Chapter 7
Jane Franken and Selon reached the Sickbay doors well before the incoherent Captain cleared the lift. They found George Kirk waiting for them.
"What took you so long? I was beginning to get worried."
The gray haired doctor looked at the fledgling vampire in irritation.
"I ought to just let him suck YOU dry... get in here, quick."
"What? I can handle him." the ancient officer appeared offended as they entered the sickbay.
"Sure you can. Be realistic. As strong as you are, your strength is only a fraction of his. And right now, he's out of his mind, and stronger than usual. He'd probably just tear your head off and drink you."
"I don't think so."
"Well then YOU stay out here. I don't want to find out. Now get behind those shields. The blood ready?" Franken roared, her staff skittering at the sound of her bellow.
"Y-yes, Doctor Franken." an orderly said, coming forward with a large container, filled to the brim with steaming red liquid.
"Mmmmmmmmmm." George sniffed the air deliciously and licked his lips.
"That's not for you." she said promptly shouldering the vampire out of the way. "Be on standby, I might need another batch."
"Uhhhh, okay." George said, not sure whether to take the woman seriously or not. He turned in time to see the sickbay doors swish open, and a mangled and burnt thing lurch in.
"My god." he whispered, "how can he be alive?"
"He's not, dunce. And neither are you, for that matter." the doctor said dryly.
From behind secure force shielding, they watched as the captain spotted the bucket of human blood placed conveniently in the middle of the open floor. He staggered towards it, and fell face first into it. The red liquid splashed messily, as Lestan immersed his entire head and proceeded to inhale the entire nine pints in just under a second. He gasped and raised his head, eyes closed, hair drenched in blood. The entire group watched as the blood absorbed itself straight into his skin. Lestan shuddered.
"Another batch! Make it snappy." Jane roared, sending the nurses skittering towards the back of the sickbay.
"Speed... is not necessary... Doctor. I... am coming... to myself." Lestan rasped, leaning over the bucket.
"Better safe than sorry, Captain. Here, blood-boy, take this out to your commanding officer." the woman growled, handing another container to George.
"What about him ripping my head off and all that?" George hesitated.
"Oh well. Ya win some, ya lose some."
"Thanks, Doc."
"Welcome."
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On board the Cardassian warship Nerefer, Gol Barvot sat in his badly listing command seat, and surveyed the bridge of his practically destroyed ship. All but two of his command personnel were dead or wounded severely. He knew a core breach was imminent, and they could no longer fight the Federation super-ship. Tiredly, the old man rubbed his forehead with one bloody hand. He had had a long career. Not distinguished to any great extent, but he had served his empire faithfully and without reservation. Even now, though he knew further resistance to be futile, he would still do what he knew to be required of him.
"Prepare a message buoy. Send a transcript of this battle, and all sensor readings we have of THAT." he gestured at the Star Tiger, on his viewscreen.
"Sir, they do not appear to be continuing the attack..."
"I know, Kerl." the old man said tiredly, "But I cannot let that ship leave this quadrant. It must be destroyed. Even if it means our own deaths."
The two younger men turned and stared at their commanding officer.
The man sitting at the weapons station nodded.
"I will begin preparation of the self destruct device."
"Thank you, Hargian." Barvot said quietly. Then the Gol touched the armrest of his command chair.
"This is Gol Barvot on the bridge. Is anyone alive in Engineering?"
There was silence, except for the sound of flames crackling. Then, a weak voice, filled with pain, yet also with determination spoke.
*Yes... I am still alive...*
"And you are...?" the bloodied officer asked, looking suprised.
*... Dinac... sub-junior engineering officer...* the voice responded, after a moment.
"Well, Cheif Engineer Dinac, I need to ask one last task of you. I want every ounce of power you can give me, shunted into the tractor beam."
*... At your command, Sir. It... will take me a moment... to get to the proper station... my legs...* the voice trailed off, overtaken by pain.
"As quickly as you can Dinac. It will be enough. Your promotion and heroism will be listed in the log before we send it. Your family will be well provided for." Gol Barvot said, his old voice almost breaking.
*... Thank you... sir. Dinac... out.*
His eyes brimming with tears, the Gol looked at the hated Federation vessel on the screen. Whatever the demon ship was, it would not be able to get away from a point blank anti-matter reaction.
