The Adventures of Augment Gothic (A Star Trek SI)

by Joe Lawyer

A present-day Star Trek fan is forcibly thrust into that dimension and made anew as an Augment, a genetically engineered superman, on the whim of a mischievous god. Armed with knowledge of this dimension's past and future, he's determined to live well, have fun with alien women, and make it look easy. Elements of DS9/TNG/Voy/Ent. Originally co-written with GothicJedi666.

12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to or part of Star Trek. This fan fiction was written purely for fun.

Author's Note:

The Adventures of Augment Gothic

"It is not the strongest species that survive, nor the most intelligent, but the ones most responsive to change." – Charles Darwin

Chapter 12 –

Augment Gothic 7

Unnamed L-Class Planet.

Looking around at the desolate landscape of this L-Class planet, T'Maz couldn't help but feel almost like she'd come home. The planet's arid climate and sparse vegetation reminded her of her own native Vulcan's topography, which worked out rather well, considering. The planet's similarities to Vulcan had nothing to do with why Section 31 had set up a nascent Vulcan science outpost here, with a colony starting to rise up around it.

The outpost and Vulcan colony were mere camouflage for its true secret purpose, but it had been a fortunate coincidence that the planet had been so like Vulcan itself; it had helped reinforce the deception. Vulcans creating a new colony on a planet with conditions so similar to their home world, well, that certainly seemed logical to her, and hopefully that sentiment would be shared by both the Federation's allies and enemies. Sometimes random chance and circumstance helped in unexpected ways.

Walking slightly ahead of her, Gothic was carefully making his way to the outpost, following a narrow natural path that already existed. His head was constantly moving, seemingly hypervigilant and aware of his surroundings, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. Given the strange circumstances he'd encountered already, coupled with the lack of proper greeting from the planet's inhabitants, both when they'd made orbit and later when they'd touched down on the planet, perhaps his caution was justified, but it still seemed rather excessive to her.

Her eyes lingered on the weapons that were still visible on his person. The sheer number of weapons he had brought on this mission certainly seemed excessive to her. As best she could determine, he was inexplicably wearing two 23rd century type-2 phasers, which he had obviously modernized to some degree, a current type-1 phaser, a combat knife, a sword of all things, and some kind of advanced underclothes armor of a design that she was entirely unfamiliar with.

Given the man's brilliance and inventiveness, she wouldn't be surprised if he'd created the unique designs himself. The rate at which he learned, and his test scores in the Starfleet Academy learning programs, had been so high and so fast, they'd broken every record that had previously existed by a considerable margin, by any race that had previously taken them. After verifying that no tampering or cheating had taken place, they had quickly been classified by Starfleet and further protected by Section 31. They had worked far too hard to minimize the amount of attention on Gothic, hiding the fact that a human Augment was present on Earth and in the modern day, for his scholastic achievements to draw the attention of their many adversaries.

The blades Gothic carried did not appear to be for decorative, historical, or for ceremonial use. They had obviously been carefully designed by the man displaced in both time and space with advanced metallurgy and materials technology for maximum effectiveness. Outside of certain ceremonial weapons kept and practiced more for their historical and cultural significance than anything else, you would need to go back several millennia into Vulcan's distant past to find an example of a Vulcan wearing a bladed weapon whose purpose was to actually be used as a weapon of violence or war. It was an extreme anachronism in the modern day for most species, with the possible exception of the Klingons.

The only analog in the modern day for Vulcan, arguably, would be the lirpa, a traditional melee weapon consisting of a metal staff with a fan-shaped blade on one end and a club on the other. Lirpas were still used by a scant few who traveled into the most inhospitable parts of Vulcan's Forge, places in the vast desert whose unstable electromagnetic properties rendered modern energy weapons useless. Outside of that rare and limited circumstance, lirpas were also still used in the 'kal-if-fee,' the traditional mating challenge during the ponn farr. To the best of her knowledge, though, there hadn't been a true mating challenge for over a century at the very least and even longer before that single isolated incident involving Ambassador Spock when he served aboard the Enterprise.

Gothic obviously still felt like there was some utility to these blades, else he would not be carrying them into what he perceived to be a dangerous situation where combat was possible. From what she'd observed of the man's personality during her training of him, and Section 31's profilers had previously deduced, the man was extremely pragmatic and efficient. She was still dubious, however, as to what value these blades had in the modern era, where energy weapons were far more useful. Perhaps it was some lingering nostalgia from his own time and dimension?

When Agent Sloan had asked her to conduct Gothic's training in the ways of Section 31's procedures and methodology, she had been intrigued, though curious why so many resources were being expended on his recruitment. An opportunity to meet with a human Augment from the 20th century, from the era of Khan in Earth's past, during the Eugenics Wars, was an intriguing prospect. That the man was from another dimension and the past, added even more appeal.

Of course, there were a good number of genetically engineered humans in the Federation known to Section 31, including some whose genetic improvements/manipulations had not been discovered. Despite the illegality of it and the rather unusually severe consequences, some humans strongly disagreed with the prohibition humanity had imposed on itself and sought the improvements many other races, in and out of the Federation, had successfully made to themselves. The vast majority were caught fairly quickly, due to one unexpected issue or another cropping up that exposed the tampering, but a very small minority managed to find success each year. Some had speculated that the cause of these unexpected outcomes and effects was that the human genome could be rather unpredictable at the best of times, others that humanity's long prohibition on genetic engineering had led to a dearth of expertise and experience in this area and that was the true cause. Without a change in the law to empirically test each possibility, only guesswork remained.

Gothic, however, was the rarest of examples, a genetically modified human who showed no adverse effects whatsoever, only true improvements and enhanced capabilities working harmoniously. Dr. Crusher, CMO of the starship Enterprise, as she had written in her report to Starfleet Medical, might have the right of it. Gothic's physiology might represent the extremely distant and improbable future of the human form and many in Section 31's medical research division wanted to learn what they could from him. The man's DNA was a roadmap to future success as Gothic's genetic enhancements both in breadth and timing, made as an adult, was far, far beyond Federation medical technology.

The man's current state was a visible example of his enhanced physiology. Gothic had insisted on landing his ship a significant distance from the outpost out of 'an abundance of caution and healthy dose of paranoia', as he had put it. Despite the ambient temperature being in excess of 115 degrees Fahrenheit, the man was hardly even perspiring.

Of course, when Section 31 had learned about Gothic's existence and origins, plans had been created and assets readied and dispatched to eliminate this possible threat to the Federation, should it prove necessary. The Augments of Earth's past had nearly led to the extinction of the human race. A century and a half later, a mere handful of Khan-era Augments had nearly started a war with the Klingon Empire that could have led to Earth's destruction once again. When the Klingons had tried to create their own Augments with stolen DNA, they had nearly destroyed themselves and they'd never truly forgotten (or forgiven) humanity's role in that debacle, despite it being their own fault.

Section 31 was taking no chances. The Klingon Empire was already far too unstable and unpredictable at the moment for their comfort to add this new variable into the mix. Attracting their interest and attention in Gothic could have profound and unforeseeable ramifications in the short- to mid-term.

After months of close observation and surveillance, both on the Enterprise and on Earth, however, their fears had been allayed. The man, a product of his time, had rejected wholesale adoption of Federation culture and ideals, but had shown none of the rampant megalomania, the urge for conquest, or the extreme narcissism of the Augments of Khan's era. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The man seemed quite aware of his weaknesses and limitations and laudably sought to eliminate or mitigate them. He also seemed favorably disposed to working with the Federation and appeared to have no animus towards it.

The Augments of that bygone era had been belligerent, arrogant, and ambitious, with a diminished sense of morality. Doctor Arik Soong, in the 22nd century, had theorized that a defect in the genomes of the Augments created a malformation in the base-pair sequences that regulated the neurotransmitter levels in their brains, causing them to be highly prone to aggression and violent behavior. Subsequent advances in DNA mapping had borne this out to be true.

Whether Gothic's differences from those Augments of the past were the result of far more advanced genetic engineering techniques and capabilities, the fact that the man had lived a normal life till adulthood before being made an Augment, or perhaps random chance, was unknown. The man was certainly ambitious, and eager to learn as much as he could about this time, but surveillance reports often indicated a clear recognition of his own limits and his own mortality, showing a constant need to learn about the time he found himself in, digging deeply into the early history of both Earth and the Federation to better understand them.

From recordings of various conversations, both on the Enterprise and on Earth, Gothic had expressed a great deal of respect and admiration for Earth's advancements and accomplishments, relative to his time, and the Federation itself, but it was not the complete acceptance and adoration that other time travelers from the past had exhibited during their acclimation process.

As Gothic had put it on more than one occasion, he 'refused to drink the Federation Kool-Aid.' The exact meaning of this phrase was still not fully understood, but subsequent conversations and analysis by some of Section 31's top linguists, sociologists, and historians, had concluded it was likely an idiomatic phrase or a colloquialism from his time, likely in reference to some historical event that had not occurred in this dimension's history.

As best as they could determine, the saying possibly represented a warning against blind obedience or loyalty, or an admonition against making an unbreakable commitment, or was a warning of the dangers in the blind acceptance of an ideology by failing to see or recognize obvious flaws or recognition of harsh realities. One researcher's belief that it was advice to avoid overly sugary drinks that violated modern nutritional guidelines had been quickly and summarily rejected.

