"So
with this new dilithium converter," Dan Doyle gestured to a massive cylindrical
device sticking like a leech to the pulsating warp core, "our engines can
operate at twenty percent above standard efficiency."
"Good,
Lieutenant, good," I responded, turning my eyes from the flowing colors before
me. "Weapons systems have been upgraded
too I suppose?"
"Yes,
sir," Dan replied, moving to another console on the core table--or the 'pool
table' as it was affectionately called.
"As you can see," he keyed up some numbers and equations on the pool
table's main screen. "Weapons are
operating on an elevated level...and crew quarters on decks 13 and 14 have been
readily converted into quantum torpedo storage, while decks 15, 16, 17 have
been cleared for fighter storage."
I
looked around the vast engineering room in awe. "I can't believe I didn't make it down here sooner. This place is even bigger than a Galaxy
class's engine room."
"It is
quite a site," Dan conceded. "It's
definitely a lot roomier than my old workspace on Risa."
I
sighed. I could have been an engineer--but I had chosen command. I had chosen the road of responsibility.
"Carry
on, Lieutenant," I said, then smiled. "I think I'm gonna call it a night,
Dan. See you tomorrow at 0700 on the
bridge."
"Right,
Pete. I've got an engine diagnostic to
run, and then I think I'm gonna turn
functions over to Lieutenant Agilet and take some night leave myself."
"Hmph. Well, we'll have to enjoy it while we can,"
I yawned. "Once the Tregonians start making use of their W-T, I don't think
we'll be seeing much sleep."
"Enjoy
it while we can," I heard Dan echo as I passed out of engineering and into a
dimly lit corridor.
Yes. Soon we would have more then enough
action. Soon, our lives would be
threatened in a way they had never been before.
We were
at Death's door.
And the
chime had been rung...
I woke
with a start. I blinked my eyes rapidly
to clear their optical servos. I was on
the Odyssey, I recalled as my memory
returned with sleep induced sluggishness.
For a
moment, I lay there, sleep threatening to claim me once again. But then I saw a light. A light out of place in the simulated
night. I sat up and turned my
head. Jamie was gone, and the
iridescent bed-sheets on her side were in chaos.
I again
did a 180, focusing on the light. It
was coming from the small bathroom off our quarters. As I noticed a deep thrumming originating from the room, I
settled back down. Jamie was running
the water processor, that was all. My
head had nearly found it's way back my pillow when I heard an almost inaudible
thump.
I was
up again in an instant. I slowly
lowered my feet to the floor, and padded over in the direction of the
light.
I
entered the room to find Jamie on her knees, her eyes tightly shut. I bent to touch shoulder, "Jamie, are you
OK?"
Slowly
her lids flickered and she raised her head to look me in the eye. "Huh?" she asked groggily.
"Jamie,
what's up? What's wrong--are you
sick?" I repeated my question.
"No,"
she shook her head. "I just have a
headache--a migraine. I think," her
face cleared.
I
frowned. "Is that it?" I asked, not a little suspiciously.
"Sure,"
she smiled. "I'm a doctor--I know. Go back to sleep.
"You're
positive?" I questioned, remembering
the com scene earlier that day.
"I'm positive," she rose to her feet and
kissed me lightly on the cheek.
Still
frowning, I silently returned to bed. A
few minutes later, I felt Jamie climb in beside me.
And
then, I was asleep.
"Captain
on the bridge," Paul announced as I stepped through the turbolift and into the
view of my senior staff; and I nodded in recognition.
"Carry
on," I supplied the traditional response. "Report?" I inquired, coming to a
halt before Paul's chair.
Paul
looked to his side console, "You have a communiqué from the Enterprise, sir; it's Captain Picard."
"How
long's he been waiting?"
"About
five minutes," Mr. Plack reported.
"I'll
take it in my ready room."
"Aye,
sir."
I keyed
my personal desk display onto a secure Federation frequency, and started to
speak, "Captain Picard? Captain
Schwartz here."
And in
exactly .008 of a second, the Federation emblem on my screen disappeared and
was replaced by the bald countenance of Jean-Luc Picard. "Captain," Picard said in way of
greeting. "I just thought you'd like to
know that we've been picking up some very odd taychon emission on the
micro-elec scale with our long range sensors.