"Gol Barvot, the bouy is ready."
"Thank you, Kerl. Please launch it, then."
The younger man labored over the half destroyed controls.
"Buoy away."
"I have the self destruct sequence keyed up, Sir. We have only to activate it with your voice command." Hargian said, looking up from his own labors.
"Very good. Now, if Dinac can just get the tractor beam working."
"I assume, Sir, that you intend to lock us together and blow the warp core?" Hargian asked, busying himself.
"Yes. That is my general idea." the old man said, leaning back in the dangerously creaking chair.
"A sound plan. Not the we any of us would have preferred to go, I'm sure..." Kerl almost laughed.
"Most certainly not. I wanted to retire and spend time with my wife and grandchildren." Barvot sighed. The intercom crackled. The sounds of fire from engineering were much worse, and the Gol could
barely hear the voice of Dinac.
*... It is... done. hurry... it will not last long.*
"Kerl! Lock tractor beams on that ship! Hargian, activate the self destruct code."
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"Sir, the Cardassian ship is locking onto us with tractor beams."
Kiko frowned, looking at her console.
"Oh hell. They're going to blow the warp core. Grave, back us away." Marius said, sitting up straight in the command chair.
"Working on it." the over-age Ensign said sharply.
"Reading a massive buildup in their engine room, Commander." Tzardoz sang out.
"Thomas..."
"Can't back away at impulse Sir, they've got us too securely!"
"West to Engineering!"
*Klellan here.*
"I need TransWarp, right now!"
*Understood.*
"NOW KLELLAN!!!"
The bridge crew watched as the shape of the Cardassian ship began to glow. Quickly, the ship reached critical mass, and as it exploded, the Star Tiger leapt into TransWarp. A millisecond later, the twitchy engines hiccuped, and they dropped to sublight, right behind the Illiad, who had stopped when they registered the explosion of the Nerefer. Without being asked, Grave slammed the impulse drives into reverse, in time to stop a collision with the larger ship. Unfortunately, with the Inertial Dampers partially malfunctioning, it was a slightly bumpy stop.
"Good job, Ensign." The commander said, from his position on the deck. "Lieutenant Tzardoz?"
"Yes sir?"
"You are extremely heavy. Please get OFF of me!" the old man wheezed, from the bottom of the pile.
"Yes Sir."
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Lestan stood up straight, and attempted to smooth out his destroyed uniform. Most of it had burned up from the enormous amount of power that had been shunted through him. What little was left, barely covered the essentials. Several of the female crew members were looking at the vampire captain with great curiosity. Jane Franken noticed first. She snorted and shook her head.
"Okay, ladies, break it up. Rest assured, undead or not, the equipment all works."
"Doctor!" Lestan gasped in indignation.
"Really!?" George brightened, "Oh goody!"
"Oh no." Jane sighed.
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On board the Illiad, Anton Gavrilov looked tiredly at the image of the Excelsior class vessel, which had just saved his entire ship and crew. He hated having to eat crow, and it felt like the one he was now swallowing, happened to be turkey-sized.
"Open a channel to that hunk of junk." he growled bitterly.
"Channel open, Captain."
"This is Gavrilov on the Illiad."
The viewer came on, with the image of former Admiral Marius West, sitting in the command chair. He smiled benignly at the crew cut Gavrilov.
*Captain, how good to see you again.* the voice was like an icepick through the eye. Anton Gavrilov had sat on West's court-martial hearing.
"You also, Commander. I wish to formally thank your captain and crew for bailing our fat out of the fire, back there."
*Oh, our pleasure.* West grinned evilly.
Ignoring the look, Gavrilov continued.
"How many did you rescue from the base?"
*One. Records show the rest had been tortured to death.*
"Damn them!" the Captain swore, closing his eyes, "Cardassian butchers."
*One consolation is, they won't be using that base again for a long time.* The old man said, a grim smile on his face.
"Oh? How so?"
*We activated the self destruct device for the base's power plant. It melted down right after we left orbit.*
"You had time to do all that?" the Illiad's CO asked, disbelievingly.
*Certainly. You just have to have the right crew for the job.*
Again, Gavrilov ignored the jab.
"My I offer my thanks to Captain West?"
*... Lestan is indisposed right now. Can I have him get back to you shortly?* West said, the soul of politeness.
