“Hull breaches on decks three, seven, nine, twelve and fourteen. Emergency forcefields aren’t available, we’re venting atmosphere,” called Lieutenant Jachim over the klaxons. “We’ve got a rupture in the coolant system; the air is becoming toxic on deck eight.”
“Structural integrity in both pylons has been severely compromised—even if we could go to warp the nacelles would be ripped from the hull,” added Lieutenant Commander DuMont.
Reihyn, Captain of the U.S.S. Orion, took in all the information being relayed to him as he clutched his right arm tight to his body, his shoulder dislocated when the first disruptor blast had thrown him into the railing around the bridge well. He was more focused on the battle his ship now faced than his own pain—otherwise he’d have been howling in agony.
“Where are the Breen?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Coming around for another pass,” Ensign Mecell spoke up from the conn, fervidly trying to get anything more out of their already overtaxed impulse engines and thrusters. “Weapons range in thirteen seconds.”
Reihyn nodded, momentarily feeling a burst of pride for the young Bajoran who’d come so far from the timid, hesitant rookie Reihyn had met on his first day. As quickly as the thought formed, he pushed it to the side, looking at Lieutenant j.g. D’Kehra.
“Dee, fire all available phaser banks,” he ordered, not noticing he’d used the name he only called her in private.
“Targeting sensors are out, but I’ll keep shooting until I hit something.”
Her confidence and self-assuredness brought a small smirk to his lips. “Torpedo status.”
“Dorsal launchers are still unresponsive, ventral are online.”
“Ready a full spread.”
“Aye,” she replied as she hit the phaser controls.
On the viewscreen he watched multiple crimson beams lance out from across the Orion’s hull. Only a handful shot into the black nothingness, most struck the ugly, misshapen warship that was barrelling towards them. It didn’t slow them down though. They opened fire with a salvo of their own, more powerful, energy weapons.
The Constellation-Class ship buckled under the new assault, the already strained hull groaning, struggling to remain intact. Reihyn looked up at the domed ceiling, willing the old girl to keep it together a little longer. When he’d first seen the Orion he’d scoffed at her, but she’d been his only chance to retain his rank and position, and now after months onboard he’d come to have a deep appreciation for the ship, which gave all she had and then some—just like her so-called ‘maverick’ crew.
As the Breen warship passed over the top of their hull, it kept firing. Their last hit striking one of their dorsal nacelles, which caused a new rumble to rattle the deck plates.
“Engineering to bridge,” came the tight voice of Lieutenant j.g. Lanali. When she sounded tense, he knew it was bad. “That last hit has ignited the plasma in the dorsal port nacelle. We’ve got it sealed off and are trying to vent it, but the circuit lines have been damaged. If I can’t get it under control it could backwash through the PTC until it hits the core. The ship would be destroyed in a matter of seconds.”
“Can you jettison the nacelle?”
“Negative, nacelle ejection systems are off-line.”
“Captain, temperature in the damaged nacelle is already twenty percent above critical and rising steadily,” interjected DuMont.
Reihyn considered his options for a moment. The Orion was already in need of major repair and refit work before the attack; the brief battle had taken everything out of her and stressed systems that were barely working at the best of times. As good as Lanali was, and she was definitely the best engineer he’d known, there was every probability that she couldn’t miraculously fix this problem. With the nacelle connected to the ship, overheating with every passing second, the likelihood of a catastrophic feedback increased exponentially.
“Dump the core.”
“Sir?” DuMont questioned, looking over at him.
He shot her a look, one that told her they had no other options. With the warp core gone, so too was the chance of an explosion that would destroy the ship and kill all ninety-three people onboard, though it also meant that they would lose main power to the shields and weapons.
“Do it, Lieutenant.”
“Aye sir.” There was a pause as Lanali set to work, prepping the reactor core and engineering compartment for the ejection process. “Ready down here, Captain.”
“Standby for my order,” he instructed, leaving the channel open as he leaned closer to Mecell. “Ensign, course zero-zero-five-mark-one-eighty, best possible speed. D’Kehra, fire torpedoes! I want those helmeted frakers chasing us.”
“Aye sir,” they replied in unison.
“Torpedoes away.”
“Engaging maximum impulse.”
From ops Jachim called out, “Direct hit. We’ve done some damage, but they’re moving to pursue.”
“D’Kehra fire on the core once we’re one thousand kilometres away.” He didn’t wait for her to confirm his order, already seeing her working on it. “Lanali, jettison now!”
