EP 6 - ACT IV
MEDICAL FACILITY, PASSENGER SECTION
O'Hara's team stepped out of the plush turbolift into an unlit elliptical foyer about ten metres in diameter at its widest, their shadows cast before them across a shiny floor. The Lieutenant could make out darkened thoroughfares leading away on either side, as devoid of light and power as the two unlit openings directly opposite that extended almost across the entire curved wall, separated by a mysterious floor to ceiling object.
Seconds later, heralded by the soft ping of a hidden brass bell, the doors of an adjacent turbolift released the other half of her search party casting more light and silhouettes. Glancing behind, O'Hara saw there were two more turbolifts, four in total, ranged along her curved side of the atrium.
Sensing movement, hidden uplighters around the perimeter of the shallow domed ceiling above shone a diffused ring of pink petal glow toward the apex where a wide, abstract chandelier of twisted, multicoloured glass also smoldered slowly into life. Opaque glass sconces followed suit, softly beaming down onto a marble floor. Unlike the first foyer they'd passed across earlier, in the centre of this one was a starburst design in earthy tones including the familiar 'f' shaped emblem they had all seen etched into the glass inserts of the Observation Deck access doors and various other locations throughout the ship.
"Alright come on," O'Hara led them all forward.
As they proceeded the lighting around the atrium phased up in luminance and the object positioned directly ahead also came to life, first backlit by red neon then bathed in golden light beamed onto its front from a hidden spotlight from above. It was an impressionist plain cast sculpture of the standard UFP Civilian Medical Corps symbol: a stylized opal-shaped backdrop of the UFP star field plaque trimmed with a laurel wreath in front of which was a long thick staff that tapered down to the deck; a single serpent coiled up the staff, anti-clockwise, its head poking forward near the apex, forked tongue licking out, its blank eyes meeting hers. Beneath the sculpture was a placard with the Latin words "non nocere".
"I'll do my best," O'Hara murmured to herself in response.
As they crossed the midway point the lighting in the two spaces either side of the sculpture activated. The area to the right was obviously an emergency medical treatment area: shiny white decor and brightly lit. A movable reception pedestal nestled among a variety of other medical grade wheel-mounted rigs and frames that had evidently been pushed together just inside, and behind was what looked like a sophisticated crash diagnostic treatment bed. The threshold was bordered with a housed hermetic seal; a retractable thickly armoured folding bulkhead to the right could presumably extend over the entire frontage to provide a strong physical barrier for increased hygiene and security, presumably also air-tight and resistant to decompression. As with most other areas on board there were discrete holo-emitters around the ceilings and walls.
The entrance to the left was quite the contrast, more like a hotel reception decorated in dark hues and luxuriant textures. A wide ebony reception desk was set some way back, the foreground a mix of thick leather seats and couches for clients to wait and a smattering of realistic fake plants and ornamental trees provided a soothing ambience. Curving away to the left behind the desk was she guessed access to consultation rooms, and to the right of it an angular corridor leading diagonally back into the facility.
As first impressions went on the Fantasy, everything appeared to be relatively intact and O'Hara felt the pitter patter of hope in her belly.
"Okay, Hensil - your group explore the area to the left. Look for any medicines and useful technology," the Lieutenant eagerly paced forward into the right hand area, "my lot this way."
The first thing she noticed as she stepped inside was that the sensor cluster above the main diagnostic bed was entirely missing, cable ends and uncoupled metal retainers dangling down from the concave housing. A line of treatment beds in the immediate space behind retained their elevated integral headrest monitors, but all were blackened and inactive and wouldn't respond to the touch.
The group spread out, O'Hara noted at least two wards of eight beds, and corridors and offices spurring off to her right.
"Lieutenant?" one of her helpers asked. "Why are there so many beds? Surely on a pleasure cruiser there wouldn't be the need..?"
"According to Commander Kohl the reason why the Fantasy kept its Starfleet registration was because it regularly hosted scientific and medical conferences, and occasionally was used for diplomatic and other miscellaneous Federation business, sometimes in places of crisis with a shortage of treatment facilities; so basically it could double as a large capacity relief ship."
"Must've been interesting for the passengers," the woman said wryly and walked away. The Lieutenant wondered how that would have worked out.
On her left O'Hara saw a doorway beside a long, curved observation window. Beside the door the signage read: 'Ship's Surgeon, No Unauthorised Entry'. The office evidently stretched back between the two areas separated by the sculpture. The door was locked, and the window was opaque in privacy mode. Further back were several labs and store rooms and beyond these access to a wide corridor with signs to various specialist rooms. The helpers worked as fast as they could, ransacking the immediate area, opening all the drawers and cupboards of the scattered units and then venturing into the various side rooms.
The Lieutenant returned to the main crash area and let her people bring the items to her for analysis. Ironically, a dental pick was the first item to arrive. She first glowered at the volunteer who had brought it, then nodded with a wan smile, reminding herself that if they continued to remain undetected long-term dental treatment would become a necessity, and if the appropriate technology wasn't available or couldn't be replicated such crude instruments would be vital. She cast the thin metal strip to one side. A complicated eye lens application device arrived next - its power cell missing: such devices were normally used for cosmetic purposes, and once again O'Hara couldn't imagine an immediate use for it.
The girl called Penge brought a more encouraging armful of thin plastic boxes, and the contents of one scattered onto the floor. She crouched to help pick them all up: medical history cards – quaintly hand-written - although one square box contained many sachets in neat rows. Hoping to find medicine, O'Hara pulled one out, reading the label in astonishment.
"Hibiscus tea?" the Lieutenant flushed red. Penge shrugged innocently and trotted back into the first of the wards. O'Hara would have normally thought it amusing but was too worried they would end up find nothing useful.
Hensil came through the main entrance next, carrying a large heavy metal storage case, strengthened by a ribbed frame.