"That would be fine, Commander. Thank you." Gavrilov grated.
*Star Tiger, out.*
The screen went dark. The Captain's eyes narrowed and his breathing increased in speed and depth. Finally, he bellowed, startling the members of his bridge crew. Calming down a moment later, he sat back in his chair and stared at the image of the ancient ship on his viewscreen.
"I hate that ship. I hate that crew. Something is not right, and I WILL find out what it is. Then we'll see who's better than who."
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In Engineering, O'Mara and the Romulan spy cum Starfleet officer Lieutenant Klellan poured over the repairs that were already underway.
"I need a left handed spanner."
"We don't have one." the Romulan replied.
"Well then, replicate one."
"I can't. They're off line right now."
"Why?" Galen asked, turning around.
"We've shunted power in to Dalek's systems, so it could try to make the drive systems work more coherently. It was a programming glitch which dropped us out of TransWarp." Klellan said, looking out from the guts of the Inertial Dampening system.
"Where am I supposed to get a left handed spanner, then?"
"Improvise. As my people would say, `Klingon rig' it."
"Ah."
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Lestan shrugged into the new uniform, and exited Jane Franken's office, sealing up the front tunic tabs. He looked up, to find the entire Sickbay crew compliment staring at him. Uncomfortably, he looked down at the floor, and moved to the door. George Kirk fell in beside him. The two vampires left together.
"Well, now the fun begins." the elder sighed, rubbing his forehead as they made for the turbolift.
"What do you mean?"
"In very short order, the entire crew is going to know what I am. You have no idea what problems this is going to cause, do you?"
"Not really." Kirk said, "Why don't you tell me?"
The lift doors swished open before them, and the two men entered.
"Bridge." the Captain said shortly, "There are several different reactions, depending on the person. Some, will automatically assume that I am the ultimate incarnation of all evil. Others will want to dissect me and study what makes an immortal man. A significant portion will want to become vampires and thereby gain their own share of immortality."
"Mmmmmm. I see what you're getting at."
"Good. Because we're going to have to find a way to effectively deal with the situation."
"What's this *we* shit, white man?" George chortled.
"As I am, so are you. So, it not so much a *me* problem as a *we* problem." the vampire captain said.
"Hmmmm. Yeah. So, what do we say?"
"We try to appeal to their better natures."
"On THIS crew?!"
"Oh, come now." Lestan said disapprovingly.
"Okay, okay. Maybe one or two have a decent nature. But the rest are borderline at best." the Commander sighed.
"Every person gets a second chance, with me. As soon as I took command of this ship and crew, their slates were wiped clean. Until I see evidence to the contrary, we are going to assume that they ALL have better natures."
George pursed his lips.
"I've got a baaaaad feeling about this."
"Hrumph. You're probably just hungry. Have you fed lately?"
"No, now that you mention it." the other shrugged.
"As soon as shift change is over, we'll grab a bite." Lestan smiled.
"Ooooo. bad pun."
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Armin Sesok sat silently at his desk. The lights were low, and he had asked not to be disturbed for any reason. It had been fully half a day since the assault on Delibes, and no word had come through official channels. Something had indeed happened on the Cardassian prison world, but they had clamped down on the story. The Admiral was sore afraid that he had lost two good ships. He didn't care what the rest of the Council thought, he knew in his heart that Lestan Darkraven and the crew of the Star Tiger had performed just as bravely in the face of death as had Gavrilov and the Illiad.
The old man ran his hand over a 3D images of a very young Marius West and himself, standing proudly on the bridge of the USS Eastwood. It had been their first assignment. The old Excelsior class vessel was currently in the Federation museum. Her career had been undistinguished, and she had never seen battle. Still, every time he stepped aboard, he experienced the same thrill of excitement, that he had every day of his youth, spent aboard the ship. Marius had been a rank Ensign, assigned to Stellar Cartography. Together, they had caused more mischief and trouble for the old Captain, Scandar Dennok, than any Starfleet officer should have had to deal with.
A single tear ran down the old man's face, as he remembered. Then, the comm unit buzzed for attention. He spun about and slammed it angrily.
"Commander Barclay, I asked NOT to be disturbed!"
*Begging the Admiral's pardon, sir, but there's a message coming in that I think warrants his attention.* Reginald, said stiffly.
