessel will arrive in Sector 1 in.." He glanced at the screen on his desk. "About Three solid days. Should be enough time to form some kind of fleet together?"

"Depending on how far away the current missions are." Turock said, gruffly.

"What happens if this "Rob fleet" doesn't win?" Blobbin added.

"Guys...we don't have any other options. With any luck, we can disable it before it gets to Earth."

"I'll put in for the council to evacuate..." Turock went to leave the room.

"Don't...It won't make any difference if we fail." Lyon said, sadly.

Blobbin shook the head part of his form. "Rob...I'm the last person to tell you about going off half-Looney, but you've been acting Ahab-y this whole trip. At least tell us what's going on. You know something, fine, but at least tell us what's happening!"

Lyon shook his head. "It's my responsibility to keep this ship safe, to keep this fleet together. I can't do this with anyone else."

Turock fumed for a moment. "Damn it, Rob, it's too late for your soliquies. We're all in this together. Even the puddle there." Blobbin looked affronted, but said nothing as Turock continued. "It's always been that way, since the whole thing began! The three Captains, and now the three Admirals, and it's always going to be us, until it's all over! You can't shut us out, not from this. Listen to what's in your head!"

Lyon chuckled. "A Romulan telling me about controlling my feelings. The decision has been made, gentlemen." Lyon sat, punching a few buttons on his screen. "Blobbin, call Starfleet, start getting those ships together. Turock...before you begin getting hold of your ships...report to Engineering."

"Engineering! Now wait just a damn minute..."

"Engineering is where Kragnar is, and I'd very much like it if he could be told about his sister before it starts spreading through the ship."

"And where are you going to be?" Blobbin said, accusingly.

Lyon stood, pulling down on his uniform shirt, and walked around the table. "Stellar Cartography. Getting some exact locations of this thing, and where we can head it off at."

Turock looked at Lyon, angrily. "Fine. Kelvok seems capable enough...I would recommend relinquishing command to him, Rob, once this is all over with."

"Weren't you the one that argued against Septaric being in command? Argued that we should look outside the Max for once after what happened with Tamak?"

"I saw him when we were under fire, Rob. How long has he been with us, seen the things we've seen? Man can hold his own."

"Duly noted, Admiral. Let's get to work." Together, the three Admirals moved out of the ready room, united in purpose, even if they were divided by their feelings, and opinions.

"Hold the cords together! Switch those circuits out! We need it now, mister!" Chief Engineer Amy Armstrong Thomas was too busy to think about what she was saying. Operating solely on instinct and adrenaline, she moved through the top level of Engineering with drive and purpose. Her mind focused on one thing: Getting this ship back together, fulfilling the wishes of the Admiralty. That was the mission sent down from the Bridge, and she would be damned if she didn't do her absolute best to fulfill their wishes, despite her inexperience. Captain Septaric was inexperienced too, and look how far she got? Up there, together with the Admirals, fighting against things that she couldn't even begin to imagine. She much preferred it down here, around the machines and the people that she understood. Aliens and strange vessels were foreign to her, and nothing that she wished to investigate. Down here, in the engineering bay of the Maximillian, she knew every piece of equipment, and every thing that could happen with it.

Maybe she wasn't the best in the fleet, but she knew this ship better than anyone else, and for her, that was enough.

She paced the floor, spotting sparks flying out of consoles, and realized that at this point she didn't really have to issue any orders. Anything that she was going to say was already being done. They were doing it, they were winning the war. Soon the power would be restored, and they would be able to go to warp, if their Captain deemed it necessary. And everything would return to normal, and she could resume her usual state of improving the ship's systems, and getting them to operate at maximum capacity. She smiled almost in spite of herself. For once, everything was going to work out.

As she looked down upon her people, busily fixing the many damaged consoles and circuits, and trying their best to prevent an unlikely warp core breach, she noticed a curious sight. Admiral T'Kill, walking purposefully, yet slowly, through the deck. She was about to call down to him, when she realized by the look on his face that he was not there to share good news, and he wasn't looking for her. Instead, he had chosen a deliberate path, finding Commander Kragnar, still ordering scared-looking ensigns around. A Klingon's touch is something that was needed around here at times, she noted, if nothing else but to keep discipline up. She watched curiously, stopping her rushing around for one moment as the Admiral reached the Klingon, and gestured for Kragnar to follow him into an empty room, usually used for staff meetings. She watched through the window there, not hearing any of the words through the glass and the now closed door as Turock spoke, his face a picture of serious discussion, and he watched as, after a moment, Kragnar seemed to deflate, his Klingon bravado and bulk leaving him. He began to breathe heavy, and Turock frowned, put a hand on his shoulder, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Within an instant, Kragnar transformed. He could still not be heard over the roar of the work being done, but Thomas could see his frustration, and he appeared to bellow mournfully, and began angrily smashing chairs against the window, the doors, the desk, breaking the wooden table into a splintered pile. It took Lieutenant Thomas a moment before she realized what was said, and for a moment, she felt like smashing things too.