Founder at Work

[Sorehl 0]

Alone on the perimeter of Deck 87, Sorehl pulled the tunneling neutrino goggles away from his face and slid them up to his forehead. Narrowing his eyes, he examined his work. The surface of the tritanium alloy yielded a faint reddish glow as it cooled from the touch of the gamma welder. Underneath that surface, a complex interstitial lattice was now ready for future mating with the structure of what would become Camelot Station’s engineering ring. Delivery of the E-ring itself was not scheduled for several weeks, but construction teams would move down to this level in a few days to prepare. Playing chief engineer merely allowed him to take advantage of doing some advance work.

 

It also allowed him to put the bulk of the station between himself and the sensitive negotiations up on Deck 2. While his previous assignments had required a fair amount of diplomacy, it was not an arena he sought.

 

Instead, his education had been geared toward designing, building, advancing civilization through technology. He was, at heart, an engineer. He glanced at the welder in his hand, a gamma-ray instrument for a like-named quadrant.

 

Sorehl chided himself for the introspection, getting off his knees. He slid the monarch-sized PADD on the worktable toward him, using the stylus to carefully note the bulkhead location and certify the completion of his work. Configuration control was an important part of any construction task.

 

He inclined his head, registering the sound of a turbolift opening toward the interior of the deck. Sorehl left his tools, moving toward the source of the sound. Several Klingon officers walked briskly down the radial corridor, sweeping the area with their tricorders. The lead lieutenant looked up at the Vulcan suspiciously as he approached.

 

Sorehl stepped out in front of him. “qaStaH nuq? [What has happened?],” he challenged.

 

Whether startled by the image of a Vulcan using the guttural phrases of his language or just generally obstinate, the lieutenant did not answer immediately. Behind him, a second warrior took pains to scan the chief engineer.

 

“yIjatlh! [speak!]” Sorehl shouted, simulating the intensity if not the emotion, of a typical command phrase.

 

Either the clipped command or a glance at the collar rank made its impression. “A saboteur has destroyed two ships, captain,” the Klingon explained. “We seek a device the Romulans found on their ship.”

 

And yet, Sorehl noted, the station had not gone to alert. This was, however, the logical place to begin a search. Camelot’s eight fusion reactors were accessible just two decks below them and controlled from a central complex beginning on this level. In addition, there was a small anti-matter containment pod for supplying the lower torpedo launchers. “See to it,” he relented, stepping out of the team’s path. Although his hearing had not detected a presence on any of the nearby decks, it was a wise precaution to let them proceed.

 

The last Klingon remained behind, eyeing him carefully.

 

“What do you want?” Sorehl asked, invoking the typical Klingon query.

 

The tone was accusatory, “What were you doing down here alone?”

 

Sorehl considered the question. “Your blade,” he insisted.

 

The young Klingon complied without hesitation, apparently unconcerned about arming a Vulcan.

 

Sorehl drew a short green line on his palm, letting blood bead on the surface. He flexed his hand and allowed drops to trail onto the d’k tagh. “I am chief engineer of this facility,” he affirmed. He presented the weapon, hilt-first. “I am who I say I am.”

 

The warrior took the blade, confirming the trace of blood that remained unchanged on its surface. With a gruff nod, he slid it into his belt and hastened to rejoin his companions.

 

Sorehl squeezed his left hand, moving for the turbolift that would speed him to the Command Center. If they suspected a Founder at work, it was time to put aside his aversion and join the fray.

Edited September 3, 2004 by Sorehl