Since you asked for more, here you go.
* * * * *
“We are approaching Setlik, sir,” announced Ensign Mecell from the conn.
“Prepare to drop us out of warp just outside the system, Ensign,” Captain Reihyn ordered, leaning slightly towards the Bajoran, whose shoulders were visibly tensing. He looked at the Orion beside him. “Lieutenant, signal red alert and give me full power to the shields.”
“Aye sir,” D’Kehra replied, before entering the commands.
The lights dimmed red and klaxons sounded throughout the U.S.S. Orion, signalling the crew to stand ready for anything. Reihyn sat back again, gripping the armrests in preparation for all hell breaking loose. “Reverse engines, take us to one-half impulse.”
“One-half, aye-aye sir,” confirmed the young conn officer.
The old Constellation-Class ship rattled as the warp field dissipated and she returned to normal space. At first, Reihyn had found the many shakes and rumbles of the once-mothballed ship to be a little unnerving, but after three weeks he was becoming accustomed to them. As soon as she was under impulse power, the rest of the crew's eyes scrutinised their sensors, his were locked firmly on the viewscreen. At their present range, he couldn’t see anything but the outer planets and the Setlik star, but he knew that things were very different further in the system.
From operations there were a few quick chirps, drawing his attention to the starboard bulkhead. His ops manager, Aleksander Jachim, sat where once the science station had been, though since patched to handle added functions and controls. Jachim, one of the few onboard who didn’t have a single blemish on his record, kept his eyes fixed on the numerous sensor displays as he announced, “The Ariel, Oppenheimer and Lirpa have all dropped out of warp.”
A beep from the opposite side of the bridge stood out over the myriad of other sounds. He snapped his head towards it and the woman responding to it, Lieutenant Commander Clarissa DuMont, his XO who sat at mission ops.
“The Lirpa is signalling, sir.”
“On screen.”
It took a few moments longer than he’d expected before the angular face of Captain T’Lyis appeared. Though the Sabre-Class Lirpa was the smallest of the four ships, she was the newest and held the tactical advantage, thus she was the ship in charge of their current operations. The Constellation-Class Orion, Miranda-Class Ariel, and Oberth-Class Oppenheimer were all part of the “zombie fleet”, old ships that had been decommissioned decades ago brought back into service to carry out support duties for the war. Of the three of them, Reihyn’s ship was in the best condition.
“Relief ships, move into the system and begin search-and-rescue operations. We will commence our patrol sweep outside of the stars gravity well.”
“Understood,” hissed Lieutenant Commander S’sau of the Oppenheimer.
“You got it, dar—eh, ma’am,” was the response from Captain Wade Burbank of the Ariel, in his customary Texan drawl.
“Acknowledged,” he added, before the channel was cut from the other end. Not wasting time he addressed Mecell Koen again. “Ensign, enter co-ordinates to our assigned search grid.”
The Bajoran nodded and started entering the new heading into the navcomp. It hadn’t taken long for Reihyn to suss why the baby-faced man had graduated third from last in his class; though a qualified helmsman (his skills so far had shown some potential), he lacked the initiative and forethought needed to anticipate orders and be ahead of the curve. Hopefully, time and real life experience might help him develop, where four years at the Academy hadn’t quite succeeded—if not, then it was doubtful Mecell would see any other bridge duty after his time on the Orion was over.
“Co-ordinates entered, Captain.”
“Ahead two-thirds. Once we reach the site, begin an immediate spiral search pattern.”
“Um, aye sir.”
“D’Kehra, even with the Lirpa watching our backs—”
“Don’t worry, sir, I’ll keep an eye out for hostiles,” she told him, flashing him a brilliant white smile against her jade skin.
He gave her a lopsided smirk in return, before kicking himself—not for the first time, it was easy to be enticed by the alluring Orion even with the pheromone suppressor she took daily. He dreaded to think how bad it would be if she didn’t.
Focusing on the job once again, he tapped the intercom on his armrest. “Bridge to sickbay. You got everything ready down there, Doctor?”
“You have doubts?” Sioll Baxx’s retort made Reihyn chuckle softly, despite what they were about to face. “I’ve got my people waiting in sickbay, all transporter rooms and the hangar decks. Wherever there will be injured, you’ll find a corpsman. I’ve also pinched crewmen from security to help with stretchers and gurneys.”
“Thank you, Doctor. We’ll be in range in a few minutes, standby.” He closed the channel and opened a new one, his tone getting harder. “Reihyn to Ramirez. Status report, Chief.”
“Every transporter room is manned and ready. I’m in shuttlebay one, just finished final checks on all tractor beam emitters; everything's ready to recover escape pods. All non-coms and crewmen are at their allocated posts.”