Many in the organization had felt the saying was rather apropos of Section 31's overall mission and mindset, to preserve and protect the Federation from itself, especially when its ideals of peaceful exploration and friendship with other races and polities were taken too far, when it failed to recognize the harsh realities of the galaxy and the existential threats that needed to be dealt with by any means necessary, even at the expense of those lofty ideals.

Gothic had somehow recognized this truth almost intrinsically, and possibly that an organization like Section 31 already existed, working behind the scenes to keep the Federation in existence. Whether it was the man's genetically enhanced intelligence and intuition that had allowed this, or the man's upbringing on a far more primitive and distrustful version of Earth, was unknown. Gothic's extreme abilities and pragmatic perspective had likely led to his recruitment, but Agent Sloan refused to provide any more information on that subject. The organization did not ultimately need or require blind devotees in its ranks who drank the 'Federation Kool-Aid', only a willingness to see the galaxy for what it truly was, rather than what we wished it to be.

Her introspection was ended by Gothic slightly turning around and giving her body a frank and appreciative look over. The smile, or was it a smirk, indicated he found her body and clothing aesthetically pleasing.

She had to admit, at least in the privacy of her own thoughts, that she found Gothic aesthetically pleasing as well. Virtually all of the women (and some of the men) in Section 31, who had viewed the surveillance records of Gothic's various sexual congresses with women aboard the Enterprise and on Earth, had expressed a desire to 'get some of that for themselves.'

She could understand the sentiment, no matter how crudely it was put. Over the course of their time spent together, during his training missions, she had felt a strong and increasing sexual desire for the man as well. While her stated reasons for offering sex to the man were valid, to increase his morale and to further her understanding of human sexuality, she had desired him greatly in a more general sense. If she was not years away from her next Pon Farr, she would almost worry the madness was approaching, the desires had become that strong. Other females had reported a similar phenomenon onboard the Enterprise that increased with exposure.

Gothic's strength and stamina were extreme and their sexual congress was equally as extremely satisfying. She suspected he was using his genetically enhanced intelligence, memory, and intuition to increase her pleasure to heights she'd never experienced before. Indeed, her ability to suppress her emotions during their liaisons had been severely tested on several recent occasions as his ability to draw out her pleasure seemingly increased with each encounter, like she was a puzzle he was becoming increasingly familiar with.

His essence, his sexual fluids, also had a very curious effect on her. Vulcans were naturally more in tune with their bodies, able to detect the presence of disease and illness long before symptoms presented. Her body had been strangely affected when she'd swallowed his semen or when he filled her body vaginally with the same. A temporary increase in energy and a greater sense of wellness, were the result. She intended to closely monitor the situation and learn what she could by gathering as much empirical evidence as required. Part of her hoped it would require many, many more such 'observations.'

"You look fantastic in that outfit, T'Maz," Gothic complimented.

"I should hope so, Gothic, you did replicate this outfit for me and I am wearing it at your request," she responded matter of factly.

Gothic had provided her a formfitting, white bodysuit, with a textured pattern and a zipper enclosure that ran from neck to bellybutton. It also possessed a few inches wide white band around the waist, sitting rather low on her wide hips and narrow waist.

"And you pull it off rather well; that's all you," Gothic said.

"Is this clothing white to better regulate internal body temperature by reflecting more sunlight?" she asked. "If so, this was unnecessary, as a Vulcan I am used to far higher average surface temperatures."

If she had to describe the look on his face, she would say he looked almost 'sheepish.'

"Yes, yes, that's why it's white," he responded, rather quickly in her opinion.

"I can not help but wonder something further. This style of clothing is archaic in some respects. If my memory serves, my ancestor, Subcommander T'Pol, wore something similar on several occasions in the historical holoprogram chronicling the first five-year mission on Archer's Enterprise."

The sudden and boisterous laugh from the genetically engineered human was quite loud in the silence, as if he couldn't help himself.

"Guilty, T'Maz," Gothic said, continuing to laugh for a moment before coming to a stop and meeting her eyes. "I'm a very big fan of your ancestor and that program, and the time it chronicles."

"May I ask why?"

Her question caused him to look quite introspective for several long silent moments.

"Well, your ancestor was super-hot, and I have a bit of a crush on her. She was also a pioneer, a trailblazer for your race, whose association with Earth played a very large part in Vulcan and Earth coming closer together, eventually leading to the founding of the Federation. Most people give credit to Spock, but I personally feel T'Pol was far more responsible for that and at a time when it was far, far more of an act of courage and will. As for the time and that early mission, it's rather fascinating to me, T'Maz," he answered. "You're going to have to forgive me if my answer is overly Earth- and humanity-centric in viewpoint, but I can't help it. I'm human and come from a time in which we were the only known sentient race in all the universe."

"That viewpoint is common amongst pre-contact, pre-warp civilizations," she explained. "What fascinates you so?"

"That mission. It's a glimpse of humanity and Earth pre-Federation, a hundred years after meeting an alien race for the first time, realizing that they're not alone, when they were taking their first unsteady steps into the wider galaxy, unsure of themselves and unknowing of the many dangers they'd face. I- I can recognize those people, connect with those people, far more than I do the humans of Earth now. I'm taking those same first, unsteady steps myself."

He paused for several seconds, as if he was ordering his thoughts.

"Captain Archer starts off so damn idealistic! So full of hope. He's representative of humanity, carrying the collective hopes and dreams of a race wishing to join a friendly community of races out amongst the stars. Then harsh reality sets in, he's attacked over and over again by hostile species left and right. Members of his crew are killed. Then the real turning point, the Xindi probe attacks Earth and kills 7 million of its people and they learn the Xindi are preparing to destroy Earth itself. Archer changes fundamentally after that. The rose-tinted glasses he's viewed the galaxy with have been taken off and he realizes what humanity has to do to survive as part of that community of races. His mission is clear now, less hopes and dreams and more hard, uncaring realities. His mission is to save humanity and he's willing to do whatever it takes, to sacrifice and abandon those lofty ideals and morals he set out from Earth with to accomplish his mission, because so much is at stake. I feel like humanity and the Federation seem to have lost some of that in the modern day, or forgotten what it means to fight for your life and your right to exist. The Federation's size, power, and influence might have grown too quickly because I think they lost something when they no longer needed to struggle against peer opponents who could genuinely destroy them. The Federation would not have survived the Romulan War or the Klingon war without that pragmatism, because inter arma enim silent leges."

"In times of war, the law falls silent," she translated.

"Cicero. It's not just laws that need to fall silent sometimes," Gothic responded, looking thoughtful for several long silent moments. "The ongoing Cardassian War is a perfect example of what's wrong with the Federation in the modern day. Why on Earth are they letting this regional power push them around? The Cardassians are nothing compared to the Federation, yet this war drags on, ships and colonies are destroyed, while we halfheartedly fight and constantly press for peace. To that race and culture it makes us look weak, unworthy of their respect and undeserving of fear and caution. It's like the Federation doesn't actually want to win, or hates the idea of fighting so much that it means the same thing."

Gothic looked almost tired for a moment, or perhaps it was just incredibly exasperated, before he continued, "The Federation has practically every advantage, a wealth of material resources, the vast and underutilized infrastructure to build ships and weapons, more advanced technology, everything they need to grind that so called Empire into the dust, yet they don't. What they lack isn't weapons or resources or technology, it's fucking commitment, the willingness to fight their enemy with every intention of killing them, rather than hurting them just enough to bring them to the negotiating table where the Federation will bend over and let the Cardassians fuck them anyways. That's the rub, the Federation's victory, if you can call it that, is pretty much guaranteed, everyone with an ounce of objective sense knows it, it's just a matter of how much will it cost the Federation before the end."

While a rather colorful bit of sexual imagery, she understood the sentiment. The Cardassian Empire was not a peer opponent of the Federation. Victory, by some definition, was all but assured, but the timeline was uncertain. In the intervening time, however, lives, ships, and colonies would be lost, and resources unnecessarily spent, resources that could be put to better use protecting against the true threats to the Federation's existence that were out there.

"Section 31 has done everything we can to hamper the Cardassians' war effort. High ranking Cardassian military officers have been co-opted, assassinated, or have suffered fatal accidents, supply lines have been sabotaged, and counter-intelligence operations have been conducted against the Obsidian Order and the Central Command, but our resources are not unlimited and the need for secrecy limits our ability to act. We cannot fight a true war for the Federation from the shadows, only do our best to provide the best circumstances to allow for the Federation's eventual victory."

"Believe me, T'Maz, I get it. That's not Section 31's purpose and God knows how this war would have gone without its efforts in the shadows," he offered earnestly. "While only a handful of people in the Federation know what contributions Section 31 have made to keeping it going, I, in particular, recognize how valuable it is. It's the main reason I agreed to be recruited as a freelance operative. Look at what enemies the Federation is struggling with right now, or in the past, like the Talarians, or the Kzinti, or the Tzenkethi, or several other minor powers. Look what Archer accomplished with far, far less to work and fight with. And I'm basing that on just what is publicly known and available, not whatever happened on his mission that merits classification still, even after more than two freaking centuries have passed."

A raised eyebrow was her only visible sign of the surprise she felt.

"The classified parts of Archer's mission are beyond your current clearance level, Gothic, though I am surprised you were able to determine this."

Gothic only smirked at her. She was far from an expert in interpreting human body language or facial expressions, but that was definitely a smirk in her opinion.