"This is more like it," O'Hara became excited. The young man heaved it on to the diagnostic bed with the Lieutenant's help and she released the catches. Opening it, she was instantly deflated. Inside was standard LCARS controls in the base and a screen in the lid. Slots for the insertion of various size data chips were under a flip-down cover on one side, and under the cover on the opposite side were ports and folded cables for physically patching to various mainframe units. O'Hara activated the power cell and the splash page faded into life.
"A portable medical database," she stated blankly. "What the hell am I going to do with that?" Hensil seemed a bit crestfallen and she patted him on the arm. "Not your fault."
When he'd gone, she realised no one else had paid her a visit for some time. Things weren't proceeding as she'd hoped. She pushed her way to the reception pedestal, wondering if she could access the computer. Pressing the blank surface a single message flashed up: 'Medical Interface Unavailable, Please Contact Main Bridge For Service. Battery Power Levels At Minimum. Life Support Failure In 0000:00:00:51:23:03'. The countdown was in progress, seconds ticking past, micro-seconds a blur.
MAIN ENGINEERING, PASSENGER SECTION
The two parties led by Lt Commander Kohl and Yeoman Lirik had to vacate the turbolifts a short distance before their destination and finish the journey on foot. The ship's computer advised them that the zone ahead was unsuitable for humanoid life and so wouldn't grant them access via the turbolift system. As they approached, a thick fog of coolant filled the entire corridor, meaning they had to don their helmets and gloves.
The fog thinned somewhat as they passed under the main archway into what Kohl assured them was Main Engineering, the gasses diminishing visibility as they lingered in the stagnant air. Lirik kept everyone together while Kohl hunted for the manual vent override.
"This place is huge," Kohl said over the helmet speakers. "I can't even find the damned warp core." After a pause Kohl whistled - causing his shipmates to wince from the loud sound suddenly in their ears. "I just found it."
Lirik was growing impatient. He approached a line of hooded screens underneath which were tiers of dials, switches and coloured illuminated keypads and after several attempts managed to change one to a standard interface. "I'm accessing fuel status," Lirik announced. "Main deuterium tanks are nearly empty… but it looks like there is a reserve tank in the Command Section… hmm, not that much left."
"If my understanding of the codependent engineering configuration is correct," Kohl said "we should be able to supplement Passenger Section engines by tapping into the Command Section's reserve. Oh, my. Well I wasn't expecting that."
"What?" Lirik asked.
"I believe I've located the atmospheric controls. Ugh!"
"What is it?" Lirik was concerned by Kohl's outburst. "Are you okay?"
"It's…the damned…lever," he said then "oh, I get it…" and exhaled loudly. A loud hissing grew in intensity, audible even through the airtight helmets and the mists began to dissipate. Gradually as the cloud thinned Lirik could make out the unconventional layout of the workspace.
"Fascinating. It kind of reminds me of Earth's industrial age," he said.
"Yes," said an apparently Human helper, "like those old metal sailing ships."
"What, you mean like the Titanic?" another joked, breaking the tension for those who got the reference.
Lirik hoped that wasn't an omen. Overall, the arrangement was similar to standard Starfleet engine room floorplans but the design concept appeared to pay homage to the ocean-going fossil-fuel-powered vessels of Earth's past. He remembered once going to a costume party in San Francisco where the theme was Victorian or Edwardian costume; many had embellished with industrial and technical looking apparel. Someone had used a word to describe it but it escaped him.
No bright glossy facades here, but rather heavily painted metal bordered with highly polished brass and chrome tubes and pipes. The bulkheads were riveted in place and the deck was not carpet, rather a mixture of bleached wooden floorboards and linear metal grilles. Iron galleries were suspended on both sides overhead, a mix of long rectangular and bulbous-shaped industrial light fittings were suspended from the ceilings on chains, and caged sconce lights were dotted around. LCARS interfaces were discretely contained within mock-period furnishings and frames. To add to the antiquated feel, supplementing the modern computer screens were old fashioned brass gauges, valves and dials. Lirik spied Kohl's athletic frame metres away, standing next to a bank of two metre long levers thrusting at different angles out of the floor.
"I believe they call this look Steamed Pump?" Kohl said.
"Oh yes, that's it," Lirik said, not sure if that was entirely right.
The deck behind the long row of levers dramatically dropped away to form a bowl shaped area and within it was the impressive reaction assembly - a squashed hour-glass shape with its ribbed casing twisting like candy-cane around the core. It was a unique configuration, far more intricate in design than the assembly of the Command Section, even. Striated metal decking covered the base of the 'bowl', the lines graduating sharply from the floor and coning up like a slender, twisting volcano to a thickly framed glass 'bubble' and then funneling out above, twisting up until it was flush into the concave ceiling.
The assembly's power transfer conduits shot out of the back of the bubble - large pipes of dull glass were wrapped in thick straps of metal, bolted together by huge riveted clamps.
"You don't think it's a holographic projection do you?" a young man with a deep, manly southern accent commented at their surroundings, looking up above the light fixtures into the vaulted ceiling directly above them.
"This isn't holography. That's not to say it hasn't been fashioned in this way with replicator technology used via the local emitters," Kohl said.
"Fancy that," Lirik said. "A different design era for each cruise?"
"Don't take your helmets off just yet," Kohl advised. "Air supply won't be ready for a few minutes." The big German was looking around for a way to get up to the reaction chamber. "And I thought the warp pit of the Command Section strange and impractical!" he said quietly to himself. He couldn't conceive how with this one he could even get close to the assembly with the chamber raised so far up from the sunken deck.
A squeaking sound from the right gave him the answer as Vostaline wheeled a portable gangway over. Lirik approached, both eyebrows raised in amazement. Kohl made the quick ascent up the metal steps and gripped hard as Vostaline manoeuvred the anti-grav-assisted contraption closer to the chamber. Kohl spotted a small switch board clipped onto the top rail and, selecting the appropriate command, a short plank extended from the gangway, stopping under the dilithium chamber. Kohl carefully proceeded, concerned that his bulk would cause the plank to snap or the gangway to topple over.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Lirik asked.