“Thank you, Chief. Reihyn out.” Of all the ‘motley’ crew on the Orion, he’d have thought that Ramirez would’ve been the most trouble—given that when they’d first met the man had been in handcuffs, just released from a penal colony for going AWOL to join the Maquis—but so far he’d been towing the line and helping keep the crew in check.
There was a moment of eerie stillness on the bridge. He’d run out of busywork for himself, so all that remained was to sit still and wait patiently—something the adrenaline rushing through his body wasn’t allowing him to do. He was fidgeting and shifting in his seat, eager to leap into action and do something.
After what felt like hours, DuMont glanced over at him. “We’re in visual range.”
“On screen.”
The viewscreen flickered as the image zoomed in on the battlefield they were heading towards. As the monitor filled with twisted, melted wrecks and misshapen debris, everything on the bridge seemed to fall silent as all of the crew looked ahead of them. Reihyn felt himself slowly rise from his seat as his brain tried to process the scene. He knew that the Starfleet task force sent to hold the system had just been fourteen ships (only two of which had managed to limp back away from Setlik), whilst the enemy forces had numbered two dozen; but looking at the remains of those ships looked as though it had been hundreds of ships doing battle.
“My Gods,” someone gasped (he didn’t even register saying the two short words).
A signal from his right managed to pierce the numbness he was feeling, but he couldn’t look away.
“Sensors show high levels of radiation which will impede our search. Though I can detect a number of escape pods and shuttles, I can’t tell if any are carrying survivors or were blasted free when their ships exploded. There is also a high level of bio-matter throughout our search grid.”
Reihyn knew the meaning behind the last phrase; active sentient beings were dubbed ‘life-forms’ but the dead were known as ‘bio-matter’. How many had died out there? How many clung to life?
The task force had comprised of: two Nebula-, four Excelsior-, three Norway-, three Miranda- and two Akira-Class starships, totalling over six thousand men, women and others. Only a Nebula and Akira had made it to Starbase 290, both suffering from a thirty percent casualty rate.
“Le...” Reihyn began before his voice caught. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound like a Captain. “Let’s get to work.”
* * * * *
As the Orion entered the battlefield, manoeuvring on RCS thrusters alone, she had to scan every chunk of debris, hull section, escape pod and shuttle she came to, the crew forever hopeful that the next object they scanned would give them a positive result. So far, none had.
It was slow, painstaking work, but thoroughness and diligence were what was needed. Clarissa DuMont tried not to think about the inactive organic matter her screens showed, focused on finding something living. Though it was at times like this she questioned why she hadn’t taken off the uniform years ago, back when it was obvious that she didn’t have what it took to really make it in Starfleet. Instead, she had drifted through her career and her life with complacency and apathy, never trying harder as no one ever expected her too. She knew that was how she had wound up on the Orion; Starfleet wouldn’t waste the billet of XO on someone more valuable to combat operations. She held an appropriate rank and spent six years as Second Officer on the Willoughby so on paper she was the perfect fit for working on the support ship.
Then she was faced with carnage such as this, for the second time in three weeks. It was almost too much for her to bear. She was considering looking for reassignment to Utopia Planitia or Jupiter Station, somewhere she wouldn’t have to see all this and where she could be left in an office handling low-priority logistics—the sort of monotonous work she’d always been adept at.
Her sensor screen chirped. She looked at it and frowned. For a moment there looked to have been something on the hull segment that was coming on to port, but before she could ascertain just what it might be as a damaged fusion reactor nearby released another burst of radiation, scrambling the sensors again. Was it something? Or was it wishful thinking? She had to make a judgement call, or risk condemning survivors to a long, painful death.
“I...um...think I have something,” she stated.
Almost immediately Captain Reihyn was beside her, leaning forward looking at the readouts. He looked at the telemetry and shook his head. “I don’t see anything, Commander.”
“There was a faint signal a moment ago. It didn’t even last a second before being obscured by radiation, but it looked like multiple life-signs.”
The Rigellian-Enex looked down at her, his yellow, tattooed face tight, eyes narrow, lips pursed as he scrutinised her. She knew that he didn’t think much of her, would probably be delighted if she was reassigned. Despite his youth (he was barely in his thirties) he was a pretty solid officer, with a lot of potential as a Captain—she’d known dozens of young officers like him surpass her over the last three decades.
“How sure are you, Commander?” he asked softly so no one else could hear.
She set her jaw, doing something she had rarely done in her career, she took a chance. “Very. There was definitely something there, sir.”
He looked at her for a moment longer and then nodded. “Commander,” he announced so all could hear, “prep a SAR team and carry out a more detailed search.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as she slowly nodded. “Aye sir.”
