Chapter Six

The prophesised bad weather came, striking the ship shortly before the beginning of the day shift. Alix had fallen asleep on Drake's sofa after her second cup of coffee, having never altered the ship's course. However, the storm itself had turned, rushing towards the Endeavour, and the inattentive officers of the graveyard shift had failed to notice until it was already too late to do anything about it. Subspace disturbances on the fringe of the storm collapsed the ship's warp field, making escape impossible, and a few minutes later she was consumed by the tempest.

"Red alert! Red alert! This is not a drill. Captain Drake to the bridge."

The wail of the klaxon and the booming ship-wide announcement would have been more than enough to wake Drake, had he not already been on his feet and pulling on his uniform. The storm's initial impact had roused the captain from his slumber, and when he had seen a swirling mass of purple outside of his window instead of the usual blackness and stars he had grasped what had happened.

Alix was awake as well, tucking her shirt into her trousers and pulling on her uniform jacket. She was suddenly very grateful for her misspent youth, for she awoke without a hangover, the effects of the alcohol having long since left her. She dressed quickly, took a look at the storm raging outside, and felt a tinge of worry. A nagging feeling that she had forgotten something had kept her company at the party, but she hadn't been able to work out what it was that she had forgotten, and Kana had been no help. Now she knew and it worried her. Since the ship had not changed course, the storm must have, and to have done that it must have gathered strength.

She thought about nothing else until she was at her post, studying her instruments. A quick review of the night's sensor logs showed what had happened: the storm that she had been monitoring had merged with another, and together they had swept down towards the starship. They had been swallowed whole, and now they were deep inside the maelstrom.

"Alix?"

"Not good, Will. The storm's picked up a lot of speed since yesterday. We're completely engulfed."

"Can we warp out?"

"No. Subspace disturbance in the region is too high. We'll have to get outside the storm before we can reengage the warp drive."

"How long will that take?"

"A day, at least."

Drake gripped the edge of the helm console to keep himself upright and implored his friend, "Why so long?"

Alix wouldn't risk glancing up from her instruments. "We have to fly through the storm, Will. We can't out-fly it at impulse speeds and the storm's currents are dragging us further in, so we can't sail with it. We have to beat up into the wind and pass out the other side."

Drake nodded and made his way across the rumbling deck to his command chair. "All hands, this is the captain. The ship has been engulfed by a vast ion storm. There is no immediate danger, but we can expect at least twenty-four hours of rough weather, and flying in these conditions will take its toll on the ship. All off duty personnel should get whatever rest they can, in preparation for busy shifts. I'll keep you apprised of any developments. Courage, people, and we'll see this one through. Captain out."

The day shift arrived a few seconds after Drake had finished his announcement, relieving the graveyard watch. The captain noticed how uncomfortable the great majority of his people were. In first voyagers he could understand such levels of apprehension, but there was fear amongst the more experienced hands as well. Brok was a noticeably greener shade of blue, and McDonald looked pale. Only the old Endeavours seemed unperturbed by the angry mass of blue and purple clouds on the main screen, but then Drake wouldn't have expected something like a simple ion storm to be of much bother to those people.

Watching the clouds roll and thunder outside was beginning to make Drake feel nauseous. "Alix, put our course on the screen."

A graphic appeared promptly: a fuzzy purple squiggle that represented the perimeter of the storm, a flashing red blip to mark Endeavour's position, and a bright green line tracing Alix's chosen path through. A long line indeed, and to the side of the image there was a revised estimate of the flight time: twenty-six hours.

The captain hid his glee successfully. This was better than anything he could have hoped for. If the storm hadn't gained this terrible momentum and extra size they would have only skimmed its edge, or perhaps plunged inside for an hour or two to shake everyone up a bit. While a couple of hours of palpable terror and brisk activity could do wonders for uniting a body of men, a full day of it would do so much better. He knew his ship, knew what she could take, and having seen scans of the storm he knew that they were in no great danger. Oh, there was always the chance that something might go wrong, that they might lose their shields and be smashed apart by the next electrical discharge, but the likelihood was remote. Barring any kind of catastrophe, Endeavour would see through the next twenty-six hours and emerge on the other side, shaken and perhaps a little battered, but in one piece.

He wanted to sit comfortably in his chair, a serene image on the bridge, something for the first voyagers to look to and draw some strength from, but after a few minutes he found himself twitching and knew how that must appear. He wasn't at all nervous – he was excited, this was the kind of flying that he loved – but he knew how easily his motions could be misinterpreted. He left the chair and leant over Alix's shoulder, grinning eagerly.