The lights flickered as the warp core shot out from the rear of the starship, projected by explosive bolts intended to fire it as far away from the ship, as fast as possible, so as to safeguard those onboard. He saw his Orion security chief hit the phaser control.
Behind them, the phaser beams connected with the core, burned through the outer casing in seconds and hit the dilithium crystals within. The explosion was brief but brilliant; sending out a shockwave the Orion felt the edge of. The Breen weren’t so lucky, being much closer.
“Report!”
“Showing massive damage to the warship, multiple hull breaches, minimal power and life-support. They’re dead in the water, sir,” stated Jachim with a relieved grin.
Though he shared the younger man’s relief at the battle being over and their success, it had come at a cost—they too were essentially dead in the water. But he needed to know just how bad it was. He turned to DuMont on the portside.
“Status, Commander.”
“We are on secondary or auxiliary power for all key systems. Life-support holding steady in sections without any damage, though shields are at twenty-five percent. The plasma flow to the nacelles has been cut and temperature in our damaged engine is dropping, we may still need a DC crew up there—”
Every functioning sensor relay on the bridge cried out. D’Kehra got to it first.
“Vessel decloaking to port. Breen striker!”
His head whipped to the viewscreen in time to see the trimaran-shaped attack ship open fire as she appeared. Strikers were smaller and faster than the warship they had just faced, not as well armed but equipped with cloaks making them hard to track. Even with her lesser weapons capability, it was still too much for the Orion in her weakened state.
“Evasive—” he began but never got to finish his order as a burst of heat sent him flying backwards.
* * * * *
Clarissa DuMont felt the explosion from behind her, turning just in time to see the Captain flung from his chair and slam into the MSD on the aft bulkhead, before slumping to the deck. She shielded her eyes as flames leapt from the joint conn-tactical station, the source of the blast. As smoke billowed, the environmental system strained to clear it, but as it did she saw the prone forms of D’Kehra and Mecell sprawled on the deck.
For a split-second, she was frozen in place, unable to think let alone move. In that brief instant, everything seemed to slow down, and all she could do was watch as the bridge crew scrambled to see to their fallen comrades and tackle the blaze.
Jachim snapped her out of it. “Commander, shields at eleven percent! We’ve lost weapons and secondary power is failing throughout the ship.”
She spun back to her station and ran an emergency patch, rerouting helm controls, and slapped the intercom. “All hands, to the lifeboats. Abandon ship!”
Over her shoulder, she called out to Jachim. “Get them to the evac point. I’ll try to keep the Breen off our tail.”
“Sir,” the Polish lieutenant began.
“Now!”
Even before the striker had decloaked, they were on the verge of needing to evacuate the ship, the second attack had cemented that need. The hull was punctured, overall integrity severely compromised, no forcefields, sections where the air was toxic, without a warp core and barely any shields it was doubtful they’d ever get the ship to dry-dock for repairs. As she worked, from the corner of her eye she saw Jachim and the remains of the bridge crew carry Reihyn, D’Kehra and Mecell into the turbolift—she didn’t even know if any of them were still alive—before they headed down, leaving her alone.
DuMont’s first time as XO may not have been a roaring success, but if there was one thing she could at least do, it was ensure that as many of the crew made it out as possible. As she did her best to keep the Orion moving, avoiding as much of the incoming disruptor fire as she could, she had the computer shut down everything else and divert it to their shields, leaving just enough for what was left of their impulse drive, as well as the ejection systems needed to launch the escape pods, whatever else the old girl had would be use for her defences.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a lot. A blast from the striker tore into the ventral hull, taking out the sensor dome, whilst another slammed their already weakened ventral pylon. Every indicator on the impulse system was in the red, screaming for emergency shutdown, but she pushed on. She hammered the ship to starboard, making the substructure groan and crack.
Come on, come on, she willed the rest of the crew below deck.
The striker’s next volley obliterated the port aft cargo bays and blew out the sublight engine, cutting their speed and overloading the fusion reactors. Just when she thought all hope was lost, the computer registered the first escape pods had launched. With not even one hundred onboard, there were lifeboats to spare. It also meant that the whole evac wouldn’t take long. She just had to buy them a few more minutes. The impulse reactors were rapidly approaching critical—though not as intense as a warp core breach, they would certainly be enough to take out the wounded Orion.
“Jachim to DuMont. All the other lifeboats are away.”