Reihyn gave her a reassuring look, then returned to his chair. She took a couple of deep breathes and quickly thought about who she would need, then called her team together through the intercom, opting to leave the bridge crew where they were—after all they still had a lot of work to do. Her team informed of their new orders, she rose from mission ops and headed into the turbolift, heart pounding in her chest, hoping she was right about this.
* * * * *
As much as he disliked the new uniforms, with their high collar and itchy fabric, Doctor Sioll Baxx hated the EVA suits even more. Commander DuMont had contacted sickbay needing a medic for a search-and-rescue team onto the remains of one of the ships. Though he had younger corpsmen and medtechs who could handle such an away mission, if there really were injured over there then he’d much rather see them first hand, ascertain if they could be moved safely and carry out field triage so he could know just who could be saved.
As he was snapped and clipped into the spacesuit, he was beginning to rethink his decision. As well as himself and the ship’s XO, there were also Lieutenant j.g. Lanali, the bright and bubbly chief engineer, Chief Petty Officer Ramirez, Crewmen Anders and Ytog from security.
“Everyone ready?” DuMont asked, sounding a little unsure to Baxx’s old ears. He was surprised to hear it, seeing as how she was only twenty-odd years his junior. The others all replied as he nodded before pulling the helmet over his head and clicking it into place. Inside his breathing sounded louder than he’d ever heard, whilst displays beside the faceplate came to life, showing suit integrity, air and power levels, as well as other data on it.
Damn thing has more functions that the first tricorder I ever opened, he noted. Baxx wasn’t a technophobe, he just believed that technology should assist with his life, not dominate it. That was the reason he’d pushed so hard to get onto one of the zombie fleet, as onboard one of those old ships he could do a lot of good, without having to rely on overly complicated devices or damned holograms.
They stepped up onto the dais and once in position, DuMont signalled their readiness. Within seconds, the well-lit interior of the Orion faded in a shimmer of blue before being replaced with darkness. The six-man team quickly activated the lights on the side of the helmet as well as the beacons strapped around their wrists. More illumination didn’t make the view any better. The corridor they stood in was scorched from internal explosions, metal warped and curving inwards like arthritic fingers trying to snatch them.
He quickly pulled the tricorder from its pouch and started scanning.
“Orion, this is DuMont. We are onboard.”
“Understood Commander. We’ve been able to identify those remains as belonging to the Trial. We’re having a hard time picking up your life-signs, so there may very well be survivors. Proceed with caution.”
“Acknowledged Captain. DuMont out.”
“Should we get the pattern enhancers set up here?” Lanali asked.
“Not yet, Lieutenant. We’ll set them up if there is anyone onboard, that way we won’t have to move them if we don’t need too.”
“Got it.”
Baxx listened with half an ear, keeping his attention focused on his scanner, the range of which was limited, though in closer proximity to life-signs then it should prove to be far more accurate. So far all he registered was the dead, how many he couldn’t tell.
“There is atmosphere, though it’s very thin and carbon dioxide levels are increasing. Radiation is high though not fatal yet, at these current rates that’ll happen in the next couple of hours or so.”
“Understood,” DuMont replied, looking around. “We’re on deck five it looks like, close to sickbay. If there were going to be survivors anywhere onboard, it’d be there.”
It made sense. Medical facilities were often buried deep within ships for maximum safety; they were also emergency shelters in crisis situations. DuMont led them towards it, all of them scanning as they moved, tentatively, through the remains of the U.S.S. Trial.
In unison their scanners signalled a positive for life-signs. Baxx felt a moment of relief before sadness took over. He was only reading eighteen survivors. Moving faster, they reached the entrance to sickbay in moments, and it wasn’t long before Lanali had the doors open.
Baxx headed through the doors first, eager to see to the injured as quickly as he could. Most of those in the ward were patients, though most of the medical staff were also injured as well, the worst off occupied the six beds. The blood-soaked carpet and tainted instruments spoke of all the others who’d passed through during the battle, some to return to their posts after being patched up whilst others never left.
“We’re from the Orion,” DuMont assured them, “we’re here to help.”
It didn’t take long for the survivors to give them a full rundown of their situation. The ranking officer was the assistant chief medical officer, the CMO having been killed when responding to a call for medical assistance on the bridge, there were three nurses, four medtechs, a junior counsellor, whilst the rest were from various other departments, all brought in when they’d been hurt badly enough. Fortunately, they had enough hyronalin to lessen the effects of the radiation exposure and tri-ox to help them breathe easier.