"You're happy."

"I love this. It's a proper test of what the ship can do!"

"Yeah," she was grinning too, alive with pleasure. "If only there was a Mirak cruiser waiting for us on the other side, it'd be perfect."

Drake laughed, in high spirits. "Careful what you wish for, Alix."

Few aboard the ship shared their captain or helmsman's enthusiasm, and the first few hours of the flight were fraught with terror, where every minor rumble that passed through the starship was a sign that the hull was coming apart at the seams and all was lost. After about four or five hours even the most hysterical had calmed down, but few could say that there were exactly happy with the situation.

"This is nothing," Shuttle Technician Joe Friedman said, pulling his head out from the impulse manifold that he'd been working on. "A couple of years back, we chased this freaking huge Lyran battleship through a plasma storm. You ever been in a plasma storm?" Marty Lewis shook his head. "They're freaking terrifying. Like a great huge belt of fire, and when you get inside them you're buffeted by powerful waves, and you've got to dodge around these great freaking twisters of pure energy that'll vaporize your ship if you even clip them. We'd have died half a dozen times in there if it weren't for Nain. The Lyrans, poor bastards, weren't so lucky."

Lewis knew that the words were meant kindly, but at that moment it didn't much matter. He was an Albatross, and all of this was new and frightening for him. Even more than being an Albatross, he was an inexperienced one. He had only joined the service a few months ago with his younger brother, the family coming from a hard up mining colony and desperately needing money. He hadn't even known that such terrible things as ion storms existed when he had volunteered.

Friedman got the impression that his story had not had the motivational effect that he had been hoping for. He looked at the other men in the shuttle bay, saw their glum looks, and reminded himself that they were new to this. Shuttle Maintenance was made up almost entirely of Albatrosses and first voyagers, only a couple of Endeavours in there to hold everything together. His old buddies were going about their work professionally, as though nothing extraordinary at all was going on, but the Albatrosses were having difficulty concentrating, and most of the landsmen weren't even trying.

They were a sorry lot, and Friedman pitied them. Not the landsmen, of course, those guys were just inexperienced; it was the old Albatrosses that got his sympathy. He had been on a punishment ship like that once – never again.

Unfortunately, Friedman's sympathy, while well meant, was the absolute last thing that the Albatrosses wanted. They had come aboard as outsiders, strangers, and they felt that the way the old hands singled them out for special attention kept them as such. They were the poor Albatrosses, and they needed a friendly shoulder to cry on after their hellish time. That wasn't what they wanted. They wanted to work, to be part of the team, to gain that privileged rank (for amongst the lower decks it was certainly a rank) of being an Endeavour. The old Cochranes, Indefatigables and the landsmen all felt the same way.

The starship suddenly heaved mightily, like an old sailing ship in a stormy sea, and everyone who couldn't grab hold of something solid went skating across the deck. Picking himself up from the floor, Friedman immediately realized that something was wrong. There was a heavy, metallic taste in the air, and the hairs on his arms and legs were tingling, like there was an electric charge in the atmosphere.

"EPS leak!" Friedman shouted, seeing the ruptured conduit, from which a deadly white mist was breathing into the shuttle bay. "EPS leak! Everybody out! Now, now, now!"

It could have been a disaster, a confused shambles as everyone ran to save their own skins and to hell with everyone else; indeed with so many first voyagers in the mix that was exactly what Friedman had expected. He was pleasantly surprised by the hurried, yet orderly, evacuation of the shuttle bay. When one of the technicians collapsed – a Fauril, a creature that came from a more oxygen-rich planet than Earth – two of his friends grabbed him by the arms and hauled him bodily out of the bay. Friedman and an old Albatross stood by the doorway, making sure that everyone else got out, before evacuating themselves and closing the door behind them.

"Everyone here?" Friedman checked, and when the headcount was completed he sealed the bulkhead and called engineering to alert them of the conduit rupture.

He was thoroughly proud of all of his people for keeping their cool and following the proper protocols, and it shone through onto his face. "Well done, lads. You're all Endeavours from today." It was the highest compliment that he could think of, and it made them all beam with pride.

News of the near-disaster in the shuttle bay reached the bridge, and Drake listened anxiously to the reports that came in, first from Doctor Ilerson to assure him that everyone was well, and then from Chief Fran to say that the conduit had been locked off, the atmosphere purified, and a repair team set to work.