"I didn't just run the holoprogram, T'Maz, give me some credit," he said, looking playfully aggrieved. "I accessed everything ever written down about Archer's mission, including the 135 biographies written about Archer, authorized and unauthorized, every book on his mission, every historical record from that time to the present, and even the individual log entries made by every member of the crew, including from every race that had dealings with the Enterprise NX-01. It wasn't all that hard to spot really, there were large gaps of time missing in the official records, mission logs that didn't quite line up properly or which were obviously redacted, and events that just didn't make sense without some outside factor that had obviously been carefully excised from the records. When so many people and groups know about something, there are always traces left. It's impossible to truly hide it."

"I cannot give any additional information on this subject without your clearance level being raised or our current mission requires you to know more."

"I know and I figured," Gothic replied, his eyes still scanning the surroundings.

"In our time together, you have shown you possess a viewpoint different from an individual raised in this culture and time, and have demonstrated the ability to craft unique and innovative solutions that, in hindsight, are imminently logical," she explained, leaving out that those unique and innovative solutions had aroused her to such an extreme degree. "What would you suggest Section 31 do to expedite the end of the Cardassian War?"

"Hmm, now that's an interesting question. I'm honored you value my opinion and viewpoint enough to even ask," Gothic answered, before thinking for several long moments. "In my dimension and time, my home country, the United States, had an adversary country in the Soviet Union. That country invaded a neighboring country, Afghanistan. Afghanistan was a country that was weaker than the Soviets in every conceivable way and they had no chance of stopping them directly. What they lacked in military power, though, they made up for in heart and sheer grit. The United States toppled the Soviet Union by secretly supporting the Afghan rebels, supplying them with more and more money and weapons to use against the Soviets, weapons that couldn't be traced back to us, arms that they could have believably stolen from them or obtained from the black market. The Soviets hemorrhaged huge sums of money, men, and material into that hellhole of a country and it led to their downfall. They actually made a really good movie out of it."

"That is a rather intriguing approach," she admitted, choosing to ignore the reference to an archaic entertainment medium as irrelevant. "Rather than work against the Cardassians directly, work with their enemies to weaken them, thereby weaking their will and ability to fight the Federation."

"Exactly. And the Cardassians have no shortage of enemies to choose from."

"Who would you suggest?" T'Maz asked.

"The Bajorans," Gothic answered, rather quickly in her opinion. Perhaps he had given this some thought in the past, during his historical studies. "No doubt in my mind. They remind me of the Afghanis. The Bajorans were an intensely spiritual and peaceful people that had no hope of withstanding the Cardassians when they invaded, and the Cardassians have occupied and raped that planet for decades, killing millions of them. The Bajoran resistance remind me of the Afghan freedom fighters. They might lack the means to fight, but they've fucking got the heart," Gothic explained.

"Why do you believe helping the Bajoran Resistance will help the Federation in their war with the Cardassians?" she asked.

"Bajor is in a valuable strategic location, at least in terms of the Cardassian supply lines, and even beyond that, the Cardassians use the planet to keep their war chest filled. Wars cost a lot of money and a totalitarian regime always needs a lot of money to subjugate its people and keep itself propped up. Those regimes always fear their own people the most," Gothic answered. "Disrupt the money and resource flow from Bajor, turn that ledger red, and they're going to have a hard time keeping up with the costs of war. The Bajoran Resistance will bleed them dry in a myriad number of ways. Keep that up long enough and I guarantee you that the Cardassians will eagerly welcome an end of hostilities with the Federation."

"You think they will be more successful if we supply them with money and arms?"

"I have no doubt of it. The Bajorans have no lack when it comes to the most important resource required to win a war."

"What is this resource?" T'Maz asked, now confused.

"There is a bit of wisdom I heard once. It fits rather well, I think, and I believe it is the answer to your question. 'A warrior without a fire in his heart is as helpless as a babe, but a boy with a burning hate and rage in his heart can slay a thousand.' The Bajorans have all the burning hate and rage in their hearts for the Cardassians that they'll ever need to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, to achieve victory, they just need the weapons to kill them with."

"I have never heard of such a saying before, is it from Klingon philosophy?" she asked, wondering how she had never heard such an evocative saying before. It certainly fit the Klingon ethos.

"A Jaffa proverb, told by one of the First Primes of Ares," Gothic replied seriously, who for some unknown reason began chuckling several moments later.

"Intriguing, I'm not familiar with that race," she said, which for some reason caused Gothic to chuckle even harder. What was she missing? "Once our mission is complete I will make a proposal to Agent Sloan and the Cardassian War strategic task group that we aid the Bajoran Resistance to expedite the end of our war with them."

"I'm curious to see what will come of that."

XXXXX

After only ten seconds of walking on the surface of this planet I decided that I really didn't like this place, though T'Maz likely felt like she was home. No, I'd had my fill of such places in Iraq and Afghanistan, enough to last a lifetime.

The planet's surface near the outpost was hot and dry, dusty and windy, and the view was ruined by these giant reddish-brown rock formations that towered over me. There were also some small, round, cactus-like plants with flowers, which provided a little color here and there, but nowhere near enough to break up the look of utter desolation.

T'Maz had already commented on just how much this place reminded her of her home world, and that seriously made me reconsider ever visiting her planet. According to her, this temperature was like a spring day on Vulcan. It had to be oh so very dull, and dry, and hot as a fucking oven there. If all of the women there were as hot as T'Maz, though, well, I could probably summon up the desire. Priorities, right? Thankfully, I was nowhere near as affected as I should have been by this heat. Being an Augment rocked a lot of the time.

I had insisted on landing The Flighty Temptress a good distance away from the outpost for good reason, specifically that this whole situation was suspicious as fuck, which T'Maz had reluctantly agreed with. What was it with Federation people and their lack of good sense? Yes, it would make it harder to get back to the ship, but if we had to book it back to the ship at full sprint it wouldn't take that long since I had kept the pace very slow on our approach, in order to spot an ambush, and T'Maz and I had a nice conversation on the way.

Eventually, a single narrow path was visible leading up an incline to the science outpost, and we soon set off on the trail. After only a few minutes of walking, we saw a door, and that was the most thrilling thing I'd seen so far on this almost lifeless looking world. Who would want to live here?

"Kinda quiet around here. Is that normal, T'Maz?" I asked quietly, still visually scanning my surroundings for possible dangers. I let T'Maz do the whole tricorder scanning bit, which was stymied all the time in the shows, yet this always, inexplicably, seemed to come as a surprise to Starfleet officers. 'But Captain, they came out of nowhere, like seriously, nothing showed up on the tricorder! I didn't even know that was possible!'

This whole thing reeked of quiet before the storm type shit.

I didn't think a Vulcan run outpost would be the kind of place that would throw an elaborate welcome party for new visitors, but I had expected them to notice our arrival by now, either when we'd arrived in orbit or when we'd landed on the surface. An expected reaction would be to greet us or ask us what the fuck we were doing here. At the very least, if there was a problem, you'd think someone would have come outside already and requested our help.

"Negative," she replied. "I am picking up life signs, though, and the outpost still has power. They should have already detected us. I can only conclude that they are unable to meet us for some reason. We must continue to investigate."

We moved swiftly, but carefully, towards the building's main entrance on the right. When we got to the door I noticed a large green puddle of liquid on the ground. Different color then I was used to, admittedly, but it looked like blood. I'd seen plenty of that during my military service. It was pretty unusual in the modern day, however. Most energy weapons tended to cauterize wounds.

"Is that...Vulcan blood?" I questioned grimly, looking around now even more intently, my right hand slowly drifting to the sidearm attached to my hip. If we were being watched a sudden movement might alarm them.

Rather than answering T'Maz took out the phaser I'd given her on the ship, so I figured that it was, in fact, blood. She then turned her attention back to the entrance. The circular door ahead of us was illuminated red along its entire border. Which I figured meant that we were locked out. T'Maz checked her tricorder and almost immediately she seemed to know why the door hadn't just opened at our approach, like was normal for most Federation designed buildings like this.

"For some reason the highest security protocols have been enabled on this door, likely the entire facility," she informed me.

My thinking was that they had come under attack. That would explain the blood and why this place was sealed up like a tomb.

"Can you unlock it?" I asked T'Maz.

Unlike the last time a Section 31 agent and I had faced this kind of problem, I wasn't simply going to be able to force this door open by breaking its lock. It was a pretty solid looking door with no visible locking mechanism.

"Yes," the sexy Vulcan lady answered me. "I was given the relevant access codes necessary at the outset of the mission. Please wait a moment."

She made the door open soon after. When we got inside it was rather obvious a serious battle had happened. I could still smell acrid smoke in the air, even if I couldn't see any, and there was broken glass all over the floor. It was extremely dark, but bright sparks intermittently rained down from an overhead circular light fixture like a waterfall onto a curved console, lighting the room up a little. I checked out the computer and found that someone had locked access to it. However, for all I knew, that could have happened automatically when the outpost's security protocols were brought to their highest levels.

"I can provide assistance," T'Maz offered.

She quickly got the machine working, only that didn't help me much in figuring out what had happened here as nothing it displayed made any sense.

"Can you operate any of the systems from here?" I asked aloud, paying careful attention to our surroundings. "Or at least give us some more consistent light?"

After working the controls a little more, T'Maz opened up a nearby lab, which lit up as instruments started to beep. The lights showed that there were several dead Vulcans in the lab area with pools of blood coating the floor. I didn't think any of them had died particularly easy, certainly not as cleanly as a phaser set on kill. There had been a very violent and very physical fight here.

"They are dead," T'Maz confirmed dispassionately after scanning the bodies. "We must find the survivors I detected earlier."

