given the chance. As Garcia moved out of the way, he hit the Captain on his damaged
arm.
In avoiding another thrust from the Captain’s dagger, Garcia had unintentionally
put his back to the Guard with the wounded neck. This Guard, enraged that he was about
to die and had not even yet touched his enemy, let go of his neck and rushed Garcia,
gripping him in a bear hug. The Captain rushed in, thinking he would take advantage of
Garcia being immobilized. Garcia used the hold he was in to bring both of his feet to
bear. He kicked the Captain and sent him staggering backwards. As soon as Garcia’s
feet hit the floor again, he slipped out of the bear hug and tossed the Klingon to the floor
as easily as shrugging off a kid in play. The Klingon hit the floor hard, practically
already unconscious due to the loss of blood. This body of the last Klingon made it
difficult for the Captain to step in for a good killing blow, but he scored a hit. Thrusting
the knife for a gut wound, he drew blood as Garcia maneuvered out of the way. His shirt
was literally shredded and soaked with his own blood from maybe a half a dozen strikes. The Captain laughed. “MRocK!” he said.
Garcia good hand was torn by the emerging spikes, but he was able to dodge the
dagger again. Garcia cupped his hands together, allowing the blood from both hands to
pool as the Captain maneuvered in for the final kill. There was no doubt in Garcia’s
mind that the Captain had every intentions of killing him, but he didn’t retreat. “Good! Die like a Klingon,” the Captain said. “And I will see to it that you are
ushered into Sto-vo-Kor with honors.”
Garcia spied a batleH on the floor, but it would be difficult to wield in the best of
circumstances, but with one hand holding a ball, and both hands now damaged due to the
spike penetration, it would be impossible for him to properly grip and wield. “Captain to First Officer Crael,” the Klingon said. “Report to the training room.
Now! You see, Garcia, there is no escape. Die nobly, like a Klingon.”
Garcia nodded, as if he were compliant. When the Captain stepped in for the
killing blow, Garcia tossed the blood that had pooled in his hands into the Captain’s face,
scoring a direct hit to his eyes. Consequently, the Captain’s strike was off and Garcia
managed to maneuver around the dagger, with only a minor wound. He punched the
Captain in the side of the head, using the hand with the ball in it. The captain staggered,
dropping his dagger, still blinded with blood. Garcia hit the Captain again and again.
When the Captain knew he was losing, he let out a final berserk scream and grappled
blindly at Garcia. The Captain captured Garcia in a massive hold, and ran him towards
the wall, using Garcia as a battering ram.
“MRocK!” Garcia yelled, and as the spikes launched out, Garcia hit the Captain
with the spikes on the back shoulder.
The Captain staggered back, screaming.
“MRocK!” Garcia yelled again, withdrawing the spikes and hitting the Captian in
the forehead, but the captain didn’t go down. “MRock!” he said again, and punched the
Captain in the Chest with the spikes.
The Captain fell back, coughing up blood. “MRock!” Garcia said, hitting the man
in the face again. This time the Captain went down. The door to the training room
opened and the first officer came to an uneasy halt, sliding on blood. Garcia dove for the
Captain’s disruptor and retrieved it just in time to fire at the first officer as the first officer
fired at him. The first officer went down. Garcia staggered to both knees, activating his
personal communication’s badge, touching it with his wrist.
“Medical Emergency. Ten to beam to the nearest medical facilities. Security
requested. Stat!” Garcia said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The closest Star Fleet approved medical facilities, relative to the training room
onboard the cloaked Klingon vessel just happened to be the Enterprise. No sooner than
the transporter coordinates were registered, a whole slew of alarms went off. First and
foremost, an alert went out that there was a cloaked ship in Earth’s orbit. The transporter
chief on duty that had accepted the emergency call, engaged the transporter locks, but
then smartly delayed the re-materialization process, allowing security to be present when
the nine Klingons and the one human ended up in Sickbay. Worf and a security detail
came running. The highest levels of security protocols on Enterprise, on two other Star
Fleet vessels in orbit, and on Earth started to be implemented. All of which meant more
attention was being drawn to the situation than Admiral Eric Pressman had anticipated or
even wanted. He quickly went about covering his tracks and directed an Admiral Singer
to transport immediately up to the Enterprise to take care of business.