From your recent experiences with this particular wormhole, does this
mean anything?"
I
shrugged grimly, "Maybe. But it's
better to be safe then sorry. Bring the
Enterprise around 80 degrees, power weapons, and prepare fighters for launch."
"Of
course," Picard responded, "Enterprise out."
I
allowed myself a slight grimace.
This
could be it.
"Continue
monitoring the W-T for fluctuations," I commanded as I returned to the
bridge. "The Enterprise has already picked up some said variations; and we'll be
in constant radio communication until--and perhaps after--those micro-fluxes
are confirmed."
The
bridge crew nodded collectively.
"Pilots
to your fighters," I ordered over the intercom. "Prep fighters 01 to 40,"
I turned to tactical. "You too, Mr. Reagan--I'll get Mr. Benson to man
your station."
"Sir,"
Ed nodded and left the bridge.
Now all
we had to do was wait.
"Captain!"
a shout from Commander Plin brought me out of a silent reverie. "Tachyons have been charged; the W-T is
becoming stable!"
"A
ship's coming through." Lieutenant Green seconded.
"Identification?"
I demanded, adrenaline surging through me.
"Markings
match those of previously observed Tregonian vessels," Green replied. "But size and shape dictate a variation the
computer is not familiar with. I'm
reading 5 kilometers in length and…3
kilometers wide."
"Armament?"
I inquired sharply; if not viciously.
Green
shook his head, "I can't get a reading, sir, the W-T must be affecting our
sensors in some way that we could not anticipate."
"All
hands to battle stations!" Paul ordered.
"All bridge crew to the battle bridge!"
I gazed
at the enormous Tregonian ship as it appeared on the Odyssey's forward viewer. I
shivered involuntarily, thinking: How many of these things did the Treg's have
in stock? Fifty--a hundred? I stepped
from the bridge and into the emergency side turbo-lift deep in thought.
Ten
seconds later I arrived at the battle bridge.
It was certainly a much grittier version of the main command area. First off, it was almost completely dark,
the panel's being self-lighting. The
main viewer was also much smaller and circular in shape. In contrast, tactical was a much bigger,
more involved panel, covering an entire half of the bridge.
I sat
down in my command chair, "Report."
Plin
sat down at the conn, "The Tregs are powering up weapons systems…"
"Then
it's up to us to make the first move," I decided. "Bay Command," I radioed,
"launch fighters--evasive pattern beta five."
"Aye,
sir," a male voice replied. "Launching now."
There
was a hiss of air as the bay decompressed and the fighters flew off to engage
the enemy.
A small
display to the left of my own chair blinked signaling that the Enterprise had launched her own fighters
as well. I turned to tactical, "Mr.
Benson, fire phaser crest at your discretion."
"Sir,"
Benson pressed some colored panels on his keypad. "Firing now."
I sat
back and braced myself as the ship began to surge. The power of the phaser crest was incredible. It combined conventional phaser technology
with the experimental beam-length theory; so instead of a needle-like beam
being produced, the phaser crest created a wave of awesome phased energy.
Suddenly,
the wave swept across the battlefield, striking the Tregonian cruiser head on.
"Damage?"
Paul asked, almost hopefully.
But
Green's face said it all, "Not even partial damage to their shields, sirs."
I smiled
tightly, "Then fire again, Lieutenant--wave type--epsilon."
And for
the second time, Benson jumped into
action, "Firing… now."
And
again, searing orange energy met cool, calculated, iridescent shielding.
But
this time, we met with better results, "Tregonian vessel's frontal shields are
down to 85%!" Lt. Green announced triumphantly.
I
checked my little screen once again.
Now there were so many fighters surrounding the cruiser we would have to
be careful not to hit them.
"Captain!"
Hail interjected. "The Tregonian ship is regenerating."
Startled,
I was about to provide tactical with a vector at which to fire when the deck
abruptly became like jello, and I was thrown to it with tremendous force. But unfortunately, it turned out to be much harder
then the forgiving substance just mentioned.
* * *
"I want
that sensor tower targeted!" Ed transmitted coordinates to the fighter Quicksilver--or Silver for short. He pulled
up sharply to avoid a stray phaser blast, as he continued speeding along the
uneven surface of the massive cruiser, "I want it completely taken out--the
less sensors on this puppy, the better."