One of the group walked over and studied the base unit. "It's constructed from Troxian Lead."
"Ah, right oh," Kohl continued with confidence. "Yess!" he exclaimed opening the top storage drawer - six fat dilithium crystals nestled in purple silk. "This ship is unreal," he commented. To be sure, he tricordered them – and they were indeed perfect. Quickly clipping the chunkiest into place, he closed the drawer and ran down the steps and over to the main controls, housed in a cross shaped hip-height table.
The main diagnostic read: ' Battery Power Levels At Minimum. Power Failure In 0000:00:00:46:18:00'. He regarded Lirik, his face flushed. "It will be a push to start up the core before battery power runs out."
"Superb," Lirik said sarcastically. He tapped his communicator. "Lirik to O'Hara."
Static replied. Kohl gestured at a communications interface. The Yeoman took a deep breath and pulled off his helmet, pushing the general call button, coughing once. "Lirik to Sick Bay," he said, then pushed his face back into his helmet to breathe.
Some distance away in the medical facility, O'Hara touched the nearby comm panel in response. "This is O'Hara, how are you doing?"
Lirik took a few more breaths from his helmet. "Mister Kohl is going to attempt to re-start the Passenger Section engines."
"I hope he has better luck than us," O'Hara stated, holding up a box full of used surgical tights and saline capsules.
* * *
UNKNOWN LOCATION, COMMAND YACHT
Christian smeared the tears from his eyes and jumped to his feet.
As he did, through tear-blurred vision he saw what looked like a huge spider – over a metre from toe to toe at its widest quickly shuffling back with multiple thuds, turn and gallop out of the room with tremendous speed. Clearing his vision Christian noticed that he was covered in fine gossamer threads that evaporated as he touched them, unsure how he felt that the spider had shown restraint and acted equally scared of him.
Walking swiftly to the exit Christian looked cautiously into the corridor - no sign of the creature. In full light he saw the décor was minimalist, the walls and ceiling as plain at the carpet, but it was clear damage had been caused in the recent past judging from the blown out section he'd navigated earlier; curious it hadn't been repaired. He spied a communications console winking on and off.
"Captain Christian to the Bridge!" he said. A moment later..
"Captain?!" Jackson's voice said in surprise. The ship shook again. "Where are you?"
The Captain smirked. "I really don't know. What's your status?"
"Well…" Jackson cocked her head, not sure where to begin.
"Shields down to 15 per cent and falling!" Reb's urgent voice cut off any further explanation.
"I'm on my way!" Christian shouted.
"Captain! Come to Engineering," Jackson said.
Christian was relieved when the turbolift responded to his call request. The doors parted - he was even more thankful the voice interface panel was active. "Main Engineering!" he ordered.
The computer warbled a short warning. "Command Yacht is in separation mode, access to Main Engineering is not possible."
Christian frowned. "Is Yacht Engineering available?"
"Affirmative," the Computer responded efficiently and shunted the turbolift car on its way.
Presently, Christian arrived on the deck and jogged the short distance to the entrance.
He was pleased that Commodore Jackson was in the thick of it, also Narli, Murat, Warnerburg, and someone he hadn't properly met, each standing at various terminals in the small space. The two Klingons Kluless and Karless stood on either side of the housed secure doors that separated the adjacent warp core, apparently watching over something.
"Status?" Christian asked.
Jackson summarised the situation. "The agent tore the Command Yacht from the rest of the ship and took us on a heading back to T'Kani space. We were heading to rendesvous with T'Kani ships, but we managed to overpower her just in time – however those ships are now in pursuit and firing at us at an ever decreasing range."
"'Agent?'…" Christian saw Jackson's eyes flick in the direction of the Klingons and he stepped around the support column to view their bizarrely impaled captive.
"So Lirik was right… she's real…" Christian whispered. "An android…?"
"Ha! You people are pathetic…" the girl tried to laugh with a mechanical echo, stuck leaning back precariously with the Bat'Leth sticking out of her head.
Jackson shuddered, curious why she hadn't tried to break free.
The strange site did nothing to deter Christian as another volley hit the Yacht. "Order them to stop firing," he demanded.
"I'll do no such thing," the girl retorted. "I see she didn't eat you then?"
"Eat me?" the Captain paled.
Jackson didn't understand and wondered if she should ask. "She calls herself Pim. I made a deal with her. Her continued existence to release back control."
"Not that it will do you any good," Pim goaded.
"You're Kidding?!" Christian was dumbfounded. He looked at the small group. "Was everyone else left behind?"
"Many of the volunteer crew are aboard, but aside from us few they're all currently standing by to board escape pods, just in case."
"Um, hello there Captain, shields down to 8 per cent!" Reb huffed his protest.
"Do we have weapons?" Christian asked.
Narli shook his head and glared at Pim. "We can't be sure, she used the holographics on board to make it appear the ship was in full working order, although looking at these readings we have regained partial systems for real. We thought we had micro-torpedos but I now can't access them. This other readout says phasers are offline, but the aft ballistics power gauges on the tactical interface indicate they are still operational."
Once again the Captain was both impressed and disturbed that a high ranking Andorian diplomat could have such in depth knowledge of Starfleet operational systems.
Murat and Warnerburg had huddled together over a console. "Sir, we think we can shut down all holographics," she said.
"Do it," Christian demanded. Bleeeep dah bleep blip. He felt sure something briefly rippled in his peripheral vision, but nothing changed. "Anything?"
"Readouts are the same," Narli shrugged.
Warnerburg bit her lip and shook her head in uncertainty. "I really can't be sure without running a full diagnostic. It could be a problem with internal sensors."
