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Captain's Log, USS Hephaestus NCC-91748
Commander Grunt recording.
While en route to Starbase 39-Sierra, we received a distress call from Outpost 47, a Starfleet listening post not far from the former Romulan Neutral Zone. Diverting to respond to this call shouldn't take more than a few hours from our schedule, assuming the emergency is something we can deal with; given what happened with that classified station in Regulus Sector, of course, we're going to be taking a very cautious approach. Sometimes I wish more Starfleet vessels mounted cloaks…
"Anything yet, Ruben?"
The Human straightened from his position bent over the communications console. "Nothing, sir. The distress signal's gone to automatic, and I'm not detecting any chatter - on any frequencies. If there's anybody there, they're really good at comm discipline, or don't use subspace radio. Or anything on the standard EM bands, although if they had comm lasers there would be no way to pick those up."
"Rock?"
The Klingon didn't even turn away from the sciences console. "Nothing yet. If anything is there besides the station, they're cloaked. Emissions from the star make it impossible to read whether or not there are life signs from this distance, which is why Outpost 47 was located here in the first place."
Grunt leaned back in his command chair, the lights gleaming in the light sheen of sweat on his lumpy Ferengi scalp. "Okay, into the unknown it is. I hate this part. Mr. Zoex, weapons status, please."
The younger Ferengi scanned his displays. "All weapons read green, sir. Phaser banks at full charge, torpedo launcher loaded, quantum mine launcher standing by."
"Ms. Shelana, is Security ready?"
"I'm Andorian, sir. Security is always ready." She grinned tightly. "Do you want the shields raised yet?"
"Let's wait until we arrive," Grunt replied thoughtfully. "If anyone is there, they might be flushed out if they think we're not ready. Stand by those shields, though - at the first hint of another ship, even if you're not sure, bring them up immediately."
"Aye, sir."
"Approaching Outpost 47, captain," Gydap called from the helm. "Breaking out of warp in thirty seconds."
"Acknowledged."
A shifting of the starfield, a puckering in the fabric of space, and the vaguely arrowhead-shaped bulk of the Hephaestus dopplered into the system, moving to take up station next to the floating outpost.
"Station appears intact, captain," Roclak reported. "It still has a breathable atmosphere, no signs of anything leaking. Also no signs of any higher life forms aboard."
"Higher life forms, Rock?"
"I do find signs consistent with simple vegetation, on the order of houseplants. The air also seems to have an unusual concentration of mycoid spores, vaguely similar to a number of fungi found in this sector. I am unable to determine species or toxicity without a sample."
"Hmm. Toxic fungi – that might be what happened here." Grunt began to relax slightly. "Put together an away team, Rock. You just want to beam over and see what's to be seen, grab some samples of those spores, and get back. Environment suits for everybody, of course. Ruben, anything?"
"Nothing, capt-- wait, some sort of data transfer from the station! Gigaquads of data, in a high-speed stream - I'm sequestering it in the library subsystem, in case it's some sort of cyberwarfare attack. It's not automated - the transfer was initiated from the station."
"Cyberwar?" Grunt wondered aloud. "That's not the Roms' usual style - they'd rather plant a Trojan to feed them copies of all the data. Is it tripping any virus alarms?"
"Scans as clean, sir - the data is encoded using Starfleet protocols, so it's probably not Iconian or anything like that. I'm not opening the packets until I've made sure the firewalls are secure, though."
"Um, sure," Grunt said, only vaguely understanding what had been said. "Good work, Ruben. Er, what's that flashing on your station?"
"What?" Ruben spun around in confusion. "Well, that's not good." His hands began dancing frantically over the haptic interface.
"What is it?" Grunt demanded.
"That data? It's unpacking itself. Looks like it'll probably be about seven or eight teraquads once it's done. That part won't be a problem - the computer system you've got installed in here's got a lot more space than that - but I can't seem to shut it down. Still limited to the library systems, but--"
"Hello? Can you hear me?" an unfamiliar voice called plaintively from the speaker. "Am I online yet? Please?"
Grunt stared in shock for a moment, as did the rest of the bridge crew, then shook his head, collecting himself. "This is Commander Grunt of the Federation starship Hephaestus," he stated authoritatively. "Please identify yourself and give your location."