Captain Picard arrived at sickbay simultaneously with Worf and the security
detail. The transport completed, leaving nine scattered Klingons bodies, dead or
unconscious, and in their midst was Garcia, on his knees, about ready to collapse from
exhaustion and from his wounds. Doctor Crusher moved towards him almost
instinctively.
“Wait,” Garcia said. “Don’t touch me. Wake Admiral Sheaar. That one.” Doctor Selar immediately began treatment on the Klingon Garcia had indicated. “Captain, I recommend we do as he says,” Worf said. “He is holding a MRocK.” Garcia cursed as the spikes erupted once more. “Bloody hell, Worf! Did you have
to say that?!”
“What is it?” Picard asked.
“Depending on the rule structure implemented for its use, it could be just a
weapon, or it could be a bomb,” Worf said. “Under no circumstances should the ball
touch the floor decking. Further, the fewer people who touch it, the better.” “Garcia? What is going on here?” Picard demanded.
Admiral Sheaar woke up. “Where am I?!”
“You’re on board the Enterprise,” Doctor Selar said.
Sheaar roared and pulled away from the Doctor’s care. Several weapons,
including Worf’s, were instantly trained on him.
“You will cease the hostilities,” Worf said.
“Excuse me,” Garcia said. “I passed. Now disable this.”
Sheaar orientated himself, slowly began to chuckle, and then roared with laughter.
“You didn’t drop it.”
“He cheated!” Captain Maht said, breathing better now. “He did drop the ball.” “No, he threw the ball,” Sheaar said. “English is very precise.”
“My first officer is dead,” Maht complained.
“And what was your first officer doing in the training room?” Sheaar demanded. “I called him to be a witness,” MaHt said. “I also lost three honor guards. And
he attacked you!”
Sheaar laughed. “Indeed,” he said, crossing closer to Garcia. “Tell me, Garcia
the Great. Why did you attack me first? Why did you attack me at all?”
“You told me to defend myself. Naturally, if presented the opportunity, one
should always eliminate the biggest threat first,” Garcia said. “I figured I could handle
the Captain and his men.”
“I’ll kill you,” MaHt challenged, shrugging off the medical aid’s attention. He
was well aware of Ensign Kelloggs phaser trained on him. Worf moved a little closer. “You should be nicer to me, especially since, by Klingon law, I am now legally
entitled to your warship,” Garcia said. “And having spared your life, you’re now my first
officer.”
Admiral Sheear almost died with laughter as Captain MaHt screamed with rage.
Captain MaHt jumped up off the bed to attack Garcia, but Worf interceded, putting his
elbow into the Captain’s neck, dropping him back to the bed. He went silent, choking. “Worf! I just healed the man,” Crusher snapped.
“Heal him again,” Worf said. “So I can knock him down again.” “You can even ‘talk smack,’ like a Klingon,” Sheaar praised Garcia. “Admiral Sheaar, I would like to know the meaning of this,” Picard demanded. “I will tell you everything you need to know, Captain Picard,” Admiral Singer
said, stepping through the armed security force. “Admiral Sheaar, may I escort you back
to your ship?”
“You may. Have my men beamed back as well,” Admiral Sheaar said. He
walked over to Garcia. “Hand me my toy.”
Garcia surrendered the MRocK ball back to its rightful owner. Sheaar shut it off
with a single command. Garcia memorized the word just in case he ever came upon
another MRocK ball in the future, even though he knew that each ball was probably
programmed with its own set of words.
“Well?” Singer asked Sheaar.
“He’ll do,” Sheaar agreed. “Patch him up and send him back to me.” “Captain Picard,” Admiral Singer said. “Fix Garcia up and transport him back to
the Klingon ship. And no questions, Picard.”
Admiral Singer departed with Admiral Sheear. Captain Picard looked to Garcia
for an answer but Garcia, now free of his obligations, gave into his desire to pass out. He
went down face first into the floor. Ensign Kellogg was at side before Crusher or Selar
could get there.