"Put it through." Sesok said, spinning back to face his small desk screen. The face that appeared set the old man on his ear. Anton Gavrilov and Lestan Darkraven sat side by side on the bridge of the Illiad. The younger, blonde man's face was lit up in an easy smile, while the older Gavrilov, looked like he had just swallowed a mixture of broken glass and lye.
*Admiral, Captains Gavrilov and Darkraven reporting, Sir.*
Lestan's smile never wavered, as did Anton's scowl.
"Gentlemen! Please, report." the old man said, trying to stifle his shock and pleasure.
*Prisoner recovered. Target objective terminated. Loss of Starfleet personnel minimal.* Gavrilov said tersely.
*Actually, we've gained, in that aspect. In the course of our actions, we have recovered one Commander George Kirk. He was listed as missing in action some, what, hundred and fifty years ago? I reactivated his commission, and he's serving competently with me aboard the Star Tiger.*
"Damage to your vessels?"
*Extensive damage to the Illiad, Sir. We will need at least three months of layover time in a drydock facility.* Anton said, pausing to look at a data PAD that a passing crewman handed to him.
"And the Star Tiger?"
Lestan relaxed and lounged back in the seat which he occupied.
*None, Sir. We're still picking a few bugs out of the system, but overall, we're in fine shape. In fact, I've offered to tow the Illiad in, to save time on getting a tug out here to pick them up.* the man motioned languidly about the bridge upon which he sat. Armin could almost hear Gavrilov's teeth grinding together at the suggestion.
"Congratulations, gentlemen. Proceed, posthaste back here. There are some people who will want to thank you." the old man smiled, and burst out laughing, as Marius West wandered into view, behind the two captains. He stood behind Anton Gavrilov and made faces. The Illiad's CO looked puzzled, but did not turn about. Lestan grinned wanly, and without looking, waved a finger at his Exec.
*Understood, Sir. Gavrilov and Darkraven, out.*
The screen went back to the Federation test screen, and Armin Sesok flopped back in his chair. A smile spread across his face. He couldn't WAIT to stick this one up the Council's gigs.
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"Done." Klellan said, in the closest thing to a cheerful tone, that O'Mara had ever heard him use.
"Good. How about the software end of the problem?" the chief engineer addressed empty air.
*Also done. I have rewritten most of the ships systems programming, so that it operates smoother, cleaner and takes up much less memory. It leaves much more room for me!* the sentient program chuckled.
"Great. Well, you'll have to tutor me in it's repair. If something happens to you, I don't want to be stuck with a core problem that I can't fix." Galen said, walking across the deck, clucking to himself.
*With triple and in some cases quadruple redundancy failsafes, I very much doubt that eventuality.* Dalek replied.
"Better to be safe than sorry. Or, so I've heard you humans say."
Klellan added, following the human to look at the singularity containment unit.
O'Mara paused and scrutinized the readings. He clucked some more and nodded his head.
"What?"
"I'm amazed at how much power this thing is putting out. You really know your business, don't you?"
The Romulan shrugged, and partly smiled.
"In the Empire, one's path is chosen for you. It's best to learn very quickly, and be very good at what you're given. I just happened to like what I was given. Believe me, in our society, it's a rarity."
"Well, you're here now, and the Federation doesn't work that way."
O'Mara stated, putting a hand firmly on the former spy's shoulder.
"After release from your prison camp, I appreciate that fact." Klellan grinned.
"Sorry about that. Sometimes we're a wee bit overzealous."
"Oh, not at all! I was indeed spying. And compared to a Romulan camp, Federation prison was more like a luxury vacation."
"Well, in that case, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." the two men laughed.
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Lestan sat in his quarters and waited. He was relaxing in his favorite robe, sitting before a small table. Cross-legged on the floor, he meditated in front of the wavering flame of a large candle. He sighed when the door chimed. Beyond the barrier, was a very anxious, nervous Marius West. It was time for the questioning to start.
"Come in, Marius." the vampire said, rising fluidly to his feet.
The door slid open to reveal the started former Admiral.
"... Am I disturbing you, Sir?"
"Not a bit. And don't call me sir. Come in and have a seat."
Lestan smiled and gestured. Hesitantly, the old man entered the room.