As soon as we moved on from that area we found a single Vulcan lying in a large pool of green blood. Another was dead, slumped over in the seat of something that looked like a high-tech forklift truck. There were even more bodies scattered all over the room, which seemed to be a cargo bay or loading dock of some kind. If the situation wasn't so precarious I would have been tempted to look in the cargo containers to see if there was anything worth taking surreptitiously. Of course, a transporter would have made that infinitely easier. I really needed to get one of those…

T'Maz scanned one of the many dead Vulcans who was lying draped over a fallen container.

"I think he has been poisoned," she told me. "Scans show numerous toxins in this man's bloodstream, many of which are either unknown to or cannot be identified by Federation science."

Her voice was calm, but her face showed that she was rather troubled by all of this, even beyond her ability to suppress. I could certainly understand why, aside from the dead bodies that were all over the damn place, there were other signs of true horror here, like blood spatter cast all over the place and deep gouge marks on the walls. The marks were far too large to be Vulcan made and too deep as well. Plus, these were solid metals walls, so not an easy thing to accomplish.

There were also scorch marks and deep pitting caused by weapons' discharge set on an extremely high level, which showed that these people had tried and failed to defend themselves, to the point where they had set their weapons to kill. For Federation civilians, Vulcans no less, to set their weapons to kill, they had to have felt in extreme danger. Surprisingly, though, I found no bodies of any of their attackers. Were the Vulcans that inept? Were their attackers that resistant to energy discharges? Or did these bastards simply carry off their dead? If it was the latter, it was a smart tactic, honestly.

When I turned to check on T'Maz I found that she couldn't take her eyes off of two particular Vulcans, both of whom were leaning against the wall, dead. Arterial blood spray liberally coated the wall behind them in a truly gruesome fashion. These two had not been killed by energy weapons or by projectile weapons, like from my time, these guys had been slaughtered by something incredibly strong that had very sharp serrated claws. It was not a pleasant sight to behold.

A creaking noise caused me to nearly jump out of my skin. With my phaser in hand and up I scanned the room looking for targets, which was whatever had caused that noise, only there were no further sounds. It was so quiet that I could hear my own breathing and the beating of my heart as it pumped in my chest.

There soon came a loud tapping noise, then a distant metallic creak. It was as if someone was playing a game, trying to scare us. Of course, with all the battle damage this room and facility had taken, it wasn't crazy to think it was just something that had been structurally compromised now shifting. Which, was a danger to us as well.

"What is that?" I asked T'Maz.

She was checking her tricorder.

"My tricorder-" she began.

That was when I saw the shadow of a humanoid man rush by. Since my fellow agent had stopped mid-speech I knew that she had seen it too.

"Did you also see that?" she whispered.

My heart now thrummed loudly in my chest, pumping more blood to my muscles and extremities, as if it was readying itself for battle.

"I did," I replied quietly. "Could be someone who thinks that we're with whoever attacked this outpost."

We both readied and raised our handheld weapons and turned a corner, walking past another dead scientist, this one a Bolian, if I wasn't mistaken. I'd seen a few onboard the Enterprise. This was a Vulcan outpost, but not a place purely manned by that species, so I knew we'd find other species working here. Hopefully they wouldn't all be dead.

The next person we saw was actually alive. They were about twenty feet ahead of us, obviously Vulcan; the pointed ears being a dead giveaway. He stood somewhat hunched over with his back turned to us, but was obviously breathing, rather rapidly in fact. I stepped forward, intending to offer aid like a good little human, but I stopped myself when I saw that the man held a thick metal rod in one hand, coated in blue and green blood. This situation was eerily familiar to that Star Trek: Enterprise episode with the ship filled with those crazy and murderous Vulcans who had been exposed too long to Trellium D.

As we approached we silently circled around the man, keeping some distance between us, my hand out in warning to keep T'Maz further back lest she foolishly rush up to him to provide medical attention. When we got closer I saw something familiar in his eyes; they flickered with an anger and rage greater than anything I'd ever seen in a human, or even a Klingon. In fact, the only thing that came close was the look in the eyes of several Iraqi and Afghani men and women I'd once seen, people who hated the American forces in their country so much that they'd strap bombs to their chest to take out Americans, even at the expense of their own life.

"Wait, we are here to help you!" T'Maz called out urgently, obviously recognizing this situation was going to turn violent in short order.

When I saw his muscles coiling to spring at us with that heavy rod in hand, I raised my phaser pistol with speed and reflexes far beyond a normal human and blasted the man square in the chest with a heavy stun shot. The deranged Vulcan collapsed immediately, falling into an unconscious state.

"He was about to attack us, T'Maz," I explained, when T'Maz glanced at me questioningly. "What could have made a Vulcan act like that? You guys are not the kind of people who just go crazy and attack people, no matter how stressful the situation might be."

T'Maz leaned down and scanned the unconscious Vulcan.

"I am detecting a severe neurochemical imbalance, not unlike what can be found in a Vulcan during the Ponn Farr," she reported calmly and stoically. Thankfully her emotional suppression systems appeared to be unaffected so far. "Only it is different, artificial, with signs of physical duress. I believe that this man was tortured to such an extreme that he lost all control of his emotional suppression systems."

Vulcans had amazing mental strength from a lifetime of meditation and advanced mental discipline. This granted a not insubstantial resistance to physical torture, but they were still mortal and could be broken in spirit with enough time and effort, just like anyone else. It would just take something pretty extreme or some advanced technology designed specifically for that purpose. Unless they were specifically trained to resist such a thing, or had a much greater fortitude than normal, a baseline human would break far more quickly and far more easily than a baseline Vulcan.

We heard a groan of distress and found yet another Vulcan standing with his back to us, hunched over in pain.

"Another possibly disturbed individual," T'Maz stated quietly, obviously acknowledging my caution had been merited.

I was taking no chances with this shit so I fired a stun shot at the man, only this time the alien was not rendered unconscious when hit by the energy. He turned and began to run at us, a look of rage on his face and a howl of anger coming from his lips, but he was so clumsy about it, probably from the phaser blast, that I was able to fire another shot center mass. Vulcans were several times stronger than normal humans on average, but they were no match for a couple of phaser shots set to heavy stun.

"A mind meld may be our only method to find out what has happened here," my fellow agent stated.

T'Maz knelt down beside the Vulcan and raised her hands so that she could touch the man that I had just rendered unconscious.

"Are you sure you want to meld with him?" I asked. "Isn't there a risk of you being affected by whatever he experienced?"

If she lost it then I was well and truly fucked. Section 31 would most likely be reasonable about it, hopefully, but I had no way to know that or to prove what had happened here. I was not a veteran agent with dozens of successful missions under my belt and thus a certain level of trust, or a trained investigator, so I simply didn't know what to do here, and it was becoming increasingly clear to me that information pertinent to this mission had been kept from me, so who knows what else I was supposed to be doing here or what this mission's true purpose actually was.

"A mind meld is our only option. We need more information on what happened here; our mission is vital to the security of the Federation," T'Maz stated in that sometimes infuriatingly calm voice of hers, as her dark eyes met mine. She pretty much confirmed that there was far more at stake here than checking on an agent/outpost that had failed to report in. "Should anything happen to me as a result of the mind meld then disable me and contact Section immediately. Warn them of what is happening here and then return to Earth. Agent Sloan will contact you there."

Discussion obviously over, she placed her hands on the Vulcan's head, in that very specific way that any fan of Star Trek could replicate with ease. Her eyes shut and she appeared to go into a deep thought state. She looked peaceful, but not for long. Mere seconds after starting the meld, she broke it, shaking slightly, her facial expression transitioning into a rictus of intense fear and anger and uncontrolled rage for just a fleeting moment of time, before it once again became calm and impassive. For anyone else who didn't have perfect recall, they might have thought they'd simply imagined it. I knew better.

"I saw many disjointed images. It was confusing and hard to understand, but this man saw large insect-like beings, explosions, and intense violence," she explained. "His mind has been fractured, corrupted somehow, possibly through telepathic manipulation. This is a very danger race we are dealing with."

If they could do this to Vulcans then it was possible that I was at great risk too, unless of course the same mental defenses that prevented Betazoids from reading my mind also protected me in other ways, or my enhanced physiology adapted to whatever had affected these people. I was not eager to test out how robust either my body or those mental defenses were. Unlike those Starfleet types in the show, I recognized and only took calculated risks, where the benefits clearly outweighed the risks.

"Come, we must find out more," T'Maz insisted, before getting up and moving ahead.

The next hallway we entered was thinly filled with smoke, but it was not enough to hide the damage done here. There were signs of intense phaser fire, burns and deep pitting, but this time there were no claw marks. Instead, it looked as if someone had run a continuous heavy laser beam across the wall, melting it in a long deep furrow. I'd never seen damage like that before. Whatever it was, there was definitely a desperate survival vibe to it.

Actually, I was getting a distinct 'Doom' vibe from this whole damn place. I half expected to find some pink colored demons waiting around the next corner. Where was my BFG when you needed it?

"I am detecting several living Vulcans behind this door, but their readings are erratic," T'Maz told me, continuing to read and relay the real-time output of her tricorder. "They may also try to harm us," she added unnecessarily.

She raised her tricorder near to the door's locking mechanism and prepared to open it. I raised my phaser and counted down using my fingers, signaling when we'd breach on my count. Thankfully, T'Maz understood my gesture and didn't open the door until my countdown was complete.