As Baxx made his way through the wounded, quickly assessing their status himself, Ramirez and Lanali set up the pattern enhancers, whilst DuMont and the security guards helped out where they could. It didn’t take long for them to be ready, but they waited for him to finish. By the time he reached the last bed, he counted three that wouldn’t survive, no matter what they tried to do for them, whilst the other three were touch and go. Of course, he wasn’t about to broadcast that, though knew that Doctor Saunders understood just what the prognosis was.
He looked at the first officer. “I’d suggest beaming us directly to sickbay, Commander.”
Through her faceplate he saw her nod before opening up the comlink to the Orion. “Transporter room two, lock on and beam us directly to sickbay. Energise when ready.”
“Understood.”
* * * * *
Two hours after the Trial survivors had been recovered they discovered multiple clusters of life-forms on what remained of the U.S.S. Malinche, bringing the total of crewmen rescued up to forty-nine. Over the next forty minutes after that they salvaged five escape pods from the Odin and Shran, though only eight survivors were found in total.
Fifty-seven people, out of thousands on the ships they were searching, and there was no guarantee that all of those would survive the journey to Starbase 290. But whilst others were out their fighting and dying, Aleksander Jachim was stuck on a flying trash heap.
Unfortunately, at the rate Starfleet was losing ships the chance of being assigned to something better was getting less and less likely. More ships were being pulled from junkyards or rushed out of the shipyards half-finished and unable to hold full crews. Though his name would be on the transfer list, even with his spotless record, being on a ship like this would undoubtedly harm his chances of being offered another posting. He was the only senior lieutenant onboard, a fact that made him a valuable member of the crew, due to his level of experience, knowledge and security clearance—as well as the Second Officer, an opportunity he hadn’t been afforded previously. It was the one positive aspect to serving on the Orion, though not one he would freely admit to anyone.
He was intent on the sensor displays, his eyes quickly shifting over every piece of data they gathered, looking for any signs of others still alive amidst the debris. There had to be more. His only hope was that the other two ships had been more successful, though neither was equipped to handle large amounts of casualties like the Orion—the Ariel was essentially a supply ship, huge sections of her internal space had been removed to carry a large volume of cargo, whilst the Oppenheimer was little more than a courier, ferrying VIP personnel, equipment or information from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’. The trio had been pressed into the SAR mission due to the fact that no hospital ships were available.
They would need another hour to complete their first sweep, after which they would run it again, checking over everything to make sure they hadn’t missed anyone. Once the living had been recovered and taken to the nearest starbase, other ships would be sent in to recover bodies and salvage any usable systems—an operation that the Orion could well be ordered to carry out. It was a grim prospect, but one that would need to be done, there was no way they could leave Starfleet hardware and ordinance adrift, not with a black market hungry for such things.
Jachim was so focused on the sensors that the flashing of the communications array caught him by surprise. He noted where the signal originated from then glanced at the Captain, a man only three years his senior. “Sir, the Lirpa is hailing us.”
Reihyn scowled for a moment. Radio silence had been ordered throughput the mission, only to be broken in emergency situations. “On screen,” he ordered.
Finger hovering over the control, he tapped it as soon as ordered, shifting the viewscreen from the debris to the face of T’Lyis. She didn’t waste any time. “Our long-range sensors have picked up two Hideki-Class ships on approach. We believe they have picked up on our ion trail and are moving to investigate, it is doubtful the Dominion would dispatch two such ships for either their own salvage operation or to hinder ours.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We will move off, make it appear as though their arrival has forced us to withdraw. They will either pursue us, in which case we will lead them away and try to evade them sufficiently to allow us to return; or they will drop out of warp and attempt to determine why we were here. If this is to happen, you are to take no tactical action, even if you are discovered. Do not engage the Cardassians. Leave the system immediately.”
“It doesn’t feel right leaving you to take on two ships,” Reihyn protested.
“Those are my explicit orders, Captain.”
Jachim noticed the slump of the Rigellian’s shoulders before he nodded. “Understood. We’ll relay the orders. Good luck to you.”
T’Lyis gave the slightest bow of her head in acknowledgement. “Lirpa out.”
The Captain turned his chair towards DuMont’s station on the other side of the deck. “Commander, relay the orders to the other ships. Tell them to reduce their power output as best they can, then hope for the best.”
“Aye sir.”
Seeing Reihyn’s reaction to their orders, Jachim couldn’t help but see parallels between the two of them. The yellow-skinned man was obviously a good officer, no one made Captain in their early-thirties if they weren’t, but whilst Jachim had the opportunity to complain and protest about the ship he now found himself on he suspected Reihyn didn’t have that luxury.
Turning back to his controls, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been a little too harsh on his new CO. The man definitely deserved greater observation, that much was certain.