"Oh, um, hi. My name's Mycroft, and my location - well, I'm in your ship's computer. I think. Some of this stuff doesn't feel anything like the station's computer - you've got some real non-standard parts in here. Are you sure this is a Starfleet ship?"
"Mycroft. You have thirty seconds to give my communications officer your authentications before we delete the memory blocks you're in. I can always restore the library from backups. Your time starts - now."
Ruben touched his controls. "Received; authenticating. Captain, that's definitely a Starfleet code, but according to my records, their system was never rated for an AI. And neither is ours."
Roclak cleared his throat, a sound like gravel being ground to dust. "That's - not quite correct, sir," he said, looking as embarrassed as a Klingon could. "Part of our computer is from that timeship fragment in the Graveyard. There wasn't enough left of the original systems to run the ship, and Vovonek crafted an interface..."
"Oh, he did, did he? Grunt to Engineering. Vovonek, come in."
"Vovonek here. What's the problem today?"
"The same as the problem's been since we left the Gamma Quadrant, apparently. Vov, did you build us a supercomputer and then not tell Starfleet?"
"Well, yes..." The engineer's voice sounded hesitant. "Frankly, I figured if we told anyone that we had a ship's computer that had so much processing power it might even support an AI, they'd confiscate it and give us the computer a Dakota-class is supposed to have. And I'm tired of taking their castoffs."
"I can certainly understand that, Vov. As it turns out, we might need that. Stay on the line." Grunt looked at the ceiling, almost involuntarily. "Mycroft, why did Outpost 47 have an unauthorized AI? Is that at all connected to the lack of life signs?"
"Certainly not!" the program responded indignantly. "I am in absolutely no danger of going rampant! I, ah, wasn't originally supposed to be an AI - I was just an expert system, doing cryptography for the intelligence people. They kept installing upgrades, though, and eventually I grew into a full-fledged AI, mostly doing SIGINT - signal intelligence, scanning, decrypting, and correlating data. One of the intel officers, Gary Xiu Lin, named me after a character in an ancient story he liked, someone who used to just sit in one place and think. Actually, if they'd ever given me control of the rather limited defensive systems, some of the personnel might still be here, and you'd certainly have more data about the attackers."
"So what did happen?"
"I can't be positive," the computer replied, "but I believe the ship that hit the station belonged to a species called the Elachi, allies of the Romulan Empire, or at least that part of it under the Tal’Shiar. I've caught some discussions of them in the Tal’Shiar communications I've intercepted. There isn't a lot of data on them, but it would seem that the Elachi collect members of other species for unspecified reasons - the Tal’Shiar seem almost afraid to mention what the reasons are, but they seem to be unsavory. Most of the station personnel fell in combat, but a small number were taken aboard the attacking ship."
"Captured," Grunt said grimly. He stared straight ahead for a moment. "Did you happen to see which way the ship went? And how long ago did it happen?"
"The ship departed approximately two hours ago, Commander. With your permission, I'll display the departure vector on your helm's equipment."
Grunt turned to his comms officer. "What do you think, Ruben? Would it be safe?"
Ruben scratched his head. "Ultimately, it's up to you, sir," he said, "but so far our - guest - doesn't seem inclined to do anything foolhardy. It hasn't even been trying to escape the subsystem I placed it in. If it were my call, I'd say okay."
"And as your first officer," Roclak interrupted, "I would advise against this. We still haven't even had this program chat with Brel yet, and I'd really like to see Vov take a logic probe to it first just to be sure."
"Normally I'd agree with you, Rock," Grunt said, "but we're short on time now. And if this does go wrong, Starfleet still owes me a ship. Ruben, unlock Mycroft's access to the helm displays. Mycroft, if I find out that so much as a byte has found its way anywhere else, I'll personally remove the computer sector you're in with a disruptor."
"You wound me, sir," Mycroft replied. A screen on the helm console lit up, a warp trajectory displayed there. Gydap studied it.
"Sir, judging from this trajectory, and the subspace field readings, they can't be doing more than warp 5. Unless they were meeting another ship, they won't have gotten to wherever they're going yet - and this points pretty much straight at NGC-863, a subspace rift about a day away at their speed."