As the doors slid horizontally apart, we were instantly detected, and I saw another disturbed Vulcan run towards us while waving a metal bar in the air and roaring like an animal. He glared at us with pure hate in his alien eyes.

A red beam of whining energy quickly shot from my weapon attempting to stun the man. The crazed Vulcan doubled over, dazed by the heavy stun shot, but like the one before this didn't prove totally effective, so I punched the man into unconsciousness.

Another Vulcan jumped through an already broken window and charged at us as well, uncaring of the grievous injury he'd just taken with such an ill-advised maneuver. I had enough time to change my weapon's stun setting to its very maximum non-lethal level, something normally only used on particularly resistant non-humanoids, since it was possible to kill less hardy humanoid species with that level. That, finally, allowed me to drop him without ending his life.

The next door slid open to reveal two armed Vulcans, not Starfleet personnel though, standing at the ready, but for some reason neither of them seemed to want to beat me to death with the seemingly ubiquitous heavy, metal rods. That was a rather nice change of pace given the events of the day so far.

"T'Maz," greeted a science guy who looked old enough to be in charge. "It is agreeable to see you."

Looking around the room now, I noticed that there were only Vulcans here. No humans or other races seemed to have found safety like they seemingly had. T'Maz stepped forward to greet these survivors.

"I am relieved to see that at least some of you are unharmed. This is Gothic, the captain and owner of a private vessel I hired," T'Maz told her fellow Vulcans, gesturing to me now and continuing to give the cover story the Section 31 mission planners had provided us. Knowing how thorough the organization was, they had probably backed it up fully with all the records necessary to prove it. "He agreed to transport me here when I learned of possible trouble at this outpost. Captain Gothic, this is Saturk, my father."

The father of the woman I was currently fucking, well, this made things a bit awkward for me, but I forced myself to focus on the more important things that were happening.

That wasn't easy as I had just realized, to my nerdy glee, that if The Flighty Temptress counted as a proper ship, rather than just a glorified Runabout, then I could go around calling myself a 'Captain.' That was rather cool and fun. It was like I was the main character of my own series, joining such impressive personages as Captain Kirk, Picard, Sisko, Archer, and Janeway.

"Would you please explain what is going on here?" I asked, once I had my attention firmly back on the here and now. "Who attacked you?"

Things were still very confusing for me. Luckily, instead of some mystical Vulcan mind meld bullshit, I had a living witness who could just answer a question verbally.

"Indeed, we have been attacked. Many have died or been lost to madness," Saturk stated, with little inflection or detectable remorse. "Creatures of an unknown origin. They emerged from the rift not long after it appeared in the space near the planet."

That much I had already figured out or guessed, and was pretty standard for shit in this universe.

"What kind of creatures?" T'Maz wished to know.

Not friendly ones, that was for sure.

"We have only been able to determine that they are somehow related to the ancient Hur'q race. Much of their genome matches our records, but there are significant differences," Saturk informed us. "They appear to have come here for the device, which was the true purpose of building an outpost here."

Finally, some fucking answers as to our true purpose here. I had the distinct feeling that Section 31 was far more involved with this place than I had first thought. In fact, I wouldn't be all that surprised if they'd set the whole outpost and colony up. It would also explain why this wasn't a Starfleet operation. T'Maz didn't like Starfleet and if her opinion was typical of Section 31, which was pretty likely, then they'd want to keep them out of something like this.

"With the device in their possession they could use it to create rifts anywhere in the galaxy," Saturk continued. "They would be able to attack the heart of the Federation without any warning. We'd be defenseless."

This device sounded suspiciously like an Iconian gateway, which was a technology developed by the ancient Iconians who had tech well beyond Federation science. The gateways allowed for instantaneous travel over enormous distances, and I happened to have a decent idea where two functioning gateways were located. I had struggled with my thirst for power once before, leading me to seek the less risky opportunities Minos had offered, yet here I was again, tempted by the same forbidden fruit. It was like the universe was fucking with me, dangling powerups in front of me, and when I stuck my neck out to get it, off with my head!

As for the device now being talked about, it seemed much like an Iconian gateway only worse, because the rifts created were big enough to move entire ships through. Now that had never appeared in the show. The Gateways Picard and Sisko had found appeared to be personal transport Gateways, rather than ones meant for ships. We could end up with entire fleets of Hur'q vessels suddenly appearing in the Sol System without any warning and Starfleet wouldn't be able to stop them as their ships were spread out all over the Federation. Timing was everything in war.

"Where is the machine now?" I demanded to know.

I quickly got an answer.

"Deep underground, in the hidden labs in the Outpost's lowest levels," Saturk informed me. "I have secured all entries into the lab to prevent the device from falling into hostile hands, though I suspect it will only delay them for a time."

He turned to his daughter.

"T'Maz, are you able to provide additional assistance?" he asked earnestly. Was T'Maz's father aware of her being part of Section 31? Was he part of the organization? Had he recruited his daughter into the family business? "I can open the doors that lead deeper into the labs, but it must be you who stops these creatures."

She nodded at her father in acceptance.

"We must prevent this device from falling into the hands of these beings, at all costs," she said, now talking to me too. "The entire Federation is at risk."

I didn't much care for the United Federation of Planets, at least not enough to drink the Kool-Aid, but since I lived in it, and relied on it to a pretty significant degree still, then it made sense to not let it be destroyed if I could help it. The Federation's continued existence also brought a level of stability to the entire alpha quadrant, keeping larger conflicts to a minimum, which kept me alive. I did still care for Earth, even if hippies and nerds were running it. The alternatives were much scarier, with Bajor being a cautionary tale. It was a dangerous galaxy after all.

"Daughter, I advise caution," Saturk warned. "There are likely to be more affected Vulcans in the lower levels. These Hur'q-like beings somehow drove them mad after slaughtering most of us and taking others alive for some unknown purpose. I do not know why or how they were broken mentally, but they are lost to us and very dangerous. The invaders themselves will be after the device."

The Vulcan then turned to me.

"Captain, if you must dispatch my fellow Vulcans, please be merciful," he requested. "They may be lost now, but it is still yet possible that they can be returned to the path of logic and reason."

I might be rather mercenary by nature, especially compared to the hippies of this time, but killing crazy people wasn't what I was being paid for so I'd stick to stun for now.

"Understood," I replied.

If it was a question between killing them or dying myself, though, they'd be the one doing the dying. I had too much to live for and too much left to do.

XXXXX

Vulcan Science Outpost. Unnamed Planet.

T'Maz and I stood outside a room; inside I could hear a Vulcan who was complaining about the many loud voices in his head. Typical crazy person behavior. A quick glance into the room allowed me to see two more dead Vulcans, possibly killed by this voice hearing one.

I silently crept in when the crazy man was fully turned away, doing my best to avoid making a sound. When I got close enough I wrapped my arms tightly around his throat, from behind, in a chokehold. The crazy scientist thrashed mightily and fought rather hard before gradually going limp in my arms. There was nothing of importance in this room, we'd only entered it in order to take down the man; we didn't need any madmen attacking us from behind when we met the Hur'q-like beings. I had chosen to choke him out, rather than shooting him, to keep the sound to a minimum. My tweaking had improved the performance and utility of my 23rd century type-2 phaser, but it was still a rather loud weapon when fired. Hopefully I'd be able to figure out a solution for that.

We then hurried to the next room, which was down the hall, and I watched as T'Maz unlocked the door.

"Stay down, don't let them see you," she whispered, showing me the life sign readings on her tricorder.

We entered a much larger room and hid behind various boxes and containers of all sizes. Some were stacked high, all the way to the ceiling. Inside some of the boxes were various bits and pieces of scanning technology and spare parts, which could be useful, but what had my attention was a Vulcan female, obviously another crazy bitch, uncontrollably crying like a little girl. This display by a Vulcan was even more disturbing to me than the ones overcome with rage.

T'Maz raised her phaser before I could stop her and attempted to stun the woman. Unfortunately, even though it was probably set on maximum stun, she didn't drop to the ground, so I was forced to hit her too. It wasn't a nice feeling having to punch a woman, but I wasn't going to let silly ideas like that put T'Maz and I in danger.

Around the corner another Vulcan was seemingly patrolling the room. The man paced, slowly and surely, as if automated, like I'd oftentimes seen animals in the zoo do in my old life. T'Maz came from behind the corner and shot the guard, before performing the neck pinch her species was famous for. I hoped that later we'd find the time for her to teach me how to do that as it could come in handy. I should be more than strong enough to perform it. Some fans had once postulated that there could be a telepathic component to that move, but Data successfully performed it in an episode of TNG, as well as several other non-Vulcans in the show that I couldn't remember, so that had muddied the waters on that fan theory beyond repair.

In yet another room, this one obviously someone's living quarters, a Vulcan stood yelling at the wall at the top of his lungs. The rod he held had green blood on it. Why were there so many metal rods all over the place? Below him a female Vulcan lay in a pool of blood, but she wasn't dead yet as I could see her chest still rising and falling as she breathed.

"You think one of us can get behind that guy and take him out before he notices us and draws more attention to our presence?" I wondered aloud, though very quietly.

T'Maz gave me a blank look.

"Of course you can," she said.

She was right, I choked him into unconscious and then dumped the whack-job in an empty closet. Then I shut the door and locked it so that he couldn't get out. He could yell at the walls of the closet all he liked when he woke up. If we survived this little adventure, we could tell someone to retrieve him.

"You should take this," T'Maz stated once I rejoined her. "I found it in one of the living quarters."

