"I... I am not!" Rom stammered, his green Ferangi head-sheet quivering.

                "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."