"Good work, Chief. Do you know what caused the rupture?"

"We won't know for certain until we get a good look at the conduit, of course, but my guess would be bad maintenance when we were laid over in spacedock. It was a rush job to get us into space, and I'm not surprised that some things might have been missed." Fran sounded tired, and Drake wasn't surprised. So far nothing had gone seriously wrong, but a number of minor systems had broken down and the ship had suffered some damage. Fran and his people were hurrying throughout the starship to patch things up as they broke.

"Understood." He closed the comm and stepped down to Alix's side again. He had hardly left it since they had entered the storm. "How are we doing?"

Alix didn't look at him – she couldn't afford to take her eyes off her instruments. "We're through that rough patch, but I can't guarantee there won't be more turbulence ahead. Wolf's trying to map the currents as best she can, but a storm like this obeys laws of its own, and it doesn't always do what you might expect." A sudden sharp knock that came out of nowhere served nicely to underline her words.

"Can we do anything to improve things? I could devote more resources to sensors, have more hands study the data, if that would help."

Alix shook her head most emphatically. "Right now, Will, the best thing we can do is get out of this mess as fast as we can. More engine power, more structural integrity and inertial damper power; that's what we need. Sensors aren't doing us any good."

"Understood." Drake pressed comm interface on the helm console. "Chief, divert whatever you can spare into propulsion and structural integrity."

"On it, sir."

The Endeavour picked up speed, and almost in response the raging of the storm increased, slamming into the ship's prow with ever-greater force and slowing her headway. For a moment, Drake seriously questioned his friend's opinion that they should fly against the storm, rather than try and sail with it, but a glance at Alix's boards told him why she had opted for this course. Subspace disturbances preceding the storm were far stronger and spread for a far greater distance than those trailing in its wake. If they escaped through the front they would have to get more than a million kilometres from the storm before they could go to warp (and if it picked up steam again as it had done before it would likely swallow them once more) whereas by coming out the back they could warp almost as soon as the nacelles were clear of the clouds.

"Is there anything else we can do, Alix?"

"Food would be lovely." It was now well-past midday, Alix had been at the helm without a break since oh-eight hundred, and she hadn't eaten since the captain's party at nineteen hundred the previous evening. It was hard work, battling against the currents, trying to keep the ship on as even a keel as possible, and Alix was desperately hungry.

"Take a break if you need to, Alix. Manning can take over for a while."

She shrugged off his friendly hand and adjusted the settings on the stabilising thrusters. "Nah. I have to do this myself, Will. No one else has got the experience, and this is a rough one."

He did not know if that was arrogance talking on Alix's part or not, but if nothing else he felt better with her at the helm. It was a comfort to know Endeavour was in the hands of the most skilful helmsman since Hikaru Sulu.

"Ensign Pini."

The youngster dropped down to the captain's side. "Yes, sir."

"Rush down to the galley and bring up a few slices of bacon in a roll for the helmsman."

"And coffee," Alix added. "Strong black coffee."

Pini rushed off to fetch the order, glad to have something to do even if she was just playing waitress. Ever since the ship had entered the storm the captain and helmsman had been working madly, while the rest of the bridge crew stood on and watched. It was an uncomfortable position to be in – they were virtually spectators – and most of the bridge crew felt guilty for being so inactive while Alix was sweating over her boards and Drake was directing the activity in the rest of the ship.

"Vicki," the captain suddenly called, not being in a formal mood. "Go below and see how Harrow and Kravft are doing. Get them into their quarters and get them belted down."

"Aye, sir."

As it transpired, there was no need for McDonald to round up the guests. The Klingons, who had indulged rather more than anyone else at the dinner, had yet to awaken despite all of the noise and the lurching of the deck. Harrow and his servants were wide-awake, and they were all gathered in the diplomat's cabin. When McDonald walked in the three of them were playing cards, a good way to keep their mind off the ship's troubles.

"Commander McDonald!" Cried Harrow, springing to his feet and immediately adopting the role of host. "Please, come in. Take a seat. How are things on the bridge?"

"The captain has matters well in hand." It was a trite response, and McDonald knew it.

"The ship seems to be shaking an awful lot," Harrow said, as aware of the uselessness of McDonald's reply as she was. "It had occurred to me that…maybe…we were in some measure of trouble? That the ship was floundering?"

"As for that, I can put your mind at ease, sir. I have flown through a storm like this one before, and our transit was far, far rougher than this. In fact, sir, this is abnormally smooth sailing, and for that you have Lieutenant Nain to be thankful."