Ed
eased back on the throttle in his own fighter, Maverick. Dog fights in
space were an entirely new experience for him.
Sure, he'd participated in zero-G combat exercises, but having that
feeling assault him inside of a ship
was something else entirely.
He
powered up his ship's phaser emitters and let loose a barrage of liquid
fire. Then, noticing one of his ships
out of place, he switched his sub-space radio back on.
"Slicer!" Edward shouted. "Why aren't you
attacking the Treg's forward phaser generator?"
"Sir,"
a nervous female voice replied. "I… I can't.
I'm pulling out--I'm heading back to the Odyssey."
"You
can't do that! We need every last drop
of fighter blood available!"
"No. I'm pulling out. I can't--"
Ed
shielded his eyes as the Slicer
plowed into the Tregonian cruiser's outer shields sending red-blue ripples in
all directions; creating a similar splash of loss spreading across his
heart--the feeling of losing a comrade in battle was one he could never learn
to ignore. He keyed up his accelerator and sped on, once again scanning the
enemy ship's hull for potential targets.
I
raised my face from the metal grill-work floor of the battle bridge, an eerie
sense of deja vu creeping over me, "Damage…" I tasted blood in my mouth, and I
found that I had trouble moving my jaw, "… report," I barely managed the last
word.
Surprisingly,
Plin was still in her chair, "Port nacelle's suffered a direct hit… and shields
are down to 60%!"
Smoke
poured into the cramped bridge--the lights flickered, then shut down
completely.
"Transfer
power from life-support on decks 14 and 15 to weapons, and execute evasive pattern
delta!" I picked myself up off the floor, straightened my uniform and wiped
blood from the bottom half of my face.
The
ship rocked as the evasive pattern was put into play, "Bring us about, Ms.
Plin, vector 096 degrees. And Mr.
Benson--fire on my mark."
Both
nodded, and in a second Raseen spoke, "Coming up on said vector, sir… now."
"Fire
at will, Mr. Benson," I directed.
And
another wave of deadly energy shot from the saucer section of the Odyssey.
"Report?"
I called again, feeling like that word had crossed my lips all to often in the
past ten minutes.
"I
can't tell, sir," Green reported. "Our sensors are being scrambled again--but
we must have hit something. Secondary sensors are reading a massive explosion
directly off the starboard bow; but they can't pin-point it."
Plin
turned in her chair, "But the Tregonians were off to port…"
"Then
our phaser vector must have been way off target," Benson commented.
"Captain,"
Plin said. "we're moving steadily towards the explosion. Impulse power has been cut, but we're still
drifting."
"Reverse
thrusters," I commanded.
"No
good, sir," Raseen said.
"Impact
In ten seconds," Green conceded.
"Options?"
I questioned.
"Five
seconds."
Again
silence greeted my ears.
Then--
Impact--
Silence.
Emptiness.
Voices,
faces, names, locations--all superimposed over a horrific bloody background.
But one
specific voice rose loud and clear above the rest. A small voice; a helpless voice.
And still, this one drew the brunt of my attention.
It was
the inflections of my young daughter's voice.
She was
calling, pleading with me.
Saying…
saying something; though I couldn't quite catch it--but I could see the sadness
and the pain in her scrunched up face.
Something
about waking up--something about--
Desperate--pain--destruction…
Jamie
was shaking me gently.
I
opened my eyes. Jamie was the one
pleading with me, not Tianna.
I sat
up slowly and looked around. I was on
the main bridge of the Odyssey. The lights were painfully bright, and the
carpet soft beneath me. I was
surrounded by medical personal.
Hm. They were moving their mouths, but no sound
met my ears.
I
looked beyond them, thinking I would see Paul, or Dan...
But
instead, I saw Earth--war-torn and battle damaged. I saw command in ruins and the Federation's entire space fleet in
pieces encircling our once great planet.
I saw once again my daughter's bloodied face, her usually golden hair
stained a striking crimson. And
suddenly everyone around me was dripping bright red blood.
The painful
light encircling me grew brighter--
Brighter--
I woke
up; shook my head to clear my mind and slowly scanned my surroundings.