She handed me a grey colored and very deadly looking rifle. It was bulkier than a standard Starfleet type-3 phaser rifle and heavier too, seemingly all business with little to no frills and thus very un-Federation in design philosophy. It was heavy enough and just awkward enough that a normal human would have trouble lugging it around for more than a short time.

"What is it?" I asked, not familiar with the design, but already liking it a lot, my eyes sweeping over its many lines. This weapon was hardcore. My recent experience with design easily spotted the purpose for some of the design team's choices. They were obviously unconcerned with prettying up this weapon, instead focusing on deadliness, ruggedness, and longevity. My own design philosophy tried to balance form and function a bit better, but I could certainly appreciate how effective this weapon would be in combat.

She answered right away.

"It is a semi-automatic, repeating pulse rifle, containing three independent swappable energy cells. Each fully charged energy cell can power the weapon to fire a maximum of sixty shots each," I was told.

Not bad at all…

I instantly did the math; this weapon could fire 180 shots with the internal cells/clips I had on hand, although when the three internal cells were depleted all would need to be replaced or somehow recharged. Still, that was a hell of a lot of firepower for a man portable weapon system. I knew for a fact that the standard Federation power cell for the type-3 phaser rifle didn't allow anywhere near that many shots. Unfortunately, there were no 'infinite ammo' weapons in the Star Trek universe that I was aware of, like in the Star Wars universe.

From my own experience, during various firefights in Iraq and Afghanistan, I knew how vulnerable you could be during a normal magazine change, but especially if something unexpected happened, like a bad round causing a jam or a magazine being damaged and causing a weapon malfunction. It had happened a couple of times where I had pulled the trigger and nothing fucking happened. And I was one of those guys who religiously cleaned and took apart his weapons. They kept me alive and I needed to take care of them so that it could take care of me in turn. Thankfully, I had never become one of those guys who named their rifle.

Despite your very best efforts, though, shit happened in combat, weapons got dirty mid battle, wet, roughly handled depending on how fucked the situation was, there might even be things you overlooked or couldn't detect in the field, like a small piece of dirt, a tiny pebble, or a hard clump of sand blocking an internal mechanism, or even a small dent or slight warp in the ammo magazine. These sometimes-unavoidable risks were mitigated when you had your unit to cover for you, but I had a feeling most Section 31 agents didn't have much backup during most missions. Swapping out one or two depleted or malfunctioning cells during a lull in battle, yet remain still capable of fighting? That was useful. The lack of moving parts in an energy weapon was already lessening a lot of the risks I had grown accustomed to bearing during my military career.

"So…an assault weapon?" I questioned aloud, never taking my eyes off the weapon.

That seemed an odd weapon choice for a race that disliked violence.

"That description, though crude, is adequate," she informed me. "It belonged to the Section 31 agent we came here to find. He has been confirmed dead."

Well then, now this weapon made a hell of a lot more sense. Section 31 had very different ideas when it came to defending the Federation. This weapon didn't even have a stun setting. The more I thought about it, the more I suspected they probably designed this thing themselves, which would explain why I'd never come across it during my training.

We soon came across a human for the first time; he was acting crazy as well so I stunned him like the others and T'Maz calmly walked over and administered the Vulcan neck pinch where the man's shoulder met his neck. I heartily approved of her caution given how many we'd seen shrug off a stun shot so far today. As this was the first human we'd encountered so far, she took detailed scans for several minutes, including a blood sample.

While waiting for her to finish I found myself idly wondering if the placement of the neck pinch differed between species. You'd have to assume that to be the case, right? The humanoid form had definite cross-species commonalities, given our common origins, but there were differences.

"The number of infected and disturbed individuals we have encountered is alarming," my fellow agent remarked, looking thoughtful. "Whatever method this species has used is now confirmed to work on both Vulcans and humans, which means it may have been purposely created or engineered to work on many alpha quadrant races. That kind of cross-species effectiveness could not be anything other than deliberate."

Which hinted at this all being planned well in advance, despite the fact that the Hur'q hadn't been the ones to open the rift. The Vulcan in charge hadn't admitted to opening a rift, of course, but it was pretty clear to me that they had; it neatly explained the urgency this mission had been given. The Klingon Bird of Prey must have been close enough to this region of space to detect the rift and had come to investigate what was going on in this system, which suggested that they were cloaked and somewhere Section 31 had not expected them to be, else they would have delayed whatever test or experiment that had opened that rift. As thorough as Section 31 was, the universe was built on chaos and random chance and they couldn't account for or know everything.

"Let's keep moving," T'Maz said.

We got into another turbolift and went down enough levels to indicate that we were indeed heading deeper underground. And didn't this just continue to feel like a mission in a video game, complete with the game console loading the next scenes while we waited during a long elevator ride. Mass Effect was infamous for that shit.

Once the turbolift came to a stop we entered another hallway and I heard a distant growl that caused me to look up, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. Then I heard another noise that sounded like metal doors being pried open.

My suspicion turned out to be correct; the doors at the end of corridor opened slowly, two wickedly clawed fingers prying the doors apart, the groan of tortured metal loud in the space. With the door fully open I saw a large humanoid creature that was distinctly bug-like. It was about seven feet tall and it was covered in what looked like a hard exoskeleton. The shape was humanoid, in the sense that it had two arms and two legs connected to a central torso with a head at the top. But that's pretty much where the similarities ended.

The head came to an almost sharp Y-shaped point, and had two glowing yellow eyes on each side of its face, angled on a 45-degree angle towards the 'nose.' This likely gave it a much greater range of peripheral vision and possibly even the capability of seeing in extremely low light levels or even different visual spectra, like infrared.

Forward facing eyes on animal species on Earth strongly indicated it had evolved as a predator. Side facing eyes, like on many birds, were meant to give the species a better ability to detect predators and escape from danger, unlike birds of prey, like eagles, who had front facing eyes. The two sharp claws on each hand and foot, with an opposing thumb of some sort on the hands, with two more downward facing claw-like protrusions on each forearm clearly said this was a predator race with the ability to use tools, thus likely sentient, and probably a very dangerous close quarters fighter. Human, Vulcans, Klingons, and most other alpha quadrant humanoids had blunt fingers and toes. My sharp eyes saw other spikes and protrusions on this race's body.

In fact, this thing strongly reminded me of a Collector from the Mass Effect video game.

The 'Collector', as I would now call it in the privacy of my mind, didn't attack right away, instead it vocalized something that was painful for our ears to hear, a shrill high-pitched note of some kind, very monster movieish in tone, which I powered through with will alone, never taking my eyes off of this thing. Then it reached down to pick something up. Perhaps it had set it down to pry the doors open? It didn't look much like a rifle as we'd know it, at least not something a five fingered and much shorter humanoid could use easily, but it was pointed at us with purpose so I assumed that's what it was.

I quickly brought my weapon up to my eye, the stock tight against my shoulder, planted my feet firmly, aimed and then fired the Section 31 assault rifle once, unsure of how much kickback there would be, if any, or how much would be required to put this fucker down for good. I had never fired this particular weapon before, but I had done it thousands of times before with other rifles, in two different dimensions, so much so in fact that I gave it no conscious thought. It was muscle memory now, like it should be. A Starfleet officer would probably have tried to talk to this thing first, or waited for one or two of their expendable red shirt-esque away team members to die, then fought back. But that wasn't my style. Thank my patron I wasn't that kind of dumbass.

This action quickly dropped the creature to the ground only for it to get up again a moment later, not looking much worse for wear, but definitely angrier. In fact, it might have only gone down because it hadn't expected the kinetic force the weapon's fire had imparted. T'Maz fired her Starfleet phaser at it too and got off two good hits. The 'Collector' didn't even seem to notice! Instead, it charged at us at speed and I quickly dropped to a single knee and rapidly and repeatedly squeezed (never pull!) the trigger as it ran at me, sending probably 30 shots into it, not taking any chances with it given the resistance it'd shown already. This time when it dropped, skidding to a halt a foot from our feet, it didn't get up again. I was taking no fucking chances here, so I casually angled my rifle down towars my feet and sent a few more shots into its head, even while it lied on the ground, to make damn sure it was really dead. The corpse jerked a few times in response, the energy possibly firing off some motor neurons, making for quite the macabre sight. No jump scares today for you motherfucker, no sir.

I could feel T'Maz giving me an incredulous side-eye at this level of paranoia, or was it ruthlessness, though I didn't dare take my eyes off of the probably(?) slain monster in front of us, my rifle staying on target while continuing to watch for even the slightest sign that it was faking it or doing some kind of regenerating bullshit right before it attacked us again out of nowhere.

She better get with the program right quick, because I didn't fuck around when it came to shit like this. There were no rules of engagement tying my hands this time around, well, at least not in this fucked up situation. In fact, I probably wouldn't feel safe with this unknown race with unknown capabilities till I decapitated the fucking thing with my sword. Not many things in this universe could survive if you took its head off, that I knew for sure.

Another creature showed up, probably attracted to all the weapons fire and that screech that that monster had made before it attacked us. Several darker crimson bolts hit the oncoming attacker as my fellow agent opened fire, and this time her shots were more effective, so I figured she'd already switched to a more lethal setting. I didn't even bother getting up from the single knee, merely turning/rotating slightly in place and putting rounds into it. It took a lot of fucking shooting to (most likely) deprive this fucking 'Collector' of its life. That was not good for the Federation if there were a lot more of these guys.