“Put him in bed seven,” Crusher said.
Worf and Picard moved Garcia to a bed, while Crusher moved to another
Klingon. “Selar, we can still save this one. We need to get the blood out of his lungs and
patch the neck wounds. Allyssa, cut Garcia’s shirt off and start work on the chest
wounds. I’ll be with you shortly. Security, get these other Klingons to beds and then
make some room for us to work.”
An hour after the chaos dissolved, Sickbay was empty, except for Garcia, still
sleeping, Doctor Crusher, Lt. Worf, and Captain Picard. The latter three were engaged in
a discussion about the event. Subdued lighting made many of the bed diagnostics seem
brighter than usual with Garcia’s bed the only active display. The surviving Klingons
and the dead had been transported back to their ship. As Garcia began to come around,
he heard a bit of their talking, which ceased the moment Crusher became aware of his
stirring. She went to him and proceeded to scrutinize him. He smiled faintly up at her. “You still have some minor bruising to heal,” Crusher said. “But I wanted to wait
until you were conscious. Can you sit up?”
“Yes,” he said, but he accepted her help none the less. He looked at Picard and
Worf. He wondered if they noticed his shoulders slumping or heard his sigh. “I know your records say that you are trained in the Combat Ki form of martial
arts, which makes you resistant to injuries, but you’re not immortal,” Crusher said.
“Klingons are effectively twice as strong, on average, than a human being, especially if
they were born and raised on Kronos, where the gravity is slightly higher than Earth’s.
You can be hurt, maybe not by your average human, but you can be hurt.” “I know,” Garcia said, and winced suddenly. “Ow. That’s not supposed to hurt.” “Be still,” Crusher said.
“Garcia, how is it that if there is any intrigue to be had, you seem to be at the
center of it?” Picard asked.
“Just lucky, I suppose,” Garcia said.
“What were they interviewing you for?” Worf asked.
“I don’t know,” Garcia said.
“You don’t know, or you’re not saying?” Picard asked.
“I actually don’t know,” Garcia said.
“Who set this up? Admiral Singer?” Picard asked.
“I don’t know,” Garcia said. No need to drag Pressman into this, Garcia thought.
Had Pressman wanted a piece of this, he wouldn’t have sent Singer up to clean up the
mess Garcia had made.
“I don’t know,” Picard echoed, not hiding his sarcasm. “That just doesn’t cut it,
Ensign. I had four dead and five incapacitated Klingons in my sickbay, and you were
literally cut to threads. There’s a cloaked Klingon war ship in Earth’s orbit, which is also
highly unusual, and I want to know why I shouldn’t put you under arrest right now.” “Captain, have you ever been asked to keep a secret?” Garcia asked. Captain Picard’s eyes blazed with furry and his jaw muscles clenched, but he
reigned it in. Crusher could tell Picard was holding back. She finished her job and put
the tools of her trade away. She took a step back, arms crossed in front of her chest. “My patience with you has worn a bit thin, young man,” Picard said, when he
gained enough composure to speak. Picard wondered why he allowed Garcia, more than
anyone, to work him up so badly. Was it the fact that Garcia reminded him of himself
when he was younger? Reckless, arrogant, and stubborn. Picard had to ignore his
phantom heart pains. “Have you been given orders that require secrecy?” “Have you been ordered not to ask questions?” Garcia asked.
Worf nearly hit Garcia but Captain Picard stayed his hands. “Get him off my
ship,” Picard said.
“With pleasure, Captain,” Worf said.
Garcia was yanked up and out of sickbay so fast he didn’t have time to thank the
Doctor for healing him, once again. Not that she was probably receptive to his thanks
considering the trouble he had been to her. The walk to the transporter was brief, with
Worf practically shoving him all the way there. Garcia pulled free to climb into the
transporter alcove on his own power.
