NX-35 Vigilant: Shuttle Two
Vulcan Interface
Shuttle Two screamed through the thin air, trailing fuel and smoke from the still burning missile strike to port. Inertial dampeners were utterly failing to compensate for the loss of pressure and totally shot-to-hell aerodynamics. She was flying a damned burning brick.
A burning brick that couldn't even make up its mind where its center of gravity was.
But she had to break that missile lock. Any minute now impulse engines were going to fail and they'd drop like a rock…
In the rear compartment, Jenny was a bloody mess. Marisa had spared only a glimpse but could guess what had happened. The gaping, screaming hole in the wall back there being the obvious culprit. P'Trell was busy with her at the moment, though doing what, she couldn't see. And she didn't want to spare the thought of just how badly poor Jenny was hurt...or whether an Andorian even knew what to do with an injured Human.
T'Pril had naturally ignored all of that and, ever efficient, begun juggling communication with Vulcan Air Control, monitoring sensors and powering up the shuttle's only phase cannon. And announcing that the shuttle's already pathetic hull polarization was nothing more than a warm, fuzzy memory.
Marisa hated it. She hated it. But…
"P'Trell, I need you on this phase cannon!" She yelled.
"West is injured." P'Trell's firm reply.
"We're all gonna die if you don't come kill this pedajo!" She retorted.
"Then let me know when you have something to shoot at!" P'Trell snapped back.
Okay. Bueno. Fine.
Marisa yanked the shuttle into what would otherwise have been a mad, thoroughly out of control, spin to port. But with her current profile and all the forces at work overlapping one another…she barely managed a hard turn.
Simultaneously drop impulse for two seconds…shove her belly into the all too thin Vulcan atmosphere…and now everything, poured into that hard turn…
"Negative lock." T'Pril announced calmly, her voice barely audible over the howling in the cabin.
Marisa pulled up, dropping back on impulse, engaging thrusters that were never designed or intended to operate in atmosphere, even as thin as this…spinning…impulse engines flaring again…
And now that puta was dead ahead, coming fast…
T'Pril grunted, recovering from the forces that had just slammed into them all. A discrete beep from the console…
"Target has lock." She announced. "Disengage, ensign."
"Get a lock on him!" Marisa insisted. Why wasn't she firing?
Then P'Trell was there and Shuttle Two's lone phase cannon lanced out, swiping at the enemy shuttle. Once, twice. Now they were trailing smoke…flashing past them to starboard…
Marisa grinned tightly. Ha! Surprise, culero!
She slapped at the port thruster controls, to come about hard, now, while she still had a chance of keeping them off her ass…
…and found her wrist locked in a vice grip. By T'Pril.
"Disengage, ensign." She said sternly. "We cannot break atmosphere and Ensign West is injured. We must land."
"We can't do that while they're shooting at us!" Marisa argued.
T'Pril let go and pointed quickly out the shuttle window ahead.
"There." She said. "Between those two peaks. Maintain 1500 feet, drop to 600 immediately on the far side."
"They'll blow us out of the sky before we can even…!" She insisted.
"They will not." T'Pril insisted, her eyes locked with Marisa's. "And you will obey orders, Ensign."
The enemy shuttle was already coming about out there, she knew. It would be locking on at any moment…her choice was clear…obey orders and die stupidly or kill that pedejo jerk before he killed them…
Marisa slammed one fist down on the flight console. "Hijo de puta, pinche, piruja madre, mamadas, vete el carajo!" She cursed.
Marisa stabbed at her console viciously, driving the nose of the shuttle down, aiming for the twin peaks where she was sure she was going to die.
What a joke. She spent five years dying, traveled light years for a miraculous cure and now this. She should have skipped all that and just got laid one good time.
Cheleb'khor
Vulcan
Kelet lightly patted the neck of the ashevi plodding along beside him with the butt of his spear, prompting it to come to a halt. The strap holding the string of water jugs on that side had begun to slip again, he had noticed. As he moved to adjust the strap, tightening it into place, he pondered how best to resolve the matter.
It would be logical to replace the entire system of webbing, he reasoned, rather than pay a tradesman to repair the fitting itself. More expensive initially perhaps but more efficient in the long run.