"Relax, Marius. I have fed. And besides, I don't indiscriminately feed on my Executive officers." the ancient vampire chuckled.
"So, you admit what you are?" Marius said, entering the room cautiously.
"Of course. Why would I not? There is no law in these times stating that being a vampire is any sort of crime." Lestan replied, moving to the replicator unit.
"Samuel Adams. Thirty-three degree Fahrenheit."
"I thought you could only drink blood!"
"You are correct. This," the Captain took the mug and carried it across the room, "is for you."
"I was thinking I could use a beer, but... oh." Marius's mental shields dropped into place.
"Very good, Commander. If I had a reason to pick your mind, those shields might present me some problem. But, I do not, and have no intention of doing so. Now, can we not both relax and talk about this situation like reasonable adults?"
The mortal sat on the couch, opposite his commanding officer, who settled to the floor, behind the flame of the flickering candle.
"Very good. Now, I assume you have questions you'd like answered." Lestan said.
"Yes. Yes, I do."
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I was born into mortal life in the year of our Lord, 1745. Unlike another famous vampire of the time, I was not born into a noble house, I was but a peasant, laboring in the fields of the King. Longing for a better life meant little or nothing to most of us. This was what we were born to do, and dreaming of else, was a waste of effort. So, I think you could say, I was a rather unimaginative child. As a young man, I left my father's household, and went to find my fortune abroad.
Eventually, I ended up in the United States (which was of course, at the time, still a British possession). I was just in time for the start of the Revolution and found my fortune in being a fighter for the freedom forces of the ill-equipped Continental Army. For some odd reason, I found an aptitude for battle, and distinguished myself well in several early engagements. So well, that I became a target. For the British army, and... other things.
I had just received a commendation from General Washington, on the nineteenth of October, 1766. It was a dual celebration, really. The commendation, and my twenty-first birthday. My men proudly took me to the local Pub and we drank 'til the wee hours of the morning. It was almost dawn when I began the ride back to the Bunker House where my men slept. The rest had opted to stay in rooms at the Pub, but I felt, as leader of the unit that it was my responsibility to be with my men.
So, I left the safety of my friends and ventured out into the night by myself. The lane I chosen to ride upon was dark and infrequently used. So much the better, as I was more than slightly mortified about the state I had let myself get into. In fact I was so preoccupied with my own inebriation, that I did not feel the other presence that was with me, 'til it was far too late. He stood there, at the entrance to a graveyard. The hood and cloak he wore was ratty, and even from a distance, carried the smell of the grave. My horse sensibly balked at the presence and tried to shy away in a different direction. Being the drunken lout that I was, I manhandled the beast back in the direction I wished to go, and continued on past the silent apparition. I nodded politely, and tipped my hat, hoping that the Brother didn't realize my state of intoxication. I was religious, as were the peasants of the time. It was only much later that I lost that particular aspect of my upbringing.
I didn't see it, as it leapt upon me, in passing. But my poor horse berserked, and threw me and the clinging figure to the ground as he bolted away. I cursed and swore, struggling with the Brother, as we rolled about on the ground. Then, it laughed, and I knew what had me.
It was no religious. It was not even alive.
"VAMPI..." I started to shriek, before a filthy hand closed over my mouth. My breathing was stifled 'til I passed out.
When I awoke, it was still night out. I could tell, though I did not know how. I was surrounded by figures, all dressed in the filthy robes of my attacker. None spoke aloud at the time, though I knew that must have been as he. I did not beg or plead for my life. I knew that with such as they, it would mean very little. So, instead, I waited.
One by one, the creatures settled down around my little bier, and went into their catatonic trance which heralded the sunrise. Except for one. This one stood in the shadows and watched, as the group fell into slumber. Only when nothing else moved, did he make his appearance. He was ancient, I could tell, even by the standards of those whom were the leaders of the coven (as I came to know them). His name was... Cain. He told me a story that, to this day, I do not want to believe. He was the first son of Adam, so he said. From the original biblical tale. Cursed he was, by God, for the death of Able, his brother. Cain would walk the Earth 'til the end of time, to atone for fratricide. A mark was placed upon him, so that all others would know of his crime, and would leave him to himself. So was born the race of evil creatures which swept the world. For Cain did not repent his crime, but wallowed in his viciousness, allowing it to fester and grow. He found he had cravings for which he had no name, and could easily pass them on to others. And so, he wandered, passing this evil wherever he went. For millennia, it had no name, but those he passed the mark to, were cursed with a need for the darkness, and could endure no sustenance save blood. Somewhere along the line, our kind became known as vampires. To my knowledge, we own our existence to Cain. There have been other definitive histories written, pointing to other origins, but these are ruses, strewn as chaff through the wheat, by the Father of us all.