We didn't move for over a minute, just waiting in silence in case more of these monsters showed up.

"T'Maz, scan the corpses," I ordered quietly, though she was technically my superior during this training mission. That was the voice of command I'd used with my old team. That voice always had a way of getting through to people in charged situations, getting them to focus on the job at hand rather than how dangerous or fucked the situation was. "We need to learn everything we can about them, so does Section and the Federation."

"Understood, Captain," she quietly and instantly responded, sounding a bit rattled, before holstering her weapon and taking out her tricorder, trusting me to protect her while scanning the aliens. Part of me was rather surprised she'd listened/obeyed me so easily, but perhaps she saw the clear logic in learning as much as we could about this very dangerous enemy.

"My scans are complete. We may proceed," T'Maz stated, sounding calmer now. Doing some sciency shit obviously was more firmly in her comfort zone.

We came out from behind cover to do just that only for the both of us to end up needing to dive out of the way of an oncoming 'Collector' who had been lying in wait. It was still way too close for comfort, physically and otherwise, and this thing was obviously far more comfortable in close combat, perhaps some vestige of its evolution and all those sharp claws?

The two us quickly aimed and fired at the creature with our respective weapons. It staggered back a few steps, but only shook its head and screamed loudly in response. It seemed rather annoyed at being shot multiple times.

A rifle was a great weapon for sustained combat, but in close quarters its size was more of a drawback then a benefit. Under normal circumstances I'd pull my pistol and start shooting, but if my more powerful rifle was only having limited effect, my pistol just wasn't going to cut it.

Luckily, I had a motherfucking sword!

Dropping my rifle, I reached over my shoulder, like a boss, and pulled my sword from its scabbard, before ducking under a swipe at my head and stabbing it through what passed for its open mouth and into what I could only assume was its brain, Harry Potter-style. Its body shook in place for a moment, like I had electrified it, which suggested I was on the right track, before I sharply pulled my sword out and backed up quickly. It quickly fell to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

I had considered going for a chest stab into where a heart would be on most humanoids, but I had no way to know for sure if that's where a vital organ was nor if my sword could even pierce that hard carapace exoskeleton.

Try shrugging that off motherfucker!

After several long, silent moments where we waited to see if it was truly dead and gone, I couldn't resist needling T'Maz a little bit.

"And you thought the sword was overkill," I teased gleefully, gesturing at the alien monster I'd just felled, like a fucking badass. I was definitely feeling that combat high I had felt several times before, the kind you get when you survive a life and death situation.

"Your smugness is unbecoming," she scoffed, not even looking my way.

Could Vulcans just scoff? Because I distinctly heard a scoff in there. I'd have to remind her of this again and again if we survived.

T'Maz took out her tricorder once again and scanned the creature who I had just slain with my motherfucking badass sword. This 'Collector' was even larger than the other two we'd seen and only had its nasty looking claws, instead of an energy weapon. It also had displayed a worrying resistance to our weapons, even more than the other Collector had.

"This being's physiology is somewhat like a Kam'Jahtae," she reported, tapping on her tricorder to get more information, obviously speaking about the alien's biology.

That name meant nothing to me. In fact, I'm relatively sure it had never even been mentioned in any of the Star Trek shows I'd ever seen. That was both intriguing and worrying, as it suggested once again that my Star Trek knowledge wasn't complete for this particular dimension.

"A what?" I asked, before stepping forward and trying to see how well my sword could pierce the chest carapace? armor? of this monster. It took a worrying amount of strength and a very direct and precise piercing angle to prevent my sword's tip from just glancing off of it.

Sigh… That lightsaber, or its equivalent, would be mighty useful about now.

She had a reply ready.

"The Kam'Jahtae are an extremely hostile species that Section 31 believes to be the progenitors of the ancient Hur'q race," she explained. "Thirty years ago an agent that was embedded onboard a deep space salvage vessel discovered several hundred Kam'Jahtae in some form of long-term stasis. He reported the finding and requested immediate assistance. We lost contact with the agent and the ship before the emergency response team arrived in the sector. Only debris was found. The ship and all hands were lost."

She continued, "Subsequent investigation concluded that the crew of the salvage ship may have inadvertently woken them up and the agent onboard most likely detonated the ship's warp core in order to kill them all, lest they take control of the ship and escape the area. At the time we were unsure why such an extreme measure was needed, now we know that the Kam'Jahtae are conquerors and that if those few hundred had been allowed to escape they would have sought to wake the others of their kind we strongly suspect are still hidden and scattered across the quadrant. For some years now Section 31 has been working to destroy any Kam'Jahtae that they can find."/..+++++++++++++++.

Well, that was an interesting set of facts that had never made it into any of the shows.

"This being's form and physiology is not natural or the result of evolution. It appears to have been purposely created or grown, or at least heavily modified, likely from before birth," she reported. "It is only eighty percent biological. Twenty percent of this creature is metal, most likely some kind of advanced cybernetic implants. The visible exoskeleton is also not a natural aspect of their physiology. It is more akin to some form of bioengineered organic armor, only it has been fused with the being. This could not have occurred naturally."

It also explained why there were so damn hard to put down. This could be the Hur'q's version of a Jem'Hadar soldier, only much, much scarier.

"This weapon may prove to be more effective against their kind," T'Maz reasoned as she examined the alien rifle. "Give me the pulse rifle."

I exchanged the Section 31 pulse rifle for the alien rifle, then tried to find a comfortable method of holding it and using it. That was the problem with using weapons designed for a species so very alien from our own, in this case one that was 7 feet tall and had two long, claw-like fingers and a thumb equivalent.

This thing was very heavy and fucking awkward and obviously meant for very alien shaped hands. If I wasn't as strong as I was, I doubt it'd be much use to most anyone else. Once I determined what was likely the firing mechanism, I test fired the weapon by shooting one of the corpses at our feet center mass. It burned through the bio-armor in short order.

Now that I definitely liked! For that level of effectiveness, I'd happily accept some discomfort.

A few more test shots gave me a better sense for how to aim the thing in order to hit what I wanted. That was vital for any weapon you planned to take into battle.

"Let us move on," T'Maz said.

XXXXX

Vulcan Science Outpost. Unnamed Planet.

I could see two things upon entering the secure lab that sat at the lowest level of this outpost. The first was a strange looking cubic device that was floating in a beam of blueish white energy, almost certainly the cause for all this fuss. The second was a 'Collector' that seemed to be intensely studying the machine from the other side of the room, working a nearby console. It was of a type that we hadn't seen yet. Maybe some kind of scientist or officer class? The other Collectors we'd killed had probably been sent to stop or delay us while this one worked on the device.

We both watched as the glowing beam of energy continued to thrum and pulsate, suspending the device in midair. Suddenly, the beam holding the device midair disengaged and the creature jumped through the air to catch the falling device safely in its 'hands'. Its clawed feet landed hard on the floor, chipping it, before jumping over a console and hurrying away from the lab.

"We must recover the device!" T'Maz exclaimed. Notably, she still hadn't confided in me what the device was, its origins, how Section 31 had acquired it, what our true mission was, or what Section 31 wanted with it.

That was when I spotted several more 'Collectors' entering the room across from them. They were the 7 feet tall, more agile type that carried and used energy rifles, rather than only their own claws, like the even larger variants did.

Strange beams of energy shot out from the alien weapons shattering glass and damaging nearby consoles. I quickly ducked behind a deactivated console and fired back with my own borrowed weapon, quickly dropping one of the creatures with the badass alien rifle I'd started using only moments ago. I quickly, and perhaps a little awkwardly, re-aimed at another and squeezed the trigger equivalent. Another 'Collector' dropped even as beams of energy flashed past my head, this forcing me to duck back down again. Thankfully my speed and reflexes appeared superior to theirs. They also didn't really try to get behind cover for some reason, like they had no fear of losing their lives. That made no sense to me, but I'd take whatever advantage I could get.

As soon as the firing stopped, I popped up and fired again. My aim was as precise as ever and another of the creatures was soon out of the fight, forever.

A return shot whizzed over my head. It hit the metal wall and left a pretty big melted hole in what was likely an extremely reinforced wall. I knew then and there that if I was hit there was a very good chance that neither my current armor or my augmented DNA would mean a damn thing. I'd be dead. There were just a few too many left and I needed to alter the odds in my favor.

"Close your eyes and cover your ears!" I yelled at T'Maz, as I armed a flash-bang grenade.

I waited two seconds in order to burn a bit of time on the timer before I threw the device, then I did my best to defend my sensory organs from the effects of the flash-bang. Light and sound of an intensity that was designed to blind and cause temporary deafness erupted in the room. It was also designed to disrupt the inner ear fluid, which could result in a loss of balance. I had no idea what effect it would have on this creature, but light that bright was bound to fuck up a race that had four damn eyes in its head, right?

In the moments after the detonation, I combat rolled into the open, firing my borrowed weapon repeatedly at the group that was stumbling and disoriented, their cries of pain or discomfort hurting my ears. I didn't stop firing until I was sure that they were dead, leaving charred corpses with large melted and cauterized holes in their chests. The smell was near nauseating. The shots they'd managed to return were all the place, but some had been close.

"You all right?" I asked when the bang and fighting was over.

My voice had been much louder than expected due to the slight ringing in my ears.

"I am uninjured!" T'Maz reported in an overly loud voice of her own.