“Launch Lieutenant, I’m heading down now.”
“The pods on deck three are still in place, sir.”
She found herself smiling. There were two smaller escape pods two decks below, intended to be used by the bridge crew—should any of them be doing what she was trying too. Seconds later, the computer chirped as the last manned lifeboat was ejected. The crew were out, she’d managed to get them clear—as achievements went in a fairly unimpressive career, it was definitely at the top.
With nothing more she could do from the bridge, she stumbled for the exit on the opposite side, stepping into the short corridor she got to the Jefferies tube hatch and pushed it open. Gripping each rung tightly, she started to climb down, knowing that her chances of getting out were slim, but knowing that she needed to try anyway. Acrid smoke stung her eyes and making them water as her boot set on deck three; deep within her she felt a faint glimmer of hope. The fleeting thought that she would make it.
The Orion lurched as the striker carved into her hull once again, throwing DuMont onto the deck grating, winding her. She managed to push herself onto her hands and knees and reach for the door panel, just as the impulse drive reactors on deck eight exploded, taking out their fuel tanks and power lines, followed by a cascade of explosions throughout the engineering section, until they reached the antimatter pods.
Lieutenant Commander Clarissa DuMont managed to get to her feet and stagger into the corridor as their stores of antimatter detonated, taking the Orion with them.
* * * * *
The explosion that consumed the Orion was brilliant. Enan Lanali looked at it for as long as she could, before having to close her eyes, the image burned into her memory, the death of a great ship—her ship. Her eyes still closed, she felt tears run down her cheeks. She had done everything she could, but in the end it just wasn’t enough. They had been no match for the Breen and nothing she could’ve done would’ve changed that—unless of course she’d refitted the old girl with Galaxy-Class shield emitters and a bank of quantum torpedo launchers.
The Breen hadn’t realised the extent of the damage they’d caused and were right on top of the Orion when the antimatter pods had exploded, the force of which, as well as debris from the ship itself, had torn the hostile vessel to pieces. Following the destruction of the starship, the twelve lifeboats that had launched had come together on the outer edge of her remains—little more than chunks of metal and dust, nothing larger than a runabout, though it all dwarfed the small craft the crew were huddled in.
There was a lot of chatter in the beginning, as they tried to co-ordinate themselves, whilst others were panicking. It had quickly become clear that something had happened to Captain Reihyn and Commander DuMont, as it was Aleksander Jachim who was making decisions and trying to get everyone on track. Hearing his voice over the comm had made her heart pound all the harder, relief flooded her just knowing that he was alive. It was short lived as she started to think about what might’ve happened to the Captain and DuMont. Had they been injured? Or killed? Had one, or both, remained behind?
At a time when they needed the Captain the most, the man who’d brought together the disparate collection of rookies, retirees and reprobates—whom many others would’ve turned their backs on—and turned them into a united crew, he was nowhere to be found. Part of her wanted to ask him what had happened on the bridge, but they had an important role to play. They needed to keep the crew together and keep them working towards the ultimate goal, being rescued. Among their little flotilla, men, women and others would be feeling scared, defeated, angry, or in shock about what had happened, until they were recovered then they would have to rely on one another in order to get through.
From her place at the small control console, she looked around at the seven others in the pod. Though it was designed to hold ten people, a torrid of exploding power conduits had forced them to jettison before they could take a full load. As they’d run from main engineering to the evac point, the cascade of overloads had taken their toll on her group, with Crewman Enesh-Naij being badly burnt by a plasma fire and Doren being impaled in the side by an airborne shard of metal—both the wounded lay on the deck of the escape pod, sedated and stabilised as best they could. Petty Officer Navix hadn’t been so lucky. He’d been caught in the full force of the explosion that’d scorched Enesh-Naij, though his last act had been to push the Grazerite ahead of him, ultimately saving her life.
Tears ran unabashedly down her cheeks. How many others had they lost? Though she had access to the lifeboats limited sensor array and could easily check how many life-forms were in each pod, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“What if no one comes?” asked Crewman Torlin, his voice empty with hopelessness.
“Someone will,” she told him. “Starfleet doesn’t leave its people behind. As bleak as things may look, you have to hold onto that.”
“But…we’re just a support ship…would they bother sending someone for us?”
She wiped the tears from her face and fixed him with a determined look. “We’ve spent the last eighteen months doing just that, Crewman, so you better believe that someone will do that for us.”