This
time everything was heavily shrouded with an aura of reality. Red lights blinked on and off along the
ridged walls. I stood, moving each of
my limbs experimentally as I did so.
For leverage, I grabbed the arm of Julie's chair, slicing my palm from
my thumb to my fore-finger in the process.
The
battle bridge was a wreck. No need to
ask for a damage report--it was pretty much self explanatory.
Conn
was blown out, and the main viewer was a blank gray wall. I wiped my bleeding hand unceremoniously on
the head rest of my beige command chair, then gingerly touched my face. It too was covered with literally hundreds
of tiny diamond-shaped, grillwork incisions.
Probably from when I fell, I decided--though I had no recollection of
falling.
The
condition of the rest my senior staff was little better then the bridge
itself. They were all either draped
over their chairs or sprawled on the floor as I had been.
I
almost bent to check Paul's pulse, but an easier way came to mind. I quickly changed direction, and went to
search out the bridge's emergency medical locker. The med-tricorder included in the said package would be able to
assess the entire bridge crew's condition all at once.
I
remembered the approximate location of the locker, so I started scrounging
around in that general area.. Finally,
I found it--still intact--under a fallen console marked "TAC-1."
I
clicked it open and pulled out the supplied tricorder. Keying it to alpha sequence--scan and
report--I began checking out each crewer's life-signs.
Paul,
Raseen, Julie, and Benson all checked out fine--all I had to do was hypo them
back to conciseness. But Lieutenant
Green was another matter. His vital
signs were off the chart. I read
massive internal bleeding, as well as severe trauma to the skull and
cerebellum. Medical attention was a
necessity.
I
tapped my com-badge, "Schwartz to sick bay," there was a quiet humming, but
that was all in way of reply. I
frowned. "Schwartz to main bridge," now I tried to radio the skeleton crew I
had left in charge of the brunt of the ship's functions. Nothing, "Schwartz to Fighter Wing
Leader--Ed, are you there?" But again, there was no answer. "Odyssey to Enterprise," I shook my head.
Paul
came up behind me, rubbing his neck where I had injected the hypo,
"Captain. Com's out?" He started,
speaking jerkily. Probably because of
the strength of the dosage I had given him.
I knew I should have paid more attention at Jamie's lectures--she had
always drug me along, but nine out of ten times I had had something else on my
mind.
Well, I
shrugged mentally, live and learn--Paul would be slightly drowsy due to my
mistake, but nothing more.
To his
question, though, I nodded, "Yes, Commander.
We've lost contact with the fighter wing and the Enterprise as well," I tried to activate long/short range sensors.
But the viewer and all of the battle bridge's stations stayed dark and cold. I slammed my fist down on the console in a
brief flash of anger, sending a spider web of cracks skittering across it's
surface.
Then I
heaved a great sigh. Next thing I knew,
I wouldn't be visiting Julie for psychological sparring, but as one of her
patients.
"We've
got to get back up to the main bridge," I announced suddenly. "Com's down,
sensors are inoperative--in short, we're cut off from the rest of the
ship. Options?"
"We
could try the turbolift," Julie suggested simply.
"I
doubt it would still be operational. It
seems like we on the battle bridge got hit the hardest," I commented,
pondering. "But it is, of course, worth a shot."
"What
about Michael?" Benson gestured to indicate Green's crumpled form.
"We'll
have to leave him," I said grimly. "If a med-team can make it here in time,
fine. But we have neither the
resources, nor the time to help him now... Commander, Mr. Benson..." I nodded
in the direction of the lone turbolift connecting the Odyssey's war command area to the remainder of it's vast space.
"Sir,"
Both Paul and Carl said in unison, and moved towards their pre-destined target.
Bracing
themselves on either side of the double doors, they each dug their fingernails
into the minuscule crack that just barely existed between the two sections of
the turbolift entryway. They tightened
their stance and pulled for all they were worth. I could see their muscles strain even through their heavy
uniforms.
There
was a screeching sound, and the doors began to slowly retreat from each
other. Finally, with a hiss of escaping
air, the lift slid open,
But
when the doors parted, "There's no car," Julie murmured.