The ship rocked. Reb cursed, studying the display showing the positions of the pursuers in relation to the Fantasy. "The four closest vessels have target locked our impulse emissions. Evasive manouevres won't help us for long. Two or three more shots and our shields will collapse."
"Do what you can, Reb," Christian yelled, running out of the room. "And keep those escape pods on standby, this may not go so well."
Reb was feeling a strange mix of nervous responsibility and pride about being left 'in charge' and a desire to flee to an escape pod himself, but said nothing, taking helm, navigation, shields and all critical systems in check.
Christian beckoned Jackson and Narli to assist him as he jogged back to the turbolift. "Computer, where are the aft phaser arrays located?"
The doors opened.
"The aft phaser turret is located on deck 6."
He bundled his companions into the turbolift and as the doors closed said: "Computer, take us there."
The turbolift bonged and they were away. The ship rocked. "Two more hits and we're done for," he mumbled under his breath.
* * *
COMMAND SECTION, BRIDGE
Lirik stepped out of the turbolift and onto the small Command Section Bridge along with Vostaline and Souveson. As the deck was known to be fully functional and intact they decided to return to the Command Section to use that rather than try out the unexplored Passenger Section turret-mounted Bridge.
"Very boutique-chic," Lirik commented at the Deco décor.
The Ensign made her way to the power room, at first startled to see the switch was no longer in isolation mode as she'd left it, but then remembered it was Hedra who had minutes later switched it off only to be attacked by the holographic T'Kani.
Walking back to the Bridge area Souveson's eye was distracted by the tapes in the Captain's office to her right, wondering what information they might contain. She was keen to go exploring and satiate her curiosity but so far their continually perilous situation had always taken priority. She hoped it wouldn't be for much longer, but strongly suspected it might, particularly given the poor response to the Captain's request earlier, hampered even more now that the Yacht's fate was unknown.
Lirik sat at the Helm, Vostaline at Engineering. Souveson made her way to the Science station, bargaining that would be the third best interface to help her ongoing manhunt using internal sensors. Initial sweeps had shown no trace of the agent and she was considering if, after they ramped up the power from the Passenger Section warp core, she would be able to discern more.
"Plugging us in," Lirik said, selecting the relevant power mode keys on the helm board. With one touch it switched the bridge from standby to action-ready, lighting up all workstations. The local subprocessors quickly tapped into the mainframe network, the computer core filtering back what systems were available.
Three panels lit up on the same right hand area of the Helm showing main warp and impulse engine status, power and fuel levels and distribution readings as well as flight capability, each sub-divided for the available primary Sections: currently just the Command and Passenger Sections of course. Available data indicated that Kohl had already rerouted Command Section power control to Passenger Section Engineering, supplementing fuel taps and generators with what was available. Moving to the second panel, Lirik touched their current location, patched in Bridge authorisation commands and instantaneously the ship's control was centralised to their position. He couldn't help feel it was over-simple for a ship that had proven thus far so quirky and complex, but in minutes his primary drive and navigation indicators were flashing 'standby', ready for warp power to come on line and feed the power-starved areas of the ship.
As the Yeoman pressed the control to prepare to switch from generators over to the eps network the ambience of the bridge changed.
"Kohl to Command Bridge," the voice spilled out over the speakers impatiently.
"This is Lirik, Commander," the Yeoman tapped his way casually down the list of systems that were available, the master readout indicated the Passenger Section was down to 22 minutes of emergency power. "Sounds like you don't need your helmets any longer."
* * *
PASSENGER SECTION, ENGINEERING
A dozen or so people buzzed round the German engineer as he surveyed the situation on the emergency systems board, inset into an ornate circular wooden table, raised at an angle to chest height. He studied the read-outs.
To those present he seemed visibly relieved to hear the Yeoman's English accent. "Yes, we managed to get the aircon recycling systems operational for this area," the Lieutenant Commander said, glad to be breathing better quality processed air rather than his suit's inferior recycled breath.
He continued: "Power-up sequence is proceeding to schedule but we've encountered a number of problems. For one, the CS to PS taps were not functioning, so we've had to pump the deuterium through from the Command Section manually. Dilithium crystal alignment was off by a fraction, but I've managed to rectify that also. We're raising engine pressure, it'll be about another twenty minutes before it's all on-line."
"Commander," Lirik's English voice clipped the word harshly, "in twenty minutes you'll be out of emergency power."
Kohl smirked. He loved it when the Yeoman was proven wrong. "That's a negative, Bridge. I've tapped us into Command Section generator supply so that should give us a few extra minutes, though it would be prudent to shut off life support in the medical facility as well. Can you pull O'Hara's group out?"
"Acknowledged," Lirik's signed off.
* * *
PASSENGER SECTION, MEDICAL FACILITY
"Bridge to Lieutenant O'Hara," the voice echoed around the sterile area.
The Lieutenant had left Hensil in the reception area to assess equipment brought by the rest of her scavengers while she had gone on a walk-about of her own, frustrated from a continued run of bad luck. That said, she was impressed by the extent of the facility; originally she had thought it a couple of wards, rooms and labs off the two main reception areas, but behind these she had found a warren of specialist rooms, surgeries, and eventually a second medical reception area on the opposite side of the facility specifically for crew. The storerooms and cupboards she had checked were bare of anything useful. She hadn't had an opportunity to survey the north and south 'wings' or follow the signs to the various facilities above and below which she noted included maternity and paediatric care among others.
The Lieutenant vacated the second of three sparsely furnished treatment rooms into the facility's central corridor and found a comms panel. She received a light electric shock as she depressed the button.
"Oh! O'Hara!" she sucked the zapped finger.
"Mister Kohl needs to conserve all available energy, could you please make your way back to the Command Section?" Lirik said with a degree of authority.