* * * * *
* * * * *
“We are approaching Setlik, sir,” announced Ensign Mecell from the conn.
“Prepare to drop us out of warp just outside the system, Ensign,” Captain Reihyn ordered, leaning slightly towards the Bajoran, whose shoulders were visibly tensing. He looked at the Orion beside him. “Lieutenant, signal red alert and give me full power to the shields.”
“Aye sir,” D’Kehra replied, before entering the commands.
The lights dimmed red and klaxons sounded throughout the U.S.S. Orion, signalling the crew to stand ready for anything. Reihyn sat back again, gripping the armrests in preparation for all hell breaking loose. “Reverse engines, take us to one-half impulse.”
“One-half, aye-aye sir,” confirmed the young conn officer.
The old Constellation-Class ship rattled as the warp field dissipated and she returned to normal space. At first, Reihyn had found the many shakes and rumbles of the once-mothballed ship to be a little unnerving, but after three weeks he was becoming accustomed to them. As soon as she was under impulse power, the rest of the crew's eyes scrutinised their sensors, his were locked firmly on the viewscreen. At their present range, he couldn’t see anything but the outer planets and the Setlik star, but he knew that things were very different further in the system.
From operations there were a few quick chirps, drawing his attention to the starboard bulkhead. His ops manager, Aleksander Jachim, sat where once the science station had been, though since patched to handle added functions and controls. Jachim, one of the few onboard who didn’t have a single blemish on his record, kept his eyes fixed on the numerous sensor displays as he announced, “The Ariel, Oppenheimer and Lirpa have all dropped out of warp.”
A beep from the opposite side of the bridge stood out over the myriad of other sounds. He snapped his head towards it and the woman responding to it, Lieutenant Commander Clarissa DuMont, his XO who sat at mission ops.
“The Lirpa is signalling, sir.”
“On screen.”
It took a few moments longer than he’d expected before the angular face of Captain T’Lyis appeared. Though the Sabre-Class Lirpa was the smallest of the four ships, she was the newest and held the tactical advantage, thus she was the ship in charge of their current operations. The Constellation-Class Orion, Miranda-Class Ariel, and Oberth-Class Oppenheimer were all part of the “zombie fleet”, old ships that had been decommissioned decades ago brought back into service to carry out support duties for the war. Of the three of them, Reihyn’s ship was in the best condition.
“Relief ships, move into the system and begin search-and-rescue operations. We will commence our patrol sweep outside of the stars gravity well.”
“Understood,” hissed Lieutenant Commander S’sau of the Oppenheimer.
“You got it, dar—eh, ma’am,” was the response from Captain Wade Burbank of the Ariel, in his customary Texan drawl.
“Acknowledged,” he added, before the channel was cut from the other end. Not wasting time he addressed Mecell Koen again. “Ensign, enter co-ordinates to our assigned search grid.”
The Bajoran nodded and started entering the new heading into the navcomp. It hadn’t taken long for Reihyn to suss why the baby-faced man had graduated third from last in his class; though a qualified helmsman (his skills so far had shown some potential), he lacked the initiative and forethought needed to anticipate orders and be ahead of the curve. Hopefully, time and real life experience might help him develop, where four years at the Academy hadn’t quite succeeded—if not, then it was doubtful Mecell would see any other bridge duty after his time on the Orion was over.
“Co-ordinates entered, Captain.”
“Ahead two-thirds. Once we reach the site, begin an immediate spiral search pattern.”
“Um, aye sir.”
“D’Kehra, even with the Lirpa watching our backs—”
“Don’t worry, sir, I’ll keep an eye out for hostiles,” she told him, flashing him a brilliant white smile against her jade skin.
He gave her a lopsided smirk in return, before kicking himself—not for the first time, it was easy to be enticed by the alluring Orion even with the pheromone suppressor she took daily. He dreaded to think how bad it would be if she didn’t.
Focusing on the job once again, he tapped the intercom on his armrest. “Bridge to sickbay. You got everything ready down there, Doctor?”
“You have doubts?” Sioll Baxx’s retort made Reihyn chuckle softly, despite what they were about to face. “I’ve got my people waiting in sickbay, all transporter rooms and the hangar decks. Wherever there will be injured, you’ll find a corpsman. I’ve also pinched crewmen from security to help with stretchers and gurneys.”
“Thank you, Doctor. We’ll be in range in a few minutes, standby.” He closed the channel and opened a new one, his tone getting harder. “Reihyn to Ramirez. Status report, Chief.”
“Every transporter room is manned and ready. I’m in shuttlebay one, just finished final checks on all tractor beam emitters; everything's ready to recover escape pods. All non-coms and crewmen are at their allocated posts.”