I
peered down the empty shaft. There was
the lift-car, broken and battered at the bottom of the abyss, "It certainly
doesn't look like we'll be riding the car up," I stated the painfully obvious.
Benson
rubbed his chin, then moved his hand up to finger his Bajoran ceremonial
earring. He himself was not Bajoran,
but his wife, Kara was; and she insisted that he wear an ear covering,
"Hm. My thoughts exactly, Captain,"
then he gazed at the strong woven fiber wire running up the tube, into the
blackness. That wire had once been used
as a the emergency lift's life line--but now I suspected that Carl Benson had a
very different use in mind.
He
turned back to the rest of us, confirming my previous thought, "I think now
would be a great time to build up that old upper body strength..."
"Uh," I
heard Benson burst through the above turbolift doors and collapse in a heap on
the floor of the main bridge.
Next, I
saw Paul slide through, helped by waiting bridge crewers. Then went Julie, then Plin. Finally I popped through, into the
semi-darkness of the Odyssey's
command module. Crewmen Tyler and Ensign
Stevenson helped me to my feet, then closed the emergency doors behind me.
It
looked like the main bridge had faired far better then it's now inoperative
counter part. Here only a few lights
were blown, and most of the consoles appeared to be intact--with the exception
of Science 1, which was coverless, and sporting cracked isolinear circuitry.
I
walked over to Lieutenant Farel Hail, whom I had left in charge upon myself and
the senior staff's departure, "Report, Lieutenant," I demanded, feeling an ache
in my jaw.
"Sir,"
Hail stood from my chair. "Turbolifts are down, sir. Sensors, weapons and shields are also not responding," he paused,
and I waited for more. "Communications were down, but have recently been
repaired. Com channels to decks five
through fifteen are operable, but transmissions to other decks cannot be put
through without special calibration of the system."
"All
right--progress," I nodded. "But keep working on those sensors--I'd like to
know what exactly happened out there," I spoke into the com. "Schwartz to
engineering."
There
was a buzz, then Dan Doyle's voice came over--fuzzy, but clear enough to
understand, "Doyle here. What happened
up there? We came close to loosing warp
containment!"
"Another
time, Mr. Doyle. Engine status."
A few
seconds later, Dan's voice returned, "I'm sorry, Captain, but right now, all
we've got is limited impulse for the sensor saucer, and next to nothing for the
main bulk of the ship. Warp drive is
out of the question."
I
grimaced. The sensor saucer had been
attached in the place of the captain's yacht, but did us no good except on
short range science missions, "I can't accept that, Lieutenant. Do you have a repair time estimate?"
I heard
Dan draw a deep breath, then let it out in a big 'whoosh', "I estimate at least
two, three hours for impulse, and up to five for warp drive. I'd say a total of six, maybe seven hours."
I
cleared my throat, "Make it five, Mr. Doyle.
It doesn't sound like the battle's still going on out there, but we
could be in trouble if the Treg's decide to send any more warships through."
"Aye,
sir," Dan replied, sounding more then a little tired.
As soon
as he logged off, I spoke again, "Schwartz to sick bay."
"Sick
bay here; this is Doctor Schwartz," Jamie's voice responded promptly.
"Casualty
report, Doc--and, if possible, I'd like to know why we all blacked out a few
minutes ago."
I heard
Jamie sweeping some broken glass from her work space, and keying on her desk
display, "Medical sensors report five deaths, and ten more wounded--but we
can't seem to get sick bay doors open, so we can't mobilize any med-teams. Nurse DeDaria is presently trying to burn
through them with one of our laser scalpels."
"OK," I
nodded. "We'll send a two man security force down to help you out," I motioned
to Tyler and Stevenson. "As you know, main turbo lifts are down. You'll have to make you're way there using
only the emergency lift shafts. Remember," I turned to the two crewmen, "pump
the handel three times, then tell the computer where you want to go," they
nodded, then left the bridge.
"But as
far as information on the last fifteen minutes, I can't help you much," Jamie
continued. "All the internal med-sensors picked up was a ship-wide blackout."
"Ship-wide?"
Paul inquired, entering the conversation.