While my plan had worked, my first few shots had actually missed. And that's not something I'd done much of since I had been made an Augment. That was downright embarrassing. That alone confirmed that the flash-bangs worked really well, maybe too well, as even when prepared for the effects I was still dizzy afterwards. Reviewing my performance objectively suggested that I needed to rethink a few things.

Maybe I should look into another upgrade for my future armor and include some sort of auto-dimming and noise cancelling technology so that I wouldn't be affected by the blast as well? That'd be better than this situation. I had no doubt some alien race trying to get clever in their attacks on me would one day try to take advantage of my genetically enhanced senses.

Thankfully, the bug aliens were affected too, actually looking almost drunk when a few had had time to fire a few shots back after my first few missed shots, only managing to hit the ceiling. Once I had had a few moments to recover, my shots were far more accurate.

My next action was to check out the corpses. I didn't think it likely the one that had run off with the device would have stayed in the area, but one could hope for good luck. Unfortunately, I was right, and the one who had taken the device had left these fools to die. This race seemed to care little for its individuals, prioritizing the collective mission over anything else, even their own lives.

The flash grenade had been effective, but why not just cut out a step and render them unconscious in the blast? A true stun grenade, using phaser technology, would have been useful against most other races, but probably not this one. With a normal enemy, though, a phaser stun grenade would have been very useful and far less risky for me. Once they were stunned I'd have been able to simply execute them with little risk to myself or even take them prisoner. A few live prisoners would almost certainly net me a stupidly high payday from Section 31 if I sold them to the organization. Call me a monster if you wanted, but live prisoners would be an intelligence goldmine.

I did have an anti-personnel grenade that used conventional explosives, but who knew what would happen to the structural stability of the room or how it would affect all this technology. It'd even be dangerous for me in the blast radius. Maybe an anti-personnel grenade based on plasma technology? Using plasma rather than a conventional explosive would probably make it safer for me to use in confined spaces as there wouldn't be pressure damage, only dead people. I'd have to look into that more.

"We have failed," T'Maz stated plainly. "They have taken the device."

She then took out a communication device and tried to contact her father.

"T'Maz to Saturk," she said.

There was no reply.

"We can get it back, T'Maz. They probably haven't made it off the planet yet," I said, attempting to reassure her that not all hope was yet lost. "Can you determine where they went?"

She consulted her tricorder for a few moments.

"Difficult to tell, their biosigns are strange, but my scans on the ones we killed previously have been useful. It appears that they are taking it towards the surface," she reported. "They are moving very rapidly, however."

This was not good.

"It will be difficult to catch them normally, is there anything you can do to give us an advantage?" I asked.

"If I restore power to the outpost's main turbolift, we may be able to catch up to them and intercept before they reach the surface," she theorized. "There are not that many of the creatures remaining in the base; we can still defeat them and recover the device."

That sounded like a plan to me.

XXXXX

Future Colony. Unnamed L-Class Planet.

When we finally got to the surface I saw a large construction crane standing motionless amongst the skeletons of unfinished buildings. It was a crane very unlike the ones I knew from my old world, however, as it appeared to use anti-gravity tech combined with a small tractor beam emitter.

The air was hot and smelled of many things, though mostly of fresh blood and smoke. Several forklifts and utility vehicles sat vacant and I could see the bodies of several dead civilians that were haphazardly scattered here and there, many with faces forever frozen in terror. If this was any indication how most Federation citizens would deal with this race if they invaded, the Federation was well and truly fucked.

"This is far more than a mere outpost," I commented. "It looks like they were building a proper city."

T'Maz supplied me with some information. Perhaps my display of combat prowess has loosened her tongue a bit.

"Section 31 knew that a scientific outpost wouldn't be sufficient cover for what was really going on here," she explained. "So it was decided to arrange for a Vulcan colony to be built on this world. This planet is too dry and lifeless for most other Federation races to believably choose to settle here."

Hearing that amazed me.

"You guys arranged for an entire colony to be built here just to keep the true purpose of the outpost secret," I said, rather amazed. "Just how much influence do you have over the Federation?!"

Whether she would have answered me or not would remain a mystery as our conversation was cut off by the arrival of a strange ship that somewhat resembled a large winged insect, with several circular propulsion engines jutting slightly out of the back. It flew right over us, casting a large shadow over the incomplete colony turned slaughterhouse. The ship then turned quickly and set down not too far from us.

"That ship is likely retrieving the one who has the device," T'Maz theorized, her tone urgent.

The two us broke into a sprint and made our way towards the alien craft. We used containers of supplies and various bits of mechanical equipment as cover in case someone took a shot at us.

When we got closer I saw that some 'Collectors' had been waiting for the vessel to land, a ship that was larger than The Flighty Temptress, but not by a huge amount. These bug aliens were different from the others we'd encountered. They were human sized or smaller, and each of them was carrying some random bit of technology that they must have taken from the Outpost. A few were even dragging either dead or unconscious people onto the craft, a good mix of races I could see. I dreaded to think what the filthy insects would do to those poor bastards.

I'd rather eat a bullet then be captured by these monsters.

I also saw more of the larger rifle carriers. They were grouped around a 'Collector' who was smaller than them, the leader I assumed. It was a type we hadn't yet encountered so hopefully T'Maz was getting some scans; knowing your enemy was the first step in defeating them. This race appeared to divide itself into very specific groupings, with a very defined purpose or role. The smallest ones appeared to be worker caste and drones, the medium sized possibly officers, the next larger ones, the rifle carriers, a high warrior caste, and the largest ones we'd encountered who only used their claws and bodies, maybe some kind of berserker or grunt soldier type? These were all wild ass guesses, but if the insect species on Earth were any indication, probably good ones.

"Kill the leader," T'Maz ordered coldly, tersely, "it might cause the rest to become unorganized."

Now that's what I liked to hear. Every now and again T'Maz's Federation softness clashed with the icy ruthlessness of her Section 31 side, or was it vice versa? Either way, I wholeheartedly supported this plan. Sniping the officer to cause unrest, break morale, and create chaos was a combat doctrine as old as the hills, though the weapons may have changed over the many years. In another era, the guy in my position would be using a bow and arrow to take out an enemy officer or commander.

"Understood," I whispered grimly, preparing myself to take another life, yet this felt different. Every other time had been in the heat of battle, kill or be killed. This was a far more controlled circumstance, separate from the immediate danger of being killed myself. I'd have to examine my feelings later.

I carefully rested the alien rifle I'd been using for a while now on a nearby box in order to steady it for this longer-range shot. Frankly, it probably wasn't needed given my new physiology, my hands were as steady as a rock, but old habits die hard. After a moment or two carefully lining up the shot, I repeatedly discharged the weapon. The bursts of energy flew downrange at incredible speed, hitting the target one after the other. I was taking no chances on one shot being enough. Once the element of surprise was gone this perfect opportunity would be gone.

It took several shots to fell the leader, perhaps because of even better armor than we'd seen so far, before my borrowed rifle simply stopped working for some reason. Thankfully, I could tell the leader was already dead. That tended to happen when someone blew your head apart.

Before the bugs figured out where we were, T'Maz had quickly passed me the pulse rifle from earlier and I opened fire on the aliens, the slight recoil practically causing me to vibrate in place. Blue energy projectiles virtually screamed out of the rifle's barrel in a long chain as I strafed the group, hoping to kill as many as I could, if not all of them. If any of them were injured, but not dead, seeing how its compatriots reacted or treated them would be telling, and give me some insight into how this alien race thought.

The pulse rifle was a semi-automatic weapon in function, but I was able to aim and carefully squeeze the trigger much faster and more accurately than a normal human would have been able. Thankfully the weapon could keep up with my fire rate and didn't overheat. I'd have to either take this one for my personal collection or procure one of my own to add to my ship's armory. It was a useful weapon!

The surviving 'Collectors' shot back as a group, several beams went flying past me even as I dove for cover, and one of the bugs got lucky. I was hit, a grazing shot to the leg, but despite the pain, I still kept poking up and shooting. My personal shield had weakened the energy bolt, but hadn't stopped it. In combination with my shield, it seemed my armor was somewhat effective because I'd seen what these weapons could do against a sold metal wall. It should have burned my leg off my body, but my armor had stopped it.

Then I spotted the same bug who had taken the strange device.

"He's running, T'Maz!" I shouted over the din of weapons being fired.

I had depleted the energy cells of the pulse rifle killing this one's friends and protectors, so I dropped it and ran while firing a phaser pistol in each hand at the escaping creature. Though I hit him multiple times, even while running, with several shots missing too, the bug barely seemed to notice me shooting it. I didn't check, but I knew that my phaser was still set to heavy stun. If a few high-power shots from the rifle couldn't take one of these bastards down, my pistols definitely weren't going to get the job done. I would have to do this the old-fashioned way, with my fists and my sword.

With long, powerful strides, I ascended up a nearby crate, then I leaped up onto the alien ship just as the Collector made it onboard. The impact of my body hitting the ship made me lose control of my phaser. It slid across the hull and out of reach.

The ship began to immediately take off and I lost my footing, my fingers desperately scrambling to grasp some kind of handhold, anything that could keep me from falling to the ground. Sadly, I failed and I soon found myself hitting the ground, hard. Thankfully my body was strong enough to take the impact, else I'd be dead. On my back, looking up at the strange colored sky, all I could do was watch the alien ship fly higher and higher into the sky before it vanished completely from sight, swallowed by the few clouds in the sky.

"Fuck!" I yelled into the silence.

T'Maz and the many corpses around me had no comment.

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Chapter 13: 11,066 words

Chapter 14: 13,789 words