McDonald was neither lying nor exaggerating in the slightest. During her earliest years in Starfleet she had been on a deep space exploration vessel that had wandered into an ion storm neither as large nor as violent as this one. The ship had been tossed around sickeningly for hours, had lost a warp nacelle, and more than half the crew had been incapacitated by the time they escaped from it. Compared to that ordeal, the deck beneath her feet now was rock steady, and McDonald's opinion of Alix as a pilot skyrocketed. She still didn't think very much of her as an officer, or even as a person, but she had formed the opinion that there was no one she'd rather have at the helm.

"Well," said Harrow who could hear the honesty in her, "I'm glad of that, and I'll give my thanks to Lieutenant Nain when we are out of this."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that. The captain has sent me to ask that you remain in your cabins for the time being. The situation is not dangerous, but it requires utmost concentration and the crew will be very busy until we're back in open space."

"I understand, Commander. Quite understand."

She went to leave, but Harrow asked her to stay, saying that poker was always more fun with four or more players – that three wasn't really enough. McDonald was hesitant, her place was on the bridge, but there was nothing for her to do there and it might be best if she remained. The diplomat and his people seemed to be bearing up okay so far, but there were still hours to go before their projected exit, and who knew what might happen between now and then? A uniformed presence, someone around to reassure them that everything was just fine, might be important, and as it turned out she was quite right; eighteen hours into the flight, Harrow started to lose his cool, and every jerk that passed through the ship became a dramatic sign that something was wrong. It took all of McDonald's skill and patience to keep him calm.

Up on the bridge, Alix wolfed down her roll and began to attack the ship's coffee supply. A fresh mug arrived hourly, Alix refusing to put the ship in anyone else's hands until they were out of the storm. Time moved on around her, the watch changed and changed again, so that the incompetent fools on the graveyard shift that had created this situation were back on the bridge. Still she remained at her place, unaware of the changes around her, unaware of time passing, her attention fixed on her instruments and her controls. And still Drake stood by her side, the captain not prepared to leave the bridge until Alix did.

"Attention all hands, this is the captain. We're in the home stretch now; just four hours until predicted escape. We're nearly out. Keep your nerves and keep working, and we'll be at warp before breakfast."

On and on the ship went, rocking constantly as waves of ions buffeted against the shields, but making good headway despite the fury of the elements around them. The old girl pushed her shoulders into the wind and pressed on, rarely stumbling and never tiring, until, a little over twenty-five hours after they had entered the maelstrom, the clouds fell away to aft and there was nothing before her but the beautiful infinite blackness of space – the most spectacular sight imaginable after more than a day of thick, dangerous cloud.

Endeavour accelerated back up to warp six, and in a few seconds the storm was billions of kilometres behind them, and getting further away with every heartbeat. Alix, after one of the longest days of her life, rose unsteadily to her feet. Drake's arm wrapped immediately around her shoulder, supporting her. She gave him a tired smile and let him lead her away into the turbolift.

"You did well, Alix. I'm proud of you."

"Well done, Alix."

Those compliments from her two best friends made the exhausted Alix Nain smile right the way to bed, where she fell into a blissful sleep.

For his part, Drake napped for a few hours before returning to the bridge, feeling only moderately refreshed but that his place was up there. McDonald was holding the centre chair when he returned, the day shift all in place, Manning filling in for Nain. He looked at the faces of the new hands as he came out of the turbolift and found them to be smiling, cheerful and triumphant, a whole different group of men to the ones who had sat in the same seats just yesterday morning.

"Captain on the bridge," cried Pini, and as a body the crew came to their feet and turned to greet their commanding officer. Drake had never been received like that on his bridge before, and for a moment he wondered what was going on, before the answer appeared to him. McDonald began to clap, then Brok and Pini, then everyone all together, a great thunder of applause that filled the bridge.

He felt humbled, and wholly unworthy of their applause. When it had died down he said, "Thank you very much. All of you. But I didn't deserve that."

"You did, sir," insisted McDonald. "For leading us through that."

"I think Alix is more deserving of our thanks."

"How is she?"

"Sleeping. She was utterly exhausted."

"I'm not surprised," said Brok. "Twenty-five hour shift."

"We all worked hard yesterday," Drake said, sweeping his gaze to encompass everyone. "All of us. And, in recognition, I think we'll forgo battlestation drill today."

Laughter, warm, unrestrained, and utterly genuine. The last day might have been harrowing, but it looked like it had been worth it.