"Uh
huh," I could almost see Jamie nodding her head. "Records show that all
nine-hundred and thirty-four people lost consciousness for approximately
fourteen point three seconds. No
explanation's available, except for the theory that whatever hit us shook us up
pretty bad."
"Thank
you, Doctor," I responded, though she had supplied no useful information.
"Bridge out," I shut off the channel.
I moved
to sit in the captain's chair--and, as always, drew a sort of power from
it. It reassured me that I was indeed
in control of this vessel. But then
reality came flooding back, and I rubbed a hand over my grillwork face, "How
long until we have any sensors, Mr. Hail?"
"At
least two hours, Captain," Hail reported apologetically.
I
frowned, knowing if the ship or whatever that had struck us was still within
the vicinity, we would be highly vulnerable to even the smallest of it's
particle weapons.
"Get on
it, Lieutenant," I allowed. "And report to me the moment the array is back
on-line."
"Yes,
sir. Right away."
I
pushed past an impossibly young ensign lugging an impossibly large engineering
kit on the way to my quarters. When I
arrived at my door, I paused before entering to rub my temples. I couldn't remember ever being that young.
Brushing
the thought aside with a sigh, I pressed the keypad to my left and entered my
quarters.
Suddenly,
everything was quiet. The sounds of the
corridor were cut off as soon as the doors slid shut and silence overwhelmed
me.
For a
second I stood motionless, letting the feeling sink in. Then I moved towards the replicater.
"Roc'de'jino, extra cream," I spoke into
the unit. There was a buzzing as a cup
full of Klingon coffee materialized. As
soon as it was whole, I picked it up and went over to sit on one of the two
blue couches the cabin contained.
Enjoying the serenity, I sipped my beverage and peered out the angular
window and into the vastness of the badlands.
I could only see a few feet from the ship because of the plasma
interference, but it was better then staring at the blank walls of the cabin
itself.
I could
only guess as to what condition earth was in right now, or how the rest of the
fleet had faired. I placed my mug down
on the small end-table to my right.
Apparently the war was still going on out there, or Starfleet would have
sent some sort of rescue team to aid in the repair of our ship.
I
squinted my eyes, and tried to sort out the electromagnetic mess that was the
Badlands. I stared harder, trying to
see through the red mass enshrouding our ship; searching for any sign of what
was out there. Was there a fully armed
Tregonian cruiser waiting to vaporize us the moment we show our first spark of
awareness?
Hmph. I sat back as the now familiar feeling of
helplessness washed over me; drenched me; saturated me. For the next two hours, I was faced with
probably the most difficult task I would ever undertake.
I had
to wait.
"Status
report, Mr. Hail?" I inquired tiredly.
"I think
we're about ready to give it a try," Farel closed the wall panel he had been
working on. He sat up and dusted his
hands off.
"Commander
Plack, Counselor Chase, and Ms. Plin to the bridge," I announced over the
com. A few moments later, Paul, Julie,
and Raseen all exited the emergency turbolift and entered the bridge.
As soon
as they were seated, I began issuing orders, "Ms. Plin, bring the forward
sensor array on-line. Mr. Hail, get me
that view screen."
"Aye,
sir."
There
was a humming. It started as a deep
bass, then quickly escalated to a whining soprano.
"Sensors
are back on-line!" Plin declared triumphantly.
I sat
forward in my chair, sensing Julie and Paul lean forward in unison with myself,
"Then by all means, Commander: power up the viewer, and let's take a look."
"Yes, sir," Raseen responded. "Viewer
operational."
And
suddenly, the seemingly blank metallic wall at the head of the bridge lit up
with a strikingly vibrant semblance of the Gamma Quadrant Badlands. Relief flooded over me. There was no Tregonian cruiser within sensor
range, "Commander Plin, do a long range sensor sweep of the Badlands. I want to know exactly what's out there."
There
was a few moments of silence, and Plin reported, "No sign of any Tregonian
vessels, sir. I'm reading several class
IV plasma jets, some space dust/debris, and...," Raseen turned around in her
chair, "the Enterprise, sir! I'm reading the Enterprise twenty degrees to port, about three-hundred kilometers
away."
"Condition?"
I asked her pointedly, thinking this too good to be true.
I saw Plimn's brow wrinkle in
concentration, "I can't tell from this distance, sir," she reported, trying to
compensate.