It was not a matter of convenience. Life itself was inconvenient and such minor difficulties served a purpose. Rather, it caused the ashevi unnecessary stress for the load it bore to shift unexpectedly so often and constantly having to stop for adjustments provoked it to irritation. To utilize beasts of burden one must take on the responsibility of good stewardship.
Therefore, he would suffer the added expense of purchasing an entirely new system of webbing. In the end, the aid the ashevi offered well justified the expense and he maintained a responsible level of care for the animal in return. Further, he had become aware of a new model of webbing that should fit much more comfortably about the beast's torso, which was not prohibitively expensive. The logic then seemed clear.
Having adjusted the strap sufficiently into place for now, he tapped the beast on the neck again with his spear. At their current rate of travel they should be able to reach the next kahs-wan hostel well before dusk tomorrow, so he reasoned it acceptable to drive the ashevi at a more leisurely pace from here on.
L'vell, his sehlat companion, suddenly bounded over the nearby dune, approaching at a lope. Kelet could sense immediately that she was disturbed. Once she came close enough he reached out to comfort her and inquire what had her so unsettled. If it had been a le-matya or other predator she would have signaled him from afar rather than coming to seek comfort. So surely, then, something unusual…
Ah…something in the sky? Not a sandstorm or any other environmental threat. Clearly something she was unfamiliar with. Her sense of the matter was disturbed and unclear, however.
A distant whistling from the east drew his attention away from L'vell, though he continued to send comfort and peace through his touch.
Interesting. A shuttle seemed to have suffered damage and was in the process of crash landing to the east. As he watched he wondered at the logic the pilot displayed. They were clearly expending significant effort in delaying the crash until they had passed the Peaks of T'Ris. To purposefully land a shuttle, damaged or not, within the Forge rather than outside the natural dampening field lacked any logic at all that he could perceive.
He wondered, in fact, if the pilot was aware that the mountain range to the east contained such heavy deposits of iron and gallicite. And so, naturally, the dampening field tended to be sympathetic to the range, extending further into the atmosphere there than elsewhere…
Ah, yes, apparently. They did indeed seem to be compensating, rising just above the reach of the field, flying high above the peaks and dropping down again on the far side. Though that hardly explained the matter of choosing the Forge for a crash site in the first place.
All the more interesting…
Another shuttle seemed to be following, itself heavily damaged and also apparently attempting to…but, no. They seemed to be in pursuit of the first. The two were engaged in combat then? This would explain the missile the second vessel had just fired.
An example of violent impulse so easily overcoming reason, Kelet supposed. Had the pilot of the second vessel maintained logic and engaged in combat more rationally, he would likely have recognized the missile would pass low between the peaks and fall prey to the dampening field. A wasted effort, as the missile immediately dropped to the sands below, powerless.
Likewise the pilot would have recognized the danger the field represented to his shuttle before it was too late. As it was, they were unable to pull up in time and fell prey themselves.
As the second shuttle lost power, fell and impacted the rock-strewn sands to the east, Kelet grieved for the loss of life. It was unfortunate, surely, but had the occupants of the vessel followed the Way of Surak, they would probably not have suffered such a fate.
Kelet ran his hand across L'vell's fur again, reassuring her all was well before sending her out to scout the periphery again. Before tapping the ashevi, prompting it to continue their journey, he retrieved a stencil and pad, examined the sky again and made note of his position. He would report the matter to Search and Rescue tomorrow when he reached the hostel.
NX-35 Vigilant
Vulcan Orbit
Achilla was near to tears. Try as she might, even with Hsiao's help, she couldn't get a lock on her target. The miniscule size of the vessel, the erratic flight pattern, atmo deflection, the dampening field playing hell with sensors…it was just impossible!
And on top of it all…
"Commander, I think the VAC's jamming me!" She cried.
"Target is firing again…" Hsiao reported.
"Expand overwatch." Henry ordered. "I need to see what's going on, Hsiao!"
The view on the bridge main screen drew back, bringing the second shuttle into view. Both now were trailing smoke and heavily damaged, thanks to two good shots from Shuttle Two a moment ago.
"Summers, tell the VAC to back the hell off!" Henry ordered. "Are they completely unaware of what's the going on here?"
Summers had her hands full already, trying to communicate the urgency of the matter without undo emotionality. She could only manage raising one hand to put him off a moment.
"Understood, Vulcan Air Control." She said tightly. "However, our sensors clearly show the unidentified vessel has fired twice on Shuttle Two. Are you not receiving our Tactical data?"