Back to my conversion. He told me that those in the Coven had begged for his blood. He made no secret of the fact that he had not made another one of us in some millennia. And, this one fact at least, holds true through all of the different stories that have been written of us; as we grow older, our blood grows much more powerful. Over time, we can create fledglings of immense power. Or, if we create too many, they will be weak, almost mortal in their strengths and abilities. Cain had created no new children in over five thousand years. The coven wanted him to empower them with his substance. They wished to start a war, to take over the daytime world and make it safe for their nocturnal kind. For some reason, Cain refused. It was almost as if, after so long wandering, he had begun to show signs of a Conscience. That is why he was determined to create me.
The Coven had captured me as an offering to him. But as food, he would not use me. Instead, in me, he intended to create a force that would fight all of the evil he had created in eons past. Needless to say, I was not eager to become the crusading champion of the Father of all Vampires. I had my own battles to fight at the time, and said as much. He laughed, and said that the piddling war I was involved in now, would end shortly. And then, where would I be? I had to admit, I had no answer. I paused and thought. Actually, I thought myself insufferably bright, as the sun would be rising and moment, and my captor would be forced to sleep like his children's children. Cain chuckled, for he also could read minds. He said that his stamina far outstretched that of these striplings. He could stay awake during the daylight hours if he so chose. My plan of escape would avail me naught. Again he asked, what would I do? What plans did I have for my future? I had none. He offered me a greater purpose. His vision for his own redemption. I was to chase down all of those whom he had created, and destroy those which were inherently evil. I said that would have to be all of them, since what good person in their right mind would submit to such and act? He smiled and moved to me. I do not remember the actual act of being made. I do remember my outrage and disgust that I felt some passion in it.
When I came to my senses again, Cain was gone, and my bonds were loosened. Either that, or my new strength was a factor. For I snapped them like threads and rose from the bed they had bound me to. I realized that the sun had come and gone, and that soon enough, the Coven would arise. They would be enraged that their revered one had made me, instead of giving his gift to them. I made a decision. Quickly, I grabbed two pieces of wood and rubbed them vigorously together. They fairly burst into flame in my hands. Then, I went around the room, lighting whatever I came across that looked combustible. In moments, the whole place was a conflagration. I raced out the entryway, and winced as the dying light of the sun struck my face. I had no choice, I had to leave. Quickly, I tore down several grave markers and lay the heavy blocks across the entrance to the Coven's tomb. As I turned to leave, I heard the first screams of those awakening inside, to find themselves aflame. It mattered not to me, as I knew that my maker was long gone. I turned, and fled from the graveyard. Out in the already darkening lane, I looked about, wildly. I had no idea where to go, or what to do. Then, unbidden, it came to me. I went back to my unit. Resumed my duties, and became the greatest planner and executor of the nighttime campaign that the Revolution had ever seen. As we traveled in battle, I eliminated each cell of vampires that I found. Very few had ever tried to employ their abilities for good. I myself, spent some time debating over the morality of taking human life. Any human life, even that of an evildoer, was, I was taught, sacred. I suffered each time I took a life, no matter how bad that life had been. Somehow, it seemed different to me, in battle. As an officer, I was very rarely fighting on the front lines. The fact was recognized that I was much too valuable to have holed by a bullet. Ah, if they had only known!
The centuries flew by quickly for me, and, unlike some, I never sought the comfort of the dark earth. I lived and learned, grew and changed with the times. My past has never left me. Sometimes, there are parts of it that give even me, nightmares. In any event, the centuries all seemed to run together after that. Before I knew it, some of us had escaped into space. Rather than face and fight their executioner, they chose instead to go elsewhere, in the off chance that alien blood was just as nourishing as human. Well, it is. Though I must admit, it is a bit of an acquired taste. So, I left Earth in the early years of the twenty-first century, not very long after Zephrane Cochrane actually invented the drive. I was the test pilot for the second ship. The others had left in sleepers, decades before. I managed to catch up with several of them. But many more escaped. It has been always my mission, no matter how I was sidetracked, to hunt these renegades down. Wherever I have gone, I have always discharged this duty. Dubious as it may be, the honor is all mine.