The young Tiburonian still didn’t look convinced; fortunately he had the sense to keep his mouth shut and his fears to himself. The last thing the others needed was his despair adding to their own. Lanali looked forward again, closing her eyes for a second and silently praying. They will come. They have to come.
* * * * *
“Chief?” called out Ensign Fitzgerald, rousing Chief Petty Officer Diego Ramirez from his doze—the cramped confines of the lifeboat didn’t lend itself to getting any proper sleep.
He stepped over to the forward controls stations, whilst the alarm in the ensign’s tone had woken the other four in the pod. Technically, due to being a commissioned officer, Fitzgerald was in charge but she was only eighteen months out the Academy and had never been through a starship evacuation or had to spend six days in an escape pod—granted neither had he, but he did have almost twenty years’ service under his belt to draw upon, so she deferred a lot to his experience.
“What is it?”
“I’ve picked up a ship dropping out of warp, closing at full impulse.”
Quickly, he took the co-pilot station and took note of her findings. Since the loss of the Orion, the twelve pods had been dispersed around the debris that remained of the old Constellation-Class ship, each one keeping watch for rescue or for other hostile ships in the area. Given how vulnerable they were, it made sense, rather than having them all clustered in one place, as well as increasing the coverage of their limited sensors.
“See if you can identify them, I’ll standby on thrusters.” If they did detect any hostiles, the plan was to move into the debris and cut power, so they would look just like the rest of the chunks of metal.
The junior ops officer tapped fervidly on her control panel, whilst the others behind them waited, breath held, for an answer—were they saved or were they in even more trouble. Ramirez himself could feel his heart pounding as he waited for the young woman to finish her analysis.
“It…its Starfleet,” she gasped, her voice a mixture of relief and disbelief. “Two ships, a Defiant- and a Miranda-Class!”
“YES!” cried out Crewman Dol, his exuberance far too loud for the small lifeboat.
Ears ringing, he opened the communications system just as a channel was opened. “Orion survivors,” came a familiar Texan drawl, “this is Captain Burbank of the Ariel. Please activate your locator beacons and we will begin recovery operations, you’re safe now.”
Before he could return the signal, he checked the security code transmitted on their frequency and matched it, confirming that it was genuine. He switched to a secure channel. “Ramirez to Jachim.”
“Go ahead, Chief.”
“Sir, the Ariel has made contact with us. They’re here on rescue and recovery operations. They’re requesting all pods to activate locator beacons.”
There was a moment’s pause, in which he could hear the excited chatter from the other pod. “Tell them we’ll have all pods with injured onboard to activate first, they are to take priority then once they’ve been recovered the others will signal their location—also, tell them they have our gratitude.”
“Aye sir,” he replied, feeling the right corner of his lips curve upwards.
He toggled from one channel to the other. “Ariel, this is Chief Ramirez of the Orion. Are we glad to see you.”
“It’s good to hear your voice, Chief. For a second there we were worried none of you folks had made it.”
“Our lifeboats with injured onboard will activate their beacons first. After they’ve been recovered then the others will begin transmitting,”
“Acknowledged, I’ve got my best operators handling the transporters and every crewman who knows how to use a dermal regenerator on standby.”
“Captain, you have our deepest thanks. We were beginning to wonder if anyone would be coming.”
“Turnabout is fair play, Chief. You’ve rescued more than your fair share, so we’re glad to return the favour,” the Captain of the supply ship paused. “What word on Captain Reihyn?”
Ramirez hesitated. All five pairs of eyes were on him in that moment. “He…he’ll be among the first group.”
“Understood,” was the simple reply, one that spoke volumes.
On his sensor board five emergency transponders, dotted throughout the debris field, came to life. On those five lifeboats were thirty-eight survivors, half of whom were injured, with nine in critical condition. Everyone in the flotilla of escape pods knew just what the condition of the Captain was, as well as the fact that Lieutenant Commander DuMont hadn’t made it off the ship—her last act as their First Officer had bought them the time they’d needed to get to safety, at the cost of her own life.
The Orion was gone along with several of her crew as others fought for their lives. Soon they would be safely onboard the old Miranda-Class (which had also been dragged out of mothballs) and heading for the nearest station, which was when the unlikely crew would find themselves scattered into the wind. Without a strong hand like Captain Reihyn’s at the rudder, there was no telling just what might happen to them all, or where they might end up.