"Open a
channel," I put forth another suggestion, clinging to the fragile hope that the
Enterprise might still be operational
and able to help us.
"No
answer," Lieutenant Hail replied from the conn. "I'm getting electromagnetic
static on all frequencies."
I sat
back and rubbed my chin, deep in thought.
"Are we
within transporter range, Lieutenant?" Paul asked the question even before I
had a chance to open my mouth.
"Barely,
sir. Transport is possible, but risky."
Instantly
Paul stood, "Sounds like a good excuse to stretch the old legs. Captain?" He turned, awaiting my approval.
"Of
course, Commander," I replied. "Take an away team over to investigate. If the Enterprise
is still in working order, report back to me on the severity of their ship and
their crew's condition."
"Aye,
sir," Paul responded. "Plin, Benson, you're with me. Doctor Schwartz," he called into the com, "have an emergency
medical team meet me in transporter room two.
We're going on a little field trip."
As the
blue energy of transport left Paul and his team, the sounds and the atmosphere
of normal space returned.
Paul
sniffed the air. It was extremely musty
and stale. Most of the lights were
blown. He motioned for everyone to
switch on their wrist mounted torches.
Six
hazy cones of light pierced the darkness and swept the room. As it seemed the most logical course of
action, they had beamed directly to their fellow starship's bridge area.
But no
familiar faces were there to greet them in the Enterprise's once bustling command module. If fact, there were no signs of life at all.
"Ms.
Plin," Paul inquired, "life signs?"
Raseen
looked up from her glowing tricorder screen, "No life signs within a
one-hundred meter radius, sir. Any
further out then that, I can't even venture a guess."
"Right,"
Benson started. "We're going to have to try to reboot the main computer. If we're successful, we can make use of the
internal sensors."
"Very
good, Lieutenant," Paul agreed. "Get to work immediately. Doctor?" Paul turned to Jamie. "Take nurses
Grenwen and Famoun and check the lower decks for survivors," Paul paused to
scan the ground, and an odd feeling came over him. At first he couldn't decide what it was. Then it clicked, "And bodies," Mr. Plack
held up a hand for everyone to stop what they were doing. Jamie and her team halted in mid-stride
while Benson looked up from the terminal he was trying to access. "Isn't it
strange that there are no bodies?"
"Maybe
they managed to man the escape pods before the ship was disabled," Raseen
suggested. "Or maybe the bridge had to be evacuated for some reason."
"Perhaps,"
Paul allowed, then shifted his eyes so that his gaze rested on Jamie. "But I
want you and your team to report to me the moment you come across
any--Starfleet or no."
"Yes,
sir," Jamie replied, and resumed her journey towards the turbolift, finally
passing through it's doors with Grenwen and Famon close behind.
In
another instant Benson had also returned to his work, and the bridge was tomb
silent once again.
"The
entire ship's dead, Captain," Paul's deep voice came over the com in my ready
room. "Main power's been drained, their dylithum has somehow reverted to it's
dormant state, and life-support is failing fast."
A fresh
wave of exhaustion swept over me, "What's the status of her crew, Mr. Plack?"
I heard
some muffled clanking in the background, "Fortunately, it appears that eighty
percent of the life-boats have been jettisoned. There are approximately thirty crew members still on board, but
they are all dead. The Doc is bringing
one back with her to perform an autopsy on it.
She says there's some sort of accelerated decay factor effecting all of
the corpses on the Enterprise."
"So we
have to assume that the brunt of Picard's crew survived the attack and fled the
vicinity," I concluded.
"We
tried to access the ship's records, but there wasn't enough power remaining in
the banks to view the logs and keep the main computer up and running."
"Very
well," I responded. "Anything else to report, Commander?"
"We
also found ten undamaged fighters still occupying the lower decks, sir," Paul continued.
"If it's all right with you, I'll have them transported to the Odyssey's own fighter storage."
"Gladly,"
I nodded. "We lost most of our fighters in the battle. Any addition to our arsenal is quite
welcome."
"Thank
you, sir," Paul said. "We'll be returning in about twenty minutes, as soon as
we shut everything down here."
"Carry
on, Commander."
"Aye,
sir. Plack out."