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Marius West sat silent, as his Captain finished the story. Lestan's eyes were closed most of the time, and after he was done, he sat unmoving. Waiting for the jumble of thoughts and questions in the mortal man's mind to arrange themselves into a more orderly conglomeration.
"My god."
"Hmmmmmm? Oh. Well, technically, the power comes from God, but it was a curse. So everyone attributes it to the work of *Satan*. Personally, I've never met one vampire who had any working knowledge of the Evil One. They were just as `in the dark' about the forces of good and bad as mortals are."
"How many?"
"Pardon?" Lestan opened his eyes.
"How many have you killed?"
Lestan paused and thought.
"It's very hard to keep track, after all this time. That, and I try not to think about it too much. But, probably somewhere around three-hundred thousand."
"Three hundred...?? My god..."
"And unfortunately, Marius, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Imagine all of those vampires, creating other vampires, over the course of who knows how many eons? There must be almost as many vampires by this time, as living mortal beings."
"Impossible. That has to be fundamentally incorrect. If that were true, there would be a very finite food source... oh."
"Exactly. The event of the Replicator. We can effectively dispense with mortals altogether, if we chose. You are no longer really a link in the chain." Lestan smiled wanly.
"And... this is all you've ever done? Then why Starfleet?" the old man asked.
The vampire smiled.
"Ever wonder how many of your fellow officers weren't quite what they seemed?"
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Anton Gavrilov looked hollowly at the image on his forward viewscreen. The Star Tiger streaked through warp space, Illiad in tow. He ground his teeth together in pent up rage. Already the ship's doctor had repaired his lower molars once, and warned him against further stress on them.
"Ensign Berak, I want you to scan that ship."
"Sir?"
"Scan that ship! I want to know whatever our sensors can tell us about it."
"Captain, I can certainly scann them, but it won't be secret. Especially at this range. They're going to wonder what the deal is."
"If they question it, tell them we're testing repairs we've made on the scanners." the Captain barked.
"Yes, Sir."
"Mister Dagrun."
"Yes Captain?"
"I want information on the Excelsior class vessels. Crew compliment, standard equipment, offensive and defensive capabilities."
"Yes Sir. But is the Captain taking into account the actual ship?"
"What do you mean?" the steel gray hair gleamed above the officer's crinkling forehead.
"The Star Tiger was the first prototype ship in the class. There was another model produced later with slightly different specs. That was Admiral Sulu's ship, the Excelsior. His vessel became the standard. The Star Tiger was mothballed as a failed experiment."
"You seem to know a lot on the subject, crewman."
Jeffery Dagrun ducked his head slightly.
"My grandfather was the man in charge of the original project. He told me about the Star Tiger. Said him and the rest of the Engineers who worked on the project considered it to be a cursed ship. Nothing ever worked right. The TransWarp engines were never even started up. At least they could never get them started. That's why they built another test ship, the Excelsior."
"Those TransWarp engines seem to be working quite well now." the Captain grunted, glancing again at the ancient ship on his screen.
"Yes Sir. That has puzzled me too. Grandpa said they couldn't even get a proper cold test on them. They had the core working full blast, and not an erg of energy was getting to the engines. Weirdest thing I ever heard of."
"Sounds like gremlins to me." the science officer interjected, bent over his console.
"Pardon, Mister Maxal?"
"Eh? Oh, sorry sir. Thinking out loud to myself. One of my aunts told me about these mythical little creatures called gremlins. They supposedly like to cause mischief. They have an affinity for all things mechanical. Sounds like the old Star Tiger had an infestation of 'em." the sandy haired man said, grinning sheepishly.
"Thank you for that colorful bit of history, Lieutenant. I think we all benefited a bit from that one." Gavrilov said dryly, a half smile on his face.
"Yes Sir."
"Shall I start the scan, Captain?"
"Yes." Anton said, looking thoughtfully at the screen. His gut told him that there was something WRONG with that ship. Before they got back to dock, he intended to know what.