"Sir!" Exclaimed Hsiao, from the Helm. "Target just lost power! They're going down!"
Henry jerked his attention back to the main view screen. Sure enough, they were dropping fast…falling…impacting…bouncing from one great sand dune to stick nose first in another.
"The hell happened, Hsiao?"
"Looks like…they're over the Forge, sir…maybe they flew too low?" Hsaio said, confused. "I didn't think the field extended that high."
"To hell with VAC, Summers. Can you get me Shuttle Two?" Henry demanded.
"Standby, Air Control." Summers said, turning to him. "Negative, sir. Too close to the dampening field. I can try a tight beam…but I don't even think they'll…"
"Sir…" Hsiao said. "Shuttle Two just lost impulse."
On screen Shuttle Two was gliding, almost uncontrolled. Henry could see Marisa trying desperately to avoid falling into the dampening field but there was nowhere else to go. Shuttle Two slid inexorably down...lost power...fell...
"Ah, dammit all to hell…" Henry muttered.
Impact.
NX-35 Vigilant: Shuttle Two
Cheleb'khor
Jennifer West slowly opened her eyes. Blinked carefully once. Twice. Still couldn't quite get the blurry world to come into focus.
She gasped for breath. Or tried to. Apparently someone had played a cruel prank on her. Shoved her in an oven, sucked all the air out and dropped a sandbag on her chest. She managed to groan one good time, though.
"Ah, vithi." A familiar voice. "You're awake."
All else aside, that cool hand on her cheek felt absolutely wonderful. So she opened her eyes again and managed a bit of focus this time.
She drew a breath, a bit more successfully this time. Hot. Too hot here. But the concern on P'Trell's face and the way his antennae seemed to focus on her was just so cute.
She smiled dreamily. "Hey, blue." She murmured.
Rexas smirked and put his palm to her cheek again. That sure felt nice…but…
Her brow furrowed.
"Ow." She said vaguely, raising one hand. Hopefully in the direction of her head.
"You have a bad cut on your scalp." P'Trell admonished. "I think you shouldn't play with it."
"Yeah…I keep hitting my head…" She slurred.
P'Trell chuckled. "How do you feel otherwise?"
"Um…" She couldn't seem to get her brain to engage here…
"Hot. Too hot. Heavy." She struggled for a good breath. "Can't breathe good."
"Yes, I know." He said, grinning. "Welcome to Vulcan, vithi."
Yeah, welcome…what's a vithi, anyway? She wondered vaguely.
Then suddenly reality found a way through the fog and rushed in all at once.
She blinked. "Oh."
A closer look around then, trying her best not to move her head unnecessarily. Marisa was digging something out of the locker. Her hair was a mess. And the Captain was checking the gear Marisa was tossing at her.
Looks like she hit her head, too. She thought. She was surprised that the blood smear on T'Pril's face was red. She'd always assumed…
She shook her head to clear it a bit…and immediately regretted that impulse.
"Ow. Seriously." She complained.
But it brought that wonderfully cool hand back where it belonged. So okay, then. She kept her eyes closed and enjoyed it this time, bringing her own hand up to keep it from wandering off again.
"What happened?" She asked, once she caught a good breath.
"Well, a hull breech resulted in what I suspect will be a lovely scar on your head." P'Trell soothed. "But it deprived us of your company for a time."
"Mm." She murmured. "That crashed us?"
"No." P'Trell denied. "Vulcan herself accomplished that. We seem to have gotten a little too close to the Forge."
That forced her to open her eyes again. And it explained a few things as well. The deck plating was obviously offline and the shuttle wasn't even attempting environmental control. The Forge was just one big dampening field with the most inhospitable, flat out deadliest environment on Vulcan sitting right on top of it.
They were sitting inside a big, dead hunk of metal and plastic…somewhere in Vulcan's Forge.
Oh, they were so screwed.
NX-35 Vigilant
Vulcan Orbit
Major Morales waited tensely. As it stood a Tactical Alert, for the MACO, meant little more than "stand around and be ready". Which wasn't much different than what they did the rest of the time.
He eyed the comm intently, though. And reflected again that Starfleet needed to start attaching dedicated away teams of some sort to their ships. Several of them. With integral security. MACO preferably, of course.