* * * * *
“Structural integrity in both pylons has been severely compromised—even if we could go to warp the nacelles would be ripped from the hull,” added Lieutenant Commander DuMont.
Reihyn, Captain of the U.S.S. Orion, took in all the information being relayed to him as he clutched his right arm tight to his body, his shoulder dislocated when the first disruptor blast had thrown him into the railing around the bridge well. He was more focused on the battle his ship now faced than his own pain—otherwise he’d have been howling in agony.
“Where are the Breen?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Coming around for another pass,” Ensign Mecell spoke up from the conn, fervidly trying to get anything more out of their already overtaxed impulse engines and thrusters. “Weapons range in thirteen seconds.”
Reihyn nodded, momentarily feeling a burst of pride for the young Bajoran who’d come so far from the timid, hesitant rookie Reihyn had met on his first day. As quickly as the thought formed, he pushed it to the side, looking at Lieutenant j.g. D’Kehra.
“Dee, fire all available phaser banks,” he ordered, not noticing he’d used the name he only called her in private.
“Targeting sensors are out, but I’ll keep shooting until I hit something.”
Her confidence and self-assuredness brought a small smirk to his lips. “Torpedo status.”
“Dorsal launchers are still unresponsive, ventral are online.”
“Ready a full spread.”
“Aye,” she replied as she hit the phaser controls.
On the viewscreen he watched multiple crimson beams lance out from across the Orion’s hull. Only a handful shot into the black nothingness, most struck the ugly, misshapen warship that was barrelling towards them. It didn’t slow them down though. They opened fire with a salvo of their own, more powerful, energy weapons.
The Constellation-Class ship buckled under the new assault, the already strained hull groaning, struggling to remain intact. Reihyn looked up at the domed ceiling, willing the old girl to keep it together a little longer. When he’d first seen the Orion he’d scoffed at her, but she’d been his only chance to retain his rank and position, and now after months onboard he’d come to have a deep appreciation for the ship, which gave all she had and then some—just like her so-called ‘maverick’ crew.
As the Breen warship passed over the top of their hull, it kept firing. Their last hit striking one of their dorsal nacelles, which caused a new rumble to rattle the deck plates.
“Engineering to bridge,” came the tight voice of Lieutenant j.g. Lanali. When she sounded tense, he knew it was bad. “That last hit has ignited the plasma in the dorsal port nacelle. We’ve got it sealed off and are trying to vent it, but the circuit lines have been damaged. If I can’t get it under control it could backwash through the PTC until it hits the core. The ship would be destroyed in a matter of seconds.”
“Can you jettison the nacelle?”
“Negative, nacelle ejection systems are off-line.”
“Captain, temperature in the damaged nacelle is already twenty percent above critical and rising steadily,” interjected DuMont.
Reihyn considered his options for a moment. The Orion was already in need of major repair and refit work before the attack; the brief battle had taken everything out of her and stressed systems that were barely working at the best of times. As good as Lanali was, and she was definitely the best engineer he’d known, there was every probability that she couldn’t miraculously fix this problem. With the nacelle connected to the ship, overheating with every passing second, the likelihood of a catastrophic feedback increased exponentially.
“Dump the core.”
“Sir?” DuMont questioned, looking over at him.
He shot her a look, one that told her they had no other options. With the warp core gone, so too was the chance of an explosion that would destroy the ship and kill all ninety-three people onboard, though it also meant that they would lose main power to the shields and weapons.
“Do it, Lieutenant.”
“Aye sir.” There was a pause as Lanali set to work, prepping the reactor core and engineering compartment for the ejection process. “Ready down here, Captain.”
“Standby for my order,” he instructed, leaving the channel open as he leaned closer to Mecell. “Ensign, course zero-zero-five-mark-one-eighty, best possible speed. D’Kehra, fire torpedoes! I want those helmeted frakers chasing us.”
“Aye sir,” they replied in unison.
“Torpedoes away.”
“Engaging maximum impulse.”
From ops Jachim called out, “Direct hit. We’ve done some damage, but they’re moving to pursue.”
“D’Kehra fire on the core once we’re one thousand kilometres away.” He didn’t wait for her to confirm his order, already seeing her working on it. “Lanali, jettison now!”
The lights flickered as the warp core shot out from the rear of the starship, projected by explosive bolts intended to fire it as far away from the ship, as fast as possible, so as to safeguard those onboard. He saw his Orion security chief hit the phaser control.