“Beam him back to where you found him,” Worf instructed Robinson. Robinson was very serious about her job, except when Worf wasn’t looking
directly at her. She passed Garcia a quick smile. Garcia smiled back. She transitioned
right back into her stern look, as if she were appropriately angry with him, just as Worf
glanced back to her.
“You better hope we don’t meet again,” Worf told Garcia.
“Or…” Garcia said on the Enterprise. “What?” he finished on the Klingon
transporter pad.
Captain MaHt glared at Garcia. “nuqneH” Klingon for Hello which translates
into “What do you want?” was the appropriate Klingon greeting for Garcia to give, but
“what” sufficed. MaHt nodded. “Follow me,” MaHt said.
kjº
Captain MaHt brought Garcia back to the training room and at Admiral Sheaar’s
word, departed, leaving the Admiral and Garcia alone together. MaHt did not leave
without engaging Garcia in eye contact and posturing. Garcia ignored the challenge
which angered MaHt to no end. The door shut and Admiral Sheaar approached,
shrugging off his cloak.
“Do you know what you’ve been recruited for?” Admiral Sheaar asked. “No,” Garcia said.
“Are you in?” Admiral Sheaar asked.
“I go through all that trouble to pass a test and you wonder if I am in?” Garcia
asked. “Yes, I am in. What is all of this about?”
“The primary reason Admiral Pressman and I got together was to devise a defense
against the greatest potential threat our nations have ever faced, the Borg,” Admiral
Sheaar said. “To that end, we developed a weapon that could annihilate them and the
platform necessary for the delivery of that weapon. The platform is the first starship to
be built on a joint Federation Klingon commission.”
“A new weapon system?” Garcia asked.
“Do you know how many Federation ships were lost defeating that one Borg
ship?” Admiral Sheaar asked.
“Yes,” Garcia said. That one Borg ship nearly decimated the entire fleet. A total
of 40 ships were destroyed at Wolf 359; the Buran, the Ahwanee, the Liberator, the
Rosevelt, the Melbourne, the Firebrand, the Saratoga, the Bellerophon, the Kyushu, the
Princeton, the Bonestell, the Tolstoy, the Chekov, the Gage, the Yamaguchi… He had to
force himself to stop the count, because with each ship named a tree branched off in his
mind delineating the names of the dead. It could be overwhelming if he allowed it. “If the Federation falls at this time, so the does the Klingon Empire. As much as I
hate it, we need each other,” Admiral Sheaar said. “There is an immediate Borg threat
that needs to be eliminated. We dispatched a Starship, but something went wrong.
Pressman believes there was a mutiny and the crew was killed. The ship’s advanced
security system was engaged, it eliminated the threat, and returned the ship to its base, as
it was programmed to do. Unfortunately, only Pressman knows how to disengage the
security system and he refuses to budge on that unless we have a Federation
representative as Captain of this joint venture. You have passed the interview and will be
made Captain of the Federation Klingon vessel, the Path Finder. Your crew will consist
of seventy five Klingons and twenty five Star Fleet Officers.”
Garcia didn’t know what to ask next. “What sort of ship?”
“The Path Finder is a prototype, Starburst class,” Admiral Sheaar said. “It’s
small, fast, and its primary function is for surveillance and intelligence gathering. When
not actively engaged to an assignment, you are to be silent running, looking for mutual
threats to the Federation and Klingon Empire.”
“How fast?” Garcia asked, knowing full well that mission objective of “looking
for threats” could make a person paranoid.
“Trans-warp capable,” Admiral Sheaar said.
“I know the Federation has dabbled in trans-warp, but I’ve not heard of any
stories of sustained success,” Garcia said. “How have you managed to work out the
quirks?”
“We have shortened the transwarp cycle to the minimum burst of warp necessary
to relocate the ship,” Admiral Sheaar said. “It takes tremendous amounts of computer
processing power to make it happen, but the end result is that your ship can jump almost
instantaneously from one point to another. In theory, the distance is unlimited, but we
have yet to have an effective demonstration of that theory.”
“So it does still have quirks,” Garcia said.
“All warp endeavors have risk associated with them,” Sheaar said. “You’re avoiding my question,” Garcia pointed