The current situation being a perfect example. They were at Tactical Alert and half the bridge crew was away on a mission. Heck, most of the time that's exactly why they were on alert. Because the command staff had run off and got themselves in some kind of trouble. It was like throwing your rifle at the enemy instead of shooting them with it. What kind of sense did that make?
A bridge crew for the bridge, away team for away missions. It should be obvious…
"Stand down tactical alert. Section chiefs submit reports".
He sighed, more relieved than he'd admit.
"Right." He nodded to his team. "Carry on, then." His team fell out, getting back to the drills they'd been in the middle of when the alert sounded.
"Bridge to Major Morales."
He snapped his fingers instantly, though gratified to notice his team had stopped dead in their tracks already.
He tapped the comm. "Morales, go ahead."
"Prepare your team for retrieval and report to the bridge."
"Understood bridge, on my way." He replied.
"Stetson, ready up. I'll meet you in the shuttle bay." He barked, jogging for the bridge.
Behind him, Corporal Stetson began barking orders. "Alright, you heard it! Ready up! Miles, you're on gear. Desert standard, low atmo. Michaels, go grab us a medic. Sulok, if you can get him. And you better be at the bay waiting when we get there…!"
Commander Henry McArthur's voice started bleeding through the doors of the lift before Morales had even properly arrived.
"…why I should give a damn. And are you seriously suggesting we faked a Tactical data dump to justify active scans on a civilian shuttle?" Henry argued. "Please explain, Commander, what exactly you think we got out of that?"
Morales darted off the lift and onto the bridge, finding McArthur deep in an argument with some Vulcan fleet officer on the bridge view screen.
"I will not speculate now on any motive for your actions, Commander McArthur." The Fleet Officer replied calmly. "The matter at hand is that your ship conducted active scans on a civilian vessel in Vulcan airspace. And attempted a weapons lock on that same vehicle. Both violating preexisting agreements…"
"Our motives for which should be easy enough to speculate on from the live Tac dump we shared with you in the process of all that." McArthur argued. "Kinda the whole point of the thing, ain't it?"
"The details of which have not been confirmed at this time." The officer replied.
"So how about you go confirm 'em and I'll get back to the business of retrievin' my personnel?" McArthur countered.
Henry noticed him then and turned his attention away just long enough to jab a finger in the direction of the situation room. Morales stepped over there to await orders.
"Again. You are not authorized to conduct ground operations on Vulcan without prior approval…" The officer continued.
"Well, unless you can inform me right by God now that you've got a Vulcan Rescue team deployed to get my people out of there, then I'm well within my rights under Article 12 of the Joint Military Operations Agreement to escort civilian personnel out of harm's way in allied territory."
The Fleet Officer raised one eyebrow at that. "You are not a military vessel, Commander, and under the Joint Military Operations Agreement all Earth military forces are restricted from this system."
"Except for MACO teams attached to Starfleet vessels. Which I happen to got one handy." Henry responded.
The Vulcan officer paused. For a moment.
"MACO, of course, may conduct such operations, Commander, under Article 12. Provided they inform us beforehand. But again, you are neither an Earth military nor specifically MACO vessel. This does not then apply to you and you have no authority to issue orders for such operations."
"Well, I guess you're absolutely right, Commander." Henry agreed. "Morales? Get over here."
He hurried over. "Sir?"
Henry folded his arms over his chest. "Major Morales. We've got four Starfleet personnel that went and got themselves crash-landed in the Vulcan Forge. Seems there ain't nothin' we can do about that but wait for Vulcan Air Control and Search n' Rescue to get their collective heads outta their asses long enough to figure out which ass to scratch."
He spared a glare at the Vulcan officer onscreen before continuing. "Which is a real shame seein' as how, if they ain't already dead, they're soon gonna be considering just where they crashed."
He turned back to stare at Morales. "Just thought you'd wanna know, Major. Figured you folk like keepin' up on current events."
And waited.
"Understood, sir." Morales acknowledged, realizing what was expected of him. "Commander McArthur, considering the situation, may I request detachment of the MACO contingent in order to conduct civilian rescue operations under Article 12 of the Joint Military Operations Agreement?"
"Absolutely, Major." Henry nodded. "I reckon we can spare you for a spell. Anything we can do to help?"
"If you can give me a concise report of the situation, sir, I'll let you know what we need at that time." Morales nodded.
"Outstanding." Henry nodded back. He turned back to the view screen.
