Episode 2: The Ruins of Empire

Teaser

Lieutenant Commander Beverly Train sat back in the central Captains chair on the bridge of the Wayne. She rubbed her neck just above her pips, where she had developed quiet an itch. Doctor T'Lal said there was nothing wrong, that it must all be in her mind. But she certainly wasn't making it up! Her skin had been pretty raw the past couple of days. Perhaps she was allergic to the material of the uniform? It was a new one after her last one ripped during a rather vigorous training exercise in holodeck three.

"What is our status?" she asked, calling out to the front. She didn't care if conn or navigation answered. It was just too quiet on the deck.

"All systems are running within a seven-degree variation," the conn officer, Ops officer Beela Teeb, a Bolian lieutenant reported. "Our engines are running well-within the green. And life support is working at ninety-five percent efficiency."

"Great," she said, rolling her eyes at his report. For seven months she had served on this ship, as the Assistant Tactical Officer, second in the tactical/security hierarchy underneath Z'org. There had been absolutely nothing to preoccupy her time. "Bridge to Sickbay."

"Sickbay here," came the rapid reply. Yet the voice that responded, Nurse Beatrix Douerty, sounded a little too eager. "Anything I can do for you?"

"No, Nurse Douerty," Train replied, "Is there anything that's happened down there? Anything I can come down and help with?"

An elongated silence followed. A heavy sigh could be heard following: "No, although I really wish I did!" The sound of the Deltan nurses voice sounded just as depressed as it did absolutely bored. Well, that was that. Beverly closed the communication, feeling despair filling her.

Train sunk into the seat even more. She glanced at the digital clock that read on the command arm-rest interface. 03:11. They still had four hours left on their shift and the Commander felt her head would explode from the drag of time.

"Is there an asteroid out there we can pummel with a few photon torpedoes?" she asked, hoping against hope.

"No, ma'am," Tactical replied.

"Is there a comet that we can tag with a few phasers?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," came the reply.

"Is there a clocked Borg ship that can assimilate us so we get of this drudgery?"

"Sorry, nothing like that."

"Come on!" Beverly said, standing to her feet and waving her arms in frustration. She turned in exasperation to the Bajoran male, who stood in his immaculately pressed gold uniform. "There has to be something out there, Crewman Betta!"

"You could always blow up Yallada Prime," the Bajoran suggested. "Nothing down there but rocks and Romulan ruins, ma'am."

There was indeed something to be said about shooting up a planet that once was home to the Romulans. It would give her a small bit of excitement and actually give her something to report when Alpha Shift took over from Gamma. To see the planet erupting in a fiery flame, burning the heavens with its glory, although it might be short lived, certainly had a great appeal to the Gamma Shift Watch officer.

No, no. That would be too much paperwork. Maybe not physical but certainly digital paperwork. Then there would be Admirals to talk to, perhaps the Federation DOJ, perhaps even get mind-melded by some jumped-up Vulcan.

"As good a suggestion as that sounds," Beverly said with a wry grin, "I'd hate to be the one to explain that to the Captain."

The Bajoran suppressed a grin, but not as successfully as he probably thought he had. Beverly turned away from him, feeling that if she stayed up here, she would go nuts. Well, at least she could leave the bridge. Stretch her legs, do something like that.

"Well," she said, stretching her back as she said it. She felt her back popping in several places. "I honestly feel the need to talk a walk. Any of you wanting to arm-wrestle for command while I'm gone?"

She could feel more then hear Crewman Betta's excitement growing at the prospect of a chance to command the bridge, even for a little bit. Yet, he would have to wait! It wasn't exactly proper for a crewman only a year into his Starfleet service to command the bridge of a newer model starship! Even one a nearly a decade out of space dock.

Train opened her mouth to say something when the computer called out in a calm manner "Collison alert!" throughout the bridge. Train barely had time react when a Romulan ship decloaked right before the ship. The ship was massive in the forward viewscreen.

"Full stop! Full stop!" she shouted. Despite the laxities of the night shift, there was doubt the explosive nature of the response from her bridge crew. The flight officer didn't even reply as the Vulcan's fingers moved faster then was humanly possible. Ironically, everything seemed to slow down, although it was just adrenaline pounding through the Lieutenant Commander. Despite the suddenly lack of the essentials of responding to an officers request, she found it oddly comforting in those few seconds that the officer wasn't taking time to respond verbally but acting without thought.

The ship came to a very sharp stop, and the inertial dampeners failed to catch the almost infinitely rapid shift from three-quarters impulse to full stop. The flight and conn officers slammed hard into their consoles, unable to catch themselves. Yet she didn't see that, as she lost her footing and slammed chest first into the floor, crying out in pain as her arm connected with the Vulcan's shoulder, both falling to the floor, the Vulcan on top of her.

The gravity caught up and she felt the gravity take hold. "Raise shields and 'Red Alert'!" she called out, Ensign T'Pok struggling to get to his feet. He barely got up, and she pulled herself up. Her left arm was clearly broken, red flashes streaking through her vision, making it hard to see. She must have been rattled harder then she thought because she was starting to hear rapid chirping in her ears.

"They are hailing us," Crewman Betta called out.

Beverly could hear the pain in his voice and glancing back, he was holding his stomach as if it hurt. Not like there was any reason to expect otherwise.

"Onscreen," she said, turning back to the viewscreen. The Vulcan was holding his face, small trickles of green blood pouring from around his hands. She put her good hand on his shoulder.

The screen switched from the special view of the Romulan ship, which seemed now to actually be a small transport ship, to a view of a bridge. It was small, looking to be the size of a closet then a full bridge. It wasn't the Romulan that caught her attention but all the equipment that was stacked in the back of the bridge.

"I am sorry to drop in right in-front of you!" the Romulan said, drawing her attention back to the Romulan. He had salt-grey hair, not bowl cut like most Romulans preferred, but his hair came almost to the eyebrows on his predominate brow. "I hope it did not cause too much stuff."

"You broke my arm!" Commander Train said, scowling at him. "And you've hurt quite a few others on my bridge. What is your reason for being here, in Federation territory, Romulan?"

The man raised his hands defensively, as if he were the victim here. The audacity of him! She was tempted to turn those photons that they had Yallada Prime's name on them on the Romulan intruders.

The Romulan gave an innocent grin. "Trust me, this is a case where asking forgiveness then permission and I can prove it!"

Train really wished now that she hadn't been so quick to desire excitement on this shift.