"We haven't covered even half the facility," O'Hara protested.
Since Christian's morning address she had considered that, should they manage to get the ship more fully operational she would eventually be required to behave as any full-blown Chief Medical Officer would. No doubt she was going to be responsible for this huge facility and the management of all its staff and needs - and as a part of the Command Crew, she had full accountability. So upsetting the Chief Engineer wouldn't be a good start, despite the fact her group had so far been so unlucky.
"Can you give us ten minutes more?" she asked. As she finished speaking, a brief spell of intense nausia washed over her and she had to swallow saliva a number of times.
"That's a no. Sorry, Lieutenant," Lirik signed off without any further discussion.
O'Hara leant forward, bending over and placing her hands above her knees. She breathed deeply and tresses of her red hair dropped down from the loosening bun.
"Are you not well?" It was Kidron, the old Klingon warrior who had been sent as one of two 'protectors' of the medical search party. Earlier the ancient grey haired man had led her to the discovery of a curious bejeweled tank, sited off one of two surgery theatres (neither containing useful supplies). Without sufficient energy to run local systems no one had been able to identify what it was.
"I'm fine," O'Hara straightened and felt a little giddy. "Tell the rest of our group we're pulling out."
He nodded and walked away. The Lieutenant licked her salty dry lips. Surely it couldn't be a delayed reaction to the Ere, she wondered, so put it down to lack of food and nervous tension.
* * *
COMMAND YACHT, DECK SIX (AFT)
Exiting the turbolift, the first thing Christian saw was a storage recess in front of them, its containment shutters pulled back to reveal piles of broken equipment and larger items covered with dustsheets. Christian logged them for future reference and broke right in a quick run to the back of the vessel, Narli keeping up but Jackson quickly falling behind. Passing by a set of toilets on his right and storage facilities to his left, ahead was a narrow reinforced hatch door with the words 'Aft Phaser Turret: No Unauthorised Entry'. A perpendicular corridor to the left and right led to crew lifeboats.
The door to the turret would not respond when approached, so Jackson dramatically phasered the lock using Narli's weapon. It took the combined strength of all three of them to heave the door aside. Beyond was a nearly circular room empty apart from on the opposite side a squashed-pear-shaped contraption of years far more senior than the Commodore and Narli put together hanging from a freely-moveable cradle above. Covered in a thin layer of dust it was reassuringly intact for its age.
Christian climbed onto the back of the gunnery turret's command pod, luckily the hatch was un-secured. Christian pulled it aside cautiously, peeking around the interior first and then clambering in. All systems looked intact - a much-worn leather chair hung from the ceiling along with eye-level screens on angle-poise arms, and a wide, arc shaped console suspended at seated hand height above an array of manual directional pedals. If Christian was correct, the entire pod would move in sync with the exterior phaser cannons themselves. He checked the warning signs clearly positioned on either side of the chamber indicating the maximum ranges of the turret.
Christian heard Jackson's curses as Narli tried a third attempt at hauling the bulky Commodore up onto the entry ledge. The Captain slid into the leather seat and activated the internal power via a capped flick-switch in the centre of the main controls. Immediately the workstation glowed into life, the overhead lighting inside the turret and in the outside room dimming for tactical mode. The displays flickered on to reveal targeting grids and sensor read-outs as simultaneously a thin slit opened at eye level. The layers of double layer twin-plated reinforced glass allowed Christian a physical view of the outside; all was deceptively tranquil, the stars were hardly moving and there was no sign of any T'Kani ships. They were too far away for Human eyes, of course, but according to the sensors they were gaining on them.
"Oh, shit," Christian cursed.
"Problem?" Jackson, disheveled, squeezed her body into the turret and stood behind the Captain's chair; there was barely enough room for Narli to enter also.
Christian pointed at the phaser power cell status - even Jackson could knew that four bars for each 'gun' meant they were barely charged. "It would take too long to charge them," he dropped his head. "So we've only enough for four, maybe five shots."
"One per ship and one to spare? That won't work," Narli stated the obvious.
"Then we consider something else," Jackson said encouragingly. Christian cast a brief glare at her.
"Look!" Narli tapped the shield status. "Murat must have ramped up the shield power, it's crept back to 20 per cent."
"That won't hold forever," Christian suddenly had an idea. He turned to the Commodore. "I have a plan, but I can't say it will work until I look for myself. Stay here and monitor the scope… and don't shoot unless you see the whites of their eyes," he joked.
Jackson didn't appreciate the humour and squidged her wide bottom into the small chair as Christian climbed over her to get out, pulling on Narli's arm to accompany him. "We don't even know if they have eyes," she muttered in protest.
Outside the room, Christian gestured down the passage to the right. "Check if one of those escape pods is operational."
The Captain checked out the ones to the left – mercifully the first one was in working order. Narli called down the corridor: "This one appears fully operational."
Christian beckoned to the Andorian Ambassador to join him in the nearest storage area. It contained many crates, most of which were empty. Signage directed them to the 'Samples Research Lab' and mineral and chemical samples storage. Turning a corner they found themselves in a loading bay full of crates and containers, many wrapped in protective mesh with 'poison' or 'caustic' warnings stuck on the sides. Christian spied at the farthest end of the store room a honeycomb frame for holding pressurised cylinders – and a large quantity of them were occupied.
"Over there! We want anything that's explosive," Christian ran over to it, stumbling as the ship shook.
The Ambassador gave the Captain a worried scowl, then complied, quickly spying the racks of different sized cylinders.
"We need to hustle Ambassador," was all Christian said as he noticed an antigrav trolley on the deck and activating it, checked its parameters and began loading the cylinders.