“Thank you, Chief. Reihyn out.” Of all the ‘motley’ crew on the Orion, he’d have thought that Ramirez would’ve been the most trouble—given that when they’d first met the man had been in handcuffs, just released from a penal colony for going AWOL to join the Maquis—but so far he’d been towing the line and helping keep the crew in check.
There was a moment of eerie stillness on the bridge. He’d run out of busywork for himself, so all that remained was to sit still and wait patiently—something the adrenaline rushing through his body wasn’t allowing him to do. He was fidgeting and shifting in his seat, eager to leap into action and do something.
After what felt like hours, DuMont glanced over at him. “We’re in visual range.”
“On screen.”
The viewscreen flickered as the image zoomed in on the battlefield they were heading towards. As the monitor filled with twisted, melted wrecks and misshapen debris, everything on the bridge seemed to fall silent as all of the crew looked ahead of them. Reihyn felt himself slowly rise from his seat as his brain tried to process the scene. He knew that the Starfleet task force sent to hold the system had just been fourteen ships (only two of which had managed to limp back away from Setlik), whilst the enemy forces had numbered two dozen; but looking at the remains of those ships looked as though it had been hundreds of ships doing battle.
“My Gods,” someone gasped (he didn’t even register saying the two short words).
A signal from his right managed to pierce the numbness he was feeling, but he couldn’t look away.
“Sensors show high levels of radiation which will impede our search. Though I can detect a number of escape pods and shuttles, I can’t tell if any are carrying survivors or were blasted free when their ships exploded. There is also a high level of bio-matter throughout our search grid.”
Reihyn knew the meaning behind the last phrase; active sentient beings were dubbed ‘life-forms’ but the dead were known as ‘bio-matter’. How many had died out there? How many clung to life?
The task force had comprised of: two Nebula-, four Excelsior-, three Norway-, three Miranda- and two Akira-Class starships, totalling over six thousand men, women and others. Only a Nebula and Akira had made it to Starbase 290, both suffering from a thirty percent casualty rate.
“Le...” Reihyn began before his voice caught. Clearing his throat, he tried to sound like a Captain. “Let’s get to work.”
* * * * *
As the Orion entered the battlefield, manoeuvring on RCS thrusters alone, she had to scan every chunk of debris, hull section, escape pod and shuttle she came to, the crew forever hopeful that the next object they scanned would give them a positive result. So far, none had.
It was slow, painstaking work, but thoroughness and diligence were what was needed. Clarissa DuMont tried not to think about the inactive organic matter her screens showed, focused on finding something living. Though it was at times like this she questioned why she hadn’t taken off the uniform years ago, back when it was obvious that she didn’t have what it took to really make it in Starfleet. Instead, she had drifted through her career and her life with complacency and apathy, never trying harder as no one ever expected her too. She knew that was how she had wound up on the Orion; Starfleet wouldn’t waste the billet of XO on someone more valuable to combat operations. She held an appropriate rank and spent six years as Second Officer on the Willoughby so on paper she was the perfect fit for working on the support ship.
Then she was faced with carnage such as this, for the second time in three weeks. It was almost too much for her to bear. She was considering looking for reassignment to Utopia Planitia or Jupiter Station, somewhere she wouldn’t have to see all this and where she could be left in an office handling low-priority logistics—the sort of monotonous work she’d always been adept at.
Her sensor screen chirped. She looked at it and frowned. For a moment there looked to have been something on the hull segment that was coming on to port, but before she could ascertain just what it might be as a damaged fusion reactor nearby released another burst of radiation, scrambling the sensors again. Was it something? Or was it wishful thinking? She had to make a judgement call, or risk condemning survivors to a long, painful death.
“I...um...think I have something,” she stated.
Almost immediately Captain Reihyn was beside her, leaning forward looking at the readouts. He looked at the telemetry and shook his head. “I don’t see anything, Commander.”
“There was a faint signal a moment ago. It didn’t even last a second before being obscured by radiation, but it looked like multiple life-signs.”
The Rigellian-Enex looked down at her, his yellow, tattooed face tight, eyes narrow, lips pursed as he scrutinised her. She knew that he didn’t think much of her, would probably be delighted if she was reassigned. Despite his youth (he was barely in his thirties) he was a pretty solid officer, with a lot of potential as a Captain—she’d known dozens of young officers like him surpass her over the last three decades.
“How sure are you, Commander?” he asked softly so no one else could hear.
She set her jaw, doing something she had rarely done in her career, she took a chance. “Very. There was definitely something there, sir.”
He looked at her for a moment longer and then nodded. “Commander,” he announced so all could hear, “prep a SAR team and carry out a more detailed search.”