"If you'll excuse me Commander Setran, looks like we got some business needs takin' care of. Ensign Summers should be able to answer any questions you have concerning that Tactical data."
Cheleb'khor
Vulcan
P'Trell scanned the horizon ahead. Nothing in evidence at all but endless sand dunes, broken only by occasional bits of evil looking rock. It was insanely hot, oppressively heavy and the air barely qualified as such.
He hated it. And Vulcans all the more for having originated from such a place.
Captain Tucker exited the shuttle behind him just as he had, through the open hole the missile strike had left in the hull, since the actual door was wedged firmly shut. He could sense her approaching to speak and could tell she was assessing him closely in the meantime.
Best to interrupt that. He already knew just what she was considering.
"What's the plan, Captain?" He asked, without turning around. "We can't wait for rescue here."
"Indeed." She replied calmly. "The Forge is commonly considered one of the most inhospitable locations on all of Vulcan. And we have arrived at mid-morning. It will only get worse."
"I'm hoping you know the terrain better than I." He frowning, turning to face her. "I can barely guess what direction I'm facing, much less which one to choose."
"The closest border lies to the south." She replied, pointing that way. "There we should find hostels established to receive kahs-wan participants. Possibly camps and supply caches to serve their needs along the way as well."
She turned back, inspecting him openly while she spoke.
"Also, they lie outside the boundaries of the dampening field." She continued. "They will have functional communications equipment, allowing us to contact Vigilant."
"How far away, Captain?" He asked.
She looked him in the eye then. "I cannot say."
That was not what he wanted to hear.
"I will survey our surroundings from atop this dune here." She advised, pointing to the tallest nearby. "You will ensure Ensigns West and Rodriguez are properly outfitted for an extended hike through this environment in the meantime."
He nodded. "Your Starfleet issue binoculars are powered, Captain. They won't work here."
Producing a small, palm-sized device from one pocket, he offered it to her. "Simple lens magnifier. Not as good but it works well enough."
Having accepted it, she turned and began scaling the tall dune without a further word. P'Trell watched for a moment, wondering what conclusion she'd come to, if any. He certainly wasn't able to hide his nature in this environment, he knew. Sooner or later it would come under discussion.
And considering she apparently had nothing to say, it was a safe assumption she was preparing the battlefield beforehand. Giving her all the advantage.
With a short sigh he hiked back and climb through the twisted breach in Shuttle Two's hull to check on the others.
NX-35 Vigilant
Vulcan Orbit
"Alright, so that puts them here, correct?" Morales asked.
"Right. Oversight has 'em eyeballed right there." Henry confirmed. "Just a few miles from the border."
"Might as well be a million." Morales grimaced. "1.4Gs, high temp, low oxygen…that's hell."
"Exactly why we need to cut the gabbin' and get 'em outta there, Major." Henry glared.
"Right. Combat drop straight down, here." He jabbed at a spot on the border of the Forge. "Get in, locate, escort…here. Closest settlement."
"Kahs-wan camp." Henry nodded. "They'll have everything you need. What they're there for."
"That dampening field limits equipment options. Specifically communications. We'll need oversight inside the Forge if we're even going to find them." Morales noted. "What have you got in that department?"
McArthur exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. "Best we've got is high-powered white-light search beams. Give me half an hour and I can over tune one all to hell. Should last long enough."
"Visible from the surface?" Morales asked skeptically.
Henry smirked. "Oh, hell yes. You're familiar with Morse code, I'm assuming'?"
"Yes, sir." The Major nodded.
"And you've got LED signal lights yourself, standard gear." Henry said. "Oversight'll catch that plain as day. So there's your comm."
"Outstanding." Morales affirmed.
"Weapons, then." McArthur suggested. "I understand the wildlife down there's few and far between…but they make up for it."
"Not a problem, sir." Morales assured. "We'll uncrate some ballistics."
"What else you need, Major?" Henry asked, impatiently.
"That should be it, sir." He responded.
"Very good." Henry said, then returned to the map display. "Shuttle One will combat drop at high atmo here, vector down to await here, at the settlement. You get in, get out, get aboard. Then you all haul ass right back here, understood?"
"Understood, sir."
"Get to it, then. And good luck."
Morales got to it, heading for the lift and shuttle bay, where his team waited.
"Not a factor, sir." He replied.