* * *
COMMAND SECTION, BRIDGE
A small group of young Helan bustled onto the bridge from the turbolift and headed for Vostaline, encircling her. Yeoman Lirik pretended to be observing the readouts to his right while watching out of his peripheral vision a whispered, animated discussion take place. She was obviously protesting. The rest of the group seemed to be in agreement and were winning the argument. One of the older men placed his hand on her shoulder - she shrugged it off roughly, then a woman with a scarred antenna, not much older than the Helan leader's daughter, whispered in her ear and she eventually conceded, allowing them to guide her away to the turbolift.
A young Helan male grinned unconvincingly at Lirik as he took up the Engineering position.
"What was the problem?" Lirik asked directly as he heard the turbolift doors close.
"She is not feeling well," the man said. "But she is too proud to admit it. My name is Bedrilla, I have engineering experience."
Lirik first thought that Vostaline had appeared fine to him, but then questioned if she was merely good at hiding how she really felt.
"Okay, Bedrilla, you know who we all are?" he indicated the small number of helpers. The man bobbed his head with a thin smile and reverted his attention to his screens.
Lirik pulled a ponderous lower-face grimace at the over-protective cock-sure replacement. He looked back at the main view screen and to the matter in hand. Long range sensors had picked up a number of objects travelling at high impulse toward their general position, but the increased ionic interference surrounding them was wreaking havoc with the readings.
Kohl had had over 25 minutes and the Yeoman knew they were desperately running out of time. Lirik chewed his lip in frustration then hit the comms panel, interrupting the engineer once again. "Bridge to Engineering."
* * *
PASSENGER SECTION, ENGINEERING
"Bridge to Engineering."
Kohl cursed for the umpteenth time in as many minutes at the pest of an English voice and ignoring it continued his work. He happily forgave his group for their constant questions and double-checking of details with him as they were inexperienced in such matters and his responsibility. Lirik however was altogether different.
"Repeat, Bridge to Passenger Engineering!" the Yeoman's voice echoed around the unusual space.
Kohl grunted and walked to the nearby comms panel, violently flicking the brass switch with the sharp end of his torque dilation wrench, almost snapping it off. A few heads turned away from the increasingly frustrated German; one decided to back off from asking him to repeat the checklist for nacelle calibration for the time being. Most had initially considered him quirky; more recently he'd shown signs of easy irritation and an occasional nasty temper.
"What is it now? You know I am very busy!?" he yelled, walking back to diagnostics to check his corrections.
"How much longer?" Lirik asked crisply.
Kohl shook his head and checked the pressure build up – not quite there.
"Maybe five minutes," Kohl trotted over to the dilithium chamber monitoring panel - happily everything was set. Dashing back to the antimatter injector controls Kohl checked the flow - all set.
"Perhaps you could use my help," Lirik said; he was obviously keen to get things moving.
"No!" Kohl shouted. "Please, no. It's fine, I'm starting ignition countdown from T-minus 180 seconds: mark!"
"Ok, but just let me-"
"Engineering out!" the big Engineer cut the comms and grumbled guttural expletives under his breath.
* * *
COMMAND YACHT, AFT PHASER TURRET CORRIDOR
Narli stood outside his escape pod and waited patiently for Christian to complete setting the flight path for his pod.
Christian finished and checked that Narli was ready. The two men nodded then each faced their respective pods, gas cylinders lined up on the bench chairs on either side, all nozzles pointing inwards.
"Ready?" Christian called, not looking around to check. "On three, two, one, go!"
Instantly both took a deep breath and stepped inside and using both hands twisted open the lines of nozzles in turn, working from the far side back down the pod to the hatch. Gasses hissed and spewed into the small spaces, clouding their vision.
Christian was done first, leaping out of the pod and sealing his hatch, covering his mouth with his elbow as the smoke dissipated. Gasses were billowing out into the corridor from Narli's escape pod but here was no sign of him. The Captain hesitated, he should go and help him, but he needed to finish his inputs and going to help would delay things.
"Ambassador! Are you okay?!" Christian shouted, holding his ground but ready to run.
Narli finally stumbled out and sealed the hatch from a crouched position.
"Ambassador?!" Christian glanced at his shipmate.
"I'm fine!" the Andorian yelled and stood, coughing, quickly entering the necessary commands.
"Done…?!" the Captain shouted worried that each second counted.
"Yes!" the Andorian replied and ran back to the Turret, clearing his throat a couple of times.
Christian arrived first, leaping inside. Back in the small turret control, Jackson was unmoving, fixated on tactical readings.
"Where the hell have you been?" she grumbled. "Our shields have collapsed but they've stopped firing at us. They've increased their speed to get closer - they may be intending to board us." She paused and said in a more controlled voice: "No whites of eyes as yet, Captain."
"Very good, I'll take it from here," Christian said encouragingly and they awkwardly changed places again, the Andorian having to support the Commodore as she clumsily fell backwards while dismounting. The Captain selected the hail for Yacht Engineering.
"Mister Rebbik," he tried to sound calm. "How are you doing?"
* * *
COMMAND YACHT, ENGINEERING
"Now that they've stopped firing at us, I'm fine, Captain," Reb replied, shifting his standing posture and glancing at his anxious shipmates.
"I have a request for the engineers," Christian said over the comms. "Any chance of a warp speed pulse?"
Warnerburg exchanged a worried look with Murat who was shaking his head firmly – both knew you couldn't form a sustainable warp field in an area of extensive ionised space.
"That isn't possible, Captain," the Romulan stated quickly.
"Not so fast, son," Cally Warnerburg had many years of experience to call on. "He said he wanted a pulse, not sustained warp speed. Right, Captain?"
"That's right, ma'am," the Captain's voice sounded pleased.
Cally quickly called up the sensors-navigation interface and entered parameters for an automated scan. She explained to the baffled Romulan: "Ionic radiation doesn't cover every cubic metre. If we find a big enough pocket of unaffected space, we can position the ship inside in order to carry out the manoeuvre. The ionisation will soon collapse the field, but we will have already achieved enough light speed momentum to take us out of sensor range."