Her heart pounded in her chest as she slowly nodded. “Aye sir.”
Reihyn gave her a reassuring look, then returned to his chair. She took a couple of deep breathes and quickly thought about who she would need, then called her team together through the intercom, opting to leave the bridge crew where they were—after all they still had a lot of work to do. Her team informed of their new orders, she rose from mission ops and headed into the turbolift, heart pounding in her chest, hoping she was right about this.
* * * * *
As much as he disliked the new uniforms, with their high collar and itchy fabric, Doctor Sioll Baxx hated the EVA suits even more. Commander DuMont had contacted sickbay needing a medic for a search-and-rescue team onto the remains of one of the ships. Though he had younger corpsmen and medtechs who could handle such an away mission, if there really were injured over there then he’d much rather see them first hand, ascertain if they could be moved safely and carry out field triage so he could know just who could be saved.
As he was snapped and clipped into the spacesuit, he was beginning to rethink his decision. As well as himself and the ship’s XO, there were also Lieutenant j.g. Lanali, the bright and bubbly chief engineer, Chief Petty Officer Ramirez, Crewmen Anders and Ytog from security.
“Everyone ready?” DuMont asked, sounding a little unsure to Baxx’s old ears. He was surprised to hear it, seeing as how she was only twenty-odd years his junior. The others all replied as he nodded before pulling the helmet over his head and clicking it into place. Inside his breathing sounded louder than he’d ever heard, whilst displays beside the faceplate came to life, showing suit integrity, air and power levels, as well as other data on it.
Damn thing has more functions that the first tricorder I ever opened, he noted. Baxx wasn’t a technophobe, he just believed that technology should assist with his life, not dominate it. That was the reason he’d pushed so hard to get onto one of the zombie fleet, as onboard one of those old ships he could do a lot of good, without having to rely on overly complicated devices or damned holograms.
They stepped up onto the dais and once in position, DuMont signalled their readiness. Within seconds, the well-lit interior of the Orion faded in a shimmer of blue before being replaced with darkness. The six-man team quickly activated the lights on the side of the helmet as well as the beacons strapped around their wrists. More illumination didn’t make the view any better. The corridor they stood in was scorched from internal explosions, metal warped and curving inwards like arthritic fingers trying to snatch them.
He quickly pulled the tricorder from its pouch and started scanning.
“Orion, this is DuMont. We are onboard.”
“Understood Commander. We’ve been able to identify those remains as belonging to the Trial. We’re having a hard time picking up your life-signs, so there may very well be survivors. Proceed with caution.”
“Acknowledged Captain. DuMont out.”
“Should we get the pattern enhancers set up here?” Lanali asked.
“Not yet, Lieutenant. We’ll set them up if there is anyone onboard, that way we won’t have to move them if we don’t need too.”
“Got it.”
Baxx listened with half an ear, keeping his attention focused on his scanner, the range of which was limited, though in closer proximity to life-signs then it should prove to be far more accurate. So far all he registered was the dead, how many he couldn’t tell.
“There is atmosphere, though it’s very thin and carbon dioxide levels are increasing. Radiation is high though not fatal yet, at these current rates that’ll happen in the next couple of hours or so.”
“Understood,” DuMont replied, looking around. “We’re on deck five it looks like, close to sickbay. If there were going to be survivors anywhere onboard, it’d be there.”
It made sense. Medical facilities were often buried deep within ships for maximum safety; they were also emergency shelters in crisis situations. DuMont led them towards it, all of them scanning as they moved, tentatively, through the remains of the U.S.S. Trial.
In unison their scanners signalled a positive for life-signs. Baxx felt a moment of relief before sadness took over. He was only reading eighteen survivors. Moving faster, they reached the entrance to sickbay in moments, and it wasn’t long before Lanali had the doors open.
Baxx headed through the doors first, eager to see to the injured as quickly as he could. Most of those in the ward were patients, though most of the medical staff were also injured as well, the worst off occupied the six beds. The blood-soaked carpet and tainted instruments spoke of all the others who’d passed through during the battle, some to return to their posts after being patched up whilst others never left.
“We’re from the Orion,” DuMont assured them, “we’re here to help.”
It didn’t take long for the survivors to give them a full rundown of their situation. The ranking officer was the assistant chief medical officer, the CMO having been killed when responding to a call for medical assistance on the bridge, there were three nurses, four medtechs, a junior counsellor, whilst the rest were from various other departments, all brought in when they’d been hurt badly enough. Fortunately, they had enough hyronalin to lessen the effects of the radiation exposure and tri-ox to help them breathe easier.