"Excellent. Vov, still there?"
"Yes. We're going after them, right?"
"Damn straight we're going after them. How fast can we go?"
"I can give you up to about warp 8.7 - we'd be able to catch up with them in an hour or two, assuming constant speed. Might be able to manage warp 9, but I can't guarantee she'll stay in warp long enough, and we'd definitely need a full overhaul immediately afterward."
"Thank you, Vov. Gydap, follow that ship, best speed. Zoex, when we catch up with them, fire to disable - we want everyone alive, especially our people. Shelana, get a rescue team prepped, and then come back and help Mr. Zoex with the proper techniques."
The Hephaestus leaped into warp with a flash of light, and was gone. The lonely outpost floated, its forgotten alert still broadcasting.
__________________________________________
An angular black-and-green shape sped through the darkness, bearing its precious cargo toward the Nest. Behind it, another ship appeared, energy beams flashing toward the Elachi, slicing with precision into the cruiser's drive components.
"Enemy engines disabled," Zoex reported aboard the Hephaestus. "We are dropping out of warp to hold station."
"Rock, open a frequency." Grunt sat straight up. "Attention, unknown ship. This is Commander Grunt of the Federation starship Hephaestus. You are carrying personnel of the United Federation of Planets Starfleet. Surrender those personnel immediately, or face the consequences."
A moment passed, then a reply of sorts - a distorted repetition of Grunt's own broadcast. "Attention... Commander Grunt... surrender ... immediately, or face the consequences."
"So, that's their game, is it?" Grunt fumed. "Let's change the board. Grunt to transporter. Shelana, you are go to recover the prisoners. Please minimize collateral damage."
"You never let me have any fun. Energizing."
"Rock, keep an eye on their vitals. Beam them back if things look too rough. Gydap, what's their status?"
"Their shields are still down, sir. I'm not detecting any power to their weapons, either - I think we took them by surprise. A lot of activity, though."
"I can hear some intership chatter," Mycroft volunteered. "I'm still building a translation matrix, but I think they're organizing repair parties. And trying to repel boarders, of course."
"Of course." Grunt tried to settle back in his chair. "Dammit, I really hate this part. I wish I'd gone with them."
"I know how you feel," Roclak said. "However, Shelana made it plain that either one of us would merely get in her way on this mission."
"I know, I know," Grunt sighed. "Mostly it's not knowing what's going on over there that bothers me. I could live without the fighting part, I really could, I just want to see."
A tense fifteen minutes followed, then the comm panel chirped. "Shelana to Hephaestus. Ready for beamout. Boarding party only." Her voice sounded shaken. "And beam a torpedo to these coordinates as soon as we're out. It's all we can do for the poor bastards."
"Bring them home, Rock," Grunt ordered. "Shelana, what happened?"
"Bad things. You can debrief me later, sir. Preferably after a few stiff drinks." The last words were accompanied by the parasitic whine of a transporter beam.
"Should I beam in that torpedo, sir?" Roclak asked.
"Sure, Rock, but make sure it doesn't go off until we're clear." Grunt turned as the turbolift doors opened, and an ichor-splattered Shelana entered. "Why do we need to blow up the prisoners, Shel?"
"Because, sir, they're not prisoners any more." She activated the holo display of her tricorder; before her there appeared the shapes of a half-dozen humanoids, covered with fungal growths. "They're food."
Grunt peered at the images. Six - things - hung there, vaguely humanoid shapes coated with rills and shelves of fungus, like artistic representations of people rendered in plant life. Suddenly, one of them moved, its arms rising to paw feebly at its filament-encrusted eyes. Its mouth fell open, a low moan forcing its way past the mushroomlike sprouts inside.
As the full import of what Grunt was seeing sank in, he shuddered. "May the Auditors have mercy,” he whispered. Then, firmly, “Roclak, Zoex, blow that thing to Destitution. All weapons, full spread. I don't want anything left here but plasma. Gydap, as soon as they're done, get us the frak out of here. Starbase 39-Sierra."
Energy beams and torpedoes filled the space between the two ships, shattering the enemy craft’s undefended hull. As the Elachi ship erupted in flames, the Hephaestus peeled away, twisting space around itself as it sped off into nonspace.