"Impressive," the android girl hadn't moved from her pinned position. "They won't believe you stupid enough to try that."
"What does she mean?" the unnamed helper asked, bemused.
"Because in the time it takes us to slow down they'll be right on top of us," Karless hoped the Captain had a way of preventing their capture.
Reb appreciated in that moment that Karless and his companions weren't merely brutal warriors, they were also serving crewmen aboard Klingon vessels, possibly specialists of some kind and more familiar with ship operations than he'd previously thought.
"Don't you worry, we've got a little surprise in store for our pursuers, Mister Rebbik," Christian's tone was eager across the intercom. "As soon as Ms Warnerburg has found the pocket, I need you to make the shortest possible slowing distance to put us near-stationary inside it, crucially with the back of the vessel facing our pursuers, understood?"
"Understood," Reb responded.
"Count me down to a full stop then wait for my order to initiate the warp manouevre - head us back to the Fantasy… the rest of the Fantasy."
Reb licked his lips. "Okay," he said unconfidently.
"You do know the way back, don't you?" Karless asked.
"Hmm…" Reb said sarcastically, "I think it's sort of that way, isn't it?" and thumbed to his left.
Seconds later, Warnerburg shook her head, frustrated. She tapped the comms control. "Captain, there's limited choice with such heavy saturation. The nearest available pocket is fifty seconds away. It's not very big, so we've not much margin for error."
"Great," Reb compared the dimensions of the pocket with the beam, draft and length of the Yacht - the space was almost the same. He patched the co-ordinates into the helm controls. Under normal circumstances he could have worked it out in his head, but he was so distracted with uncertainty he let the computer work it out. It flashed the answer instantaneously. "Okay, I can emergency brake twelve seconds before the event."
"They could beam aboard while we are braking," they all heard Narli caution over the comms.
"A five second countdown will do for us, Reb," Christian ordered and signed off.
"Okay…," Reb cocked his head back and grinned broadly, trying to appear sure, even though he felt the total opposite. Aside from Cally his shipmates' expressions showed a clear lack of confidence that he could actually pull it off. "What?! I got this," he said confidently.
The area required for the warp field to form allowed less than a twenty metre margin for error, and most of them present knew that an emergency stop could run on for a lot longer than calculated due to variable anomalies. Reb knew it too.
* * *
COMMAND YACHT, AFT PHASER TURRET
Christian looked up at Narli, who had been whispering an explanation of what they were planning to Jackson during his conversation. Jackson had her eyebrows raised in astonishment.
"What?" the Captain prepped his settings, but made sure not to scan any targets or power up weapons until the last moment.
"You're sure Rebbik can do this?" the Commodore asked.
Christian slapped his forehead comically. "You trust me, don't you?"
Jackson stepped back and braced herself against the circular pod. "Actually, no. But I don't have another Captain at my disposal."
Christian bit his tongue. Narli was laughing at him.
"What's so damned funny?" Christian didn't get Andorian humour - ever.
"You take her so seriously, don't you?"
Reb's voice energised the moment. "Counting down to braking manoeuvre in five…"
Christian glimpsed at the display, the four T'Kani vessels had matched their course as they had veered in the direction of the pocket and retained their diamond formations.
"Four…"
"They're too far apart…" Narli cautioned.
Christian called up the auto-eject control for the two adjacent escape pods.
"Three…"
"Pray for luck," Christian said.
"Two…"
"Luck won't come into it," Narli observed.
"One…"
A brief moment of almost total silence.
"Breaking now," Reb shouted excitedly.
The entire ship lurched and Jackson fell into the back of Christian's chair - intertial dampners were screaming to keep up with the violent stopping manouevre. From her position, embracing the back of the chair she could see the structural integrity readout peaking also. Time was passing too slowly as the ship continued to vibrate.
"Five seconds to full stop…" Reb's voice stated.
Narli grasped at the rim of the entry hatch, then had to quickly let go as the door came crashing closed.
"Four…" they could hear the strain of the ship as Reb fired all breaking thrusters in an attempt to stop in time.
"Three…"
"Arming weapons," Christian stated.
"Two…"
"Get ready," Christian said to himself.
"One!"
"Ejecting escape pods," Christian pressed the flashing key and they heard the shunt and splitting cracks of the holding bolts exploding. Through the slit in front of them they observed the pods tumbling into the distance out of sight, then saw the auto-navigating thrusters subtly moving themselves into position just as the dots of the pursuing ships appeared.
"What the hell was that?!" Reb screamed over the initercom, scanning all his readouts. "It's given us extra forward thrust!"
Christian flushed red - the emergency ejection of two pods had countered the breaking force, marginally cancelling out the breaking thrusters. He saw the pursuing ships also slowing but now rapidly gaining, not breaking formation. According to navigation readings the Command Yacht was edging dangerously close to the side of the pocket.
* * *
COMMAND YACHT, ENGINEERING
Reb had no choice, he ran his hands up the breaking thrusters and reaction controllers and fired all systems at full pelt. He watched the perimeter of the pocket get closer: nineteen, sixteen, thirteen, eleven, nine, seven, six, five... That was it - they had stopped… but only just.
A loud snapping noise broke any chance of celebration; Reb turned and saw the android (who had slid back into the warp core room during the violent braking manoeuvre) holding above her head most of the Bat'Leth. Part of it was still embedded in her head, but she was now up on her wobbling legs, attacking Kluless with the pointed end and throwing him effortlessly across the room into a thick cylindrical pipe.
Karless had pulled out a small boot dagger and approached her with glee.
"Prepare to go to warp, on my mark!" Christian said over the comms.
Reb couldn't believe what was happening and fought to focus on his task at hand. Tripping the pre-set sequence, his shaking hands brought the warp engines on line. He hit the final readiness sequence but it failed. He tried again – nothing. His shaking hands were getting worse, he forced himself to check each status but found it a stilted process compared to his usually slick skills.