As Baxx made his way through the wounded, quickly assessing their status himself, Ramirez and Lanali set up the pattern enhancers, whilst DuMont and the security guards helped out where they could. It didn’t take long for them to be ready, but they waited for him to finish. By the time he reached the last bed, he counted three that wouldn’t survive, no matter what they tried to do for them, whilst the other three were touch and go. Of course, he wasn’t about to broadcast that, though knew that Doctor Saunders understood just what the prognosis was.
He looked at the first officer. “I’d suggest beaming us directly to sickbay, Commander.”
Through her faceplate he saw her nod before opening up the comlink to the Orion. “Transporter room two, lock on and beam us directly to sickbay. Energise when ready.”
“Understood.”
* * * * *
Two hours after the Trial survivors had been recovered they discovered multiple clusters of life-forms on what remained of the U.S.S. Malinche, bringing the total of crewmen rescued up to forty-nine. Over the next forty minutes after that they salvaged five escape pods from the Odin and Shran, though only eight survivors were found in total.
Fifty-seven people, out of thousands on the ships they were searching, and there was no guarantee that all of those would survive the journey to Starbase 290. But whilst others were out their fighting and dying, Aleksander Jachim was stuck on a flying trash heap.
Unfortunately, at the rate Starfleet was losing ships the chance of being assigned to something better was getting less and less likely. More ships were being pulled from junkyards or rushed out of the shipyards half-finished and unable to hold full crews. Though his name would be on the transfer list, even with his spotless record, being on a ship like this would undoubtedly harm his chances of being offered another posting. He was the only senior lieutenant onboard, a fact that made him a valuable member of the crew, due to his level of experience, knowledge and security clearance—as well as the Second Officer, an opportunity he hadn’t been afforded previously. It was the one positive aspect to serving on the Orion, though not one he would freely admit to anyone.
He was intent on the sensor displays, his eyes quickly shifting over every piece of data they gathered, looking for any signs of others still alive amidst the debris. There had to be more. His only hope was that the other two ships had been more successful, though neither was equipped to handle large amounts of casualties like the Orion—the Ariel was essentially a supply ship, huge sections of her internal space had been removed to carry a large volume of cargo, whilst the Oppenheimer was little more than a courier, ferrying VIP personnel, equipment or information from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’. The trio had been pressed into the SAR mission due to the fact that no hospital ships were available.
They would need another hour to complete their first sweep, after which they would run it again, checking over everything to make sure they hadn’t missed anyone. Once the living had been recovered and taken to the nearest starbase, other ships would be sent in to recover bodies and salvage any usable systems—an operation that the Orion could well be ordered to carry out. It was a grim prospect, but one that would need to be done, there was no way they could leave Starfleet hardware and ordinance adrift, not with a black market hungry for such things.
Jachim was so focused on the sensors that the flashing of the communications array caught him by surprise. He noted where the signal originated from then glanced at the Captain, a man only three years his senior. “Sir, the Lirpa is hailing us.”
Reihyn scowled for a moment. Radio silence had been ordered throughput the mission, only to be broken in emergency situations. “On screen,” he ordered.
Finger hovering over the control, he tapped it as soon as ordered, shifting the viewscreen from the debris to the face of T’Lyis. She didn’t waste any time. “Our long-range sensors have picked up two Hideki-Class ships on approach. We believe they have picked up on our ion trail and are moving to investigate, it is doubtful the Dominion would dispatch two such ships for either their own salvage operation or to hinder ours.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We will move off, make it appear as though their arrival has forced us to withdraw. They will either pursue us, in which case we will lead them away and try to evade them sufficiently to allow us to return; or they will drop out of warp and attempt to determine why we were here. If this is to happen, you are to take no tactical action, even if you are discovered. Do not engage the Cardassians. Leave the system immediately.”
“It doesn’t feel right leaving you to take on two ships,” Reihyn protested.
“Those are my explicit orders, Captain.”
Jachim noticed the slump of the Rigellian’s shoulders before he nodded. “Understood. We’ll relay the orders. Good luck to you.”
T’Lyis gave the slightest bow of her head in acknowledgement. “Lirpa out.”
The Captain turned his chair towards DuMont’s station on the other side of the deck. “Commander, relay the orders to the other ships. Tell them to reduce their power output as best they can, then hope for the best.”
“Aye sir.”
Seeing Reihyn’s reaction to their orders, Jachim couldn’t help but see parallels between the two of them. The yellow-skinned man was obviously a good officer, no one made Captain in their early-thirties if they weren’t, but whilst Jachim had the opportunity to complain and protest about the ship he now found himself on he suspected Reihyn didn’t have that luxury.
Turning back to his controls, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been a little too harsh on his new CO. The man definitely deserved greater observation, that much was certain.
* * * * *
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