"Oh no…! We've got a stall in the core," Warnerburg said. It would be precious seconds before pressure was up to a warp-capable level again.
The internal security breach alarm warned with an ominous triple tribble.
Reb trembled as if he were freezing cold, momentarily glancing over at the older woman's experienced hands flashing across the internal sensor controls and then tap the intercom with a flourish.
"Captain I'm reading multiple transporter locks throughout the ship!" Warnerburg shouted.
* * *
COMMAND YACHT, AFT PHASER TURRET
"Come on, come on…," ignoring the words of warning, Christian was intent upon his own job. The T'Kani ships had stayed in formation. Two of the ships had their shields down and were initiating a transport. They clearly hadn't been concerned with the small unmanned escape pods approaching at speed – the trajectory would take them safely past without any risk of collision.
Christian instantly armed weapons and locked onto the pods which were suddenly being scanned frantically by the enemy ships presumably curious why the Fantasy would be target-locking their own people.
"Gotcha!" he laughed at them and fired two volleys at the pods. Both exploded in a double white blast of energy, instantly disabling the unshielded ships but barely damaging the remainder. Christian guessed the disabled ships couldn't stop another well placed full power phaser blast. The relatively undamaged ships attempted to quickly pull away sensing the danger as Christian fired off two further blasts, causing one of the disabled ships to rip in half, the explosion badly damaging the other disabled ship. The remaining two vessels quickly manoeuvred themselves in front of their damaged cohorts and raised shields. Christian fired off his last shot, but it was easily absorbed.
"That's it, no more juice!" He punched the comms. "Go to warp - NOW!"
"Standby, Captain," Reb's voice nervously chuckled over the speakers. Christian was all out of ammo, and his enemy clearly discerned that fact, for the ships had dropped their shields and begun to attempt a transport again. Christian gasped as the tactical display showed multiple transporter beams targeting multiple sites on the Fantasy.
"What's that?" Jackson pointed at the tactical display. The other four pursuing ships were also rapidly approaching.
* * *
Reb was rooted to the spot, recalling all that had happened to him over the past month, eyes quivering with tears of disbelief that on top of being stranded, losing all he had, being attacked and pursued on more occasions than he'd like to think about it was now finally going to be over. He hoped his death would be quick.
Warnerburg noticed the half-Ferengi pilot staring at nothing, paralysed with fear.
"Hey, come on!" she urged, ignoring the bloody fight taking place in the warp core, trying not to be distracted as T'Kani transporter signal started to sparkle in various places around the engine room. Reb however was having a full on panic attack, fighting for breath.
Warnerburg quickly checked the main console; the engines were in the green. She sensed the forms of a multiple T'Kani soldiers around her. Stretching over she pressed the four buttons to initiate the pulse rotation. As the warp field activated, the not quite fully materialised energy forms flickered, about to be left behind.
"No!" the android shouted, her hope of escape about to be dashed. With impossible speed she backflipped over the resilient Klingon and dived into the fading transporter beam of the last soldier to lose cohesion as the ship jumped to warp speed.
To Cally, it was like the retinal after-image following a flash of light, blurred shadows of individuals quickly dissipating into the aft of Engineering until nothing was left.
Almost a minute later a warning sounded - the field had collapsed, but they were a considerable distance from their T'Kani pursuers and hopefully coupled with the cloaking substance covering most of the Yacht also outside of sensor range, the ion radiation adding to their camouflage. Reb snapped out of his suicidal reverie and focused on the navigation log that identified the return path from where they'd first made their violent detachment.
Warnerburg was holding his arm and he met her stare. Reb knew it was her intervention that had saved them, and he bowed his head, acknowledging his gratitude and indicating he was also okay. She gripped his arm harder reassuringly, silently indicating she wouldn't let on, then moved away to check supplementary engineering systems.
Using thrusters to turn them on course Reb presently brought them to a full stop. A reassuring blip indicated the location of the rest of the Fantasy a short distance ahead and he uncontrollably sighed and half laughed with relief.
Murat checked the internal sensors for any signs of K'Tani – as far as he could tell there were none. With a sense of relief he glanced across at Reb and Warnerburg and affirmed they were in the clear. Reb pulled a stupid face and held up both thumbs in joking relief. Cally felt slightly sad and concerned for the young man putting on such a front after freezing in the line of duty, but chuckled when she saw Murat laughing - a rare thing in a Romulan - and she noticed what cute dimples he had.
Murat activated his comms.
"Captain, the android's gone."
"Any intruders?" Christian asked apprehensively.
"No, sir," he replied, relieved. "They are all gone."
"What happened to them?" Jackson's voice asked.
Warnerburg chuckled, as did the injured Klingons, but to Reb it seemed callous, considering.
The old veteran absorbed the impact of a friendly Klingon slap on her back, explaining it to her superior.
"It was like the reverse of a near-warp transport, Commodore - we engaged engines while they were beaming, so they would have materialised in open space."
* * *
A great distance to their aft, beyond the small pocket of non-ionised space, the remaining damaged ships gently rolled adrift, energy seeping into space from a variety of gaping orifices in colourful sparkle trails. The other four pursuers moved into the debris field, swiftly picking up any survivors. Floating amid the wreckage were a hundred or so frozen corpses, most auto-disintegrating, others unable to.
One figure was moving - a curious, multi-limbed object flailing amid frozen pellets of dark and clear fluid. The android Pim had caught the transport beam, her pattern breaking down and then re-materialising within the unfortunate T'Kani soldier she merged with, fusing her positronic systems with his flesh and blood and rendering the self-destruct inert. The android unit was unrecognizable yet it still functioned at a primary level. Although she would never be repaired physically, Pim's memory algorithms were perfectly intact. And one thought was on her mind: revenge.