Behind them, the phaser beams connected with the core, burned through the outer casing in seconds and hit the dilithium crystals within. The explosion was brief but brilliant; sending out a shockwave the Orion felt the edge of. The Breen weren’t so lucky, being much closer.
“Report!”
“Showing massive damage to the warship, multiple hull breaches, minimal power and life-support. They’re dead in the water, sir,” stated Jachim with a relieved grin.
Though he shared the younger man’s relief at the battle being over and their success, it had come at a cost—they too were essentially dead in the water. But he needed to know just how bad it was. He turned to DuMont on the portside.
“Status, Commander.”
“We are on secondary or auxiliary power for all key systems. Life-support holding steady in sections without any damage, though shields are at twenty-five percent. The plasma flow to the nacelles has been cut and temperature in our damaged engine is dropping, we may still need a DC crew up there—”
Every functioning sensor relay on the bridge cried out. D’Kehra got to it first.
“Vessel decloaking to port. Breen striker!”
His head whipped to the viewscreen in time to see the trimaran-shaped attack ship open fire as she appeared. Strikers were smaller and faster than the warship they had just faced, not as well armed but equipped with cloaks making them hard to track. Even with her lesser weapons capability, it was still too much for the Orion in her weakened state.
“Evasive—” he began but never got to finish his order as a burst of heat sent him flying backwards.
* * * * *
Clarissa DuMont felt the explosion from behind her, turning just in time to see the Captain flung from his chair and slam into the MSD on the aft bulkhead, before slumping to the deck. She shielded her eyes as flames leapt from the joint conn-tactical station, the source of the blast. As smoke billowed, the environmental system strained to clear it, but as it did she saw the prone forms of D’Kehra and Mecell sprawled on the deck.
For a split-second, she was frozen in place, unable to think let alone move. In that brief instant, everything seemed to slow down, and all she could do was watch as the bridge crew scrambled to see to their fallen comrades and tackle the blaze.
Jachim snapped her out of it. “Commander, shields at eleven percent! We’ve lost weapons and secondary power is failing throughout the ship.”
She spun back to her station and ran an emergency patch, rerouting helm controls, and slapped the intercom. “All hands, to the lifeboats. Abandon ship!”
Over her shoulder, she called out to Jachim. “Get them to the evac point. I’ll try to keep the Breen off our tail.”
“Sir,” the Polish lieutenant began.
“Now!”
Even before the striker had decloaked, they were on the verge of needing to evacuate the ship, the second attack had cemented that need. The hull was punctured, overall integrity severely compromised, no forcefields, sections where the air was toxic, without a warp core and barely any shields it was doubtful they’d ever get the ship to dry-dock for repairs. As she worked, from the corner of her eye she saw Jachim and the remains of the bridge crew carry Reihyn, D’Kehra and Mecell into the turbolift—she didn’t even know if any of them were still alive—before they headed down, leaving her alone.
DuMont’s first time as XO may not have been a roaring success, but if there was one thing she could at least do, it was ensure that as many of the crew made it out as possible. As she did her best to keep the Orion moving, avoiding as much of the incoming disruptor fire as she could, she had the computer shut down everything else and divert it to their shields, leaving just enough for what was left of their impulse drive, as well as the ejection systems needed to launch the escape pods, whatever else the old girl had would be use for her defences.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a lot. A blast from the striker tore into the ventral hull, taking out the sensor dome, whilst another slammed their already weakened ventral pylon. Every indicator on the impulse system was in the red, screaming for emergency shutdown, but she pushed on. She hammered the ship to starboard, making the substructure groan and crack.
Come on, come on, she willed the rest of the crew below deck.
The striker’s next volley obliterated the port aft cargo bays and blew out the sublight engine, cutting their speed and overloading the fusion reactors. Just when she thought all hope was lost, the computer registered the first escape pods had launched. With not even one hundred onboard, there were lifeboats to spare. It also meant that the whole evac wouldn’t take long. She just had to buy them a few more minutes. The impulse reactors were rapidly approaching critical—though not as intense as a warp core breach, they would certainly be enough to take out the wounded Orion.
“Jachim to DuMont. All the other lifeboats are away.”
“Launch Lieutenant, I’m heading down now.”
“The pods on deck three are still in place, sir.”
She found herself smiling. There were two smaller escape pods two decks below, intended to be used by the bridge crew—should any of them be doing what she was trying too. Seconds later, the computer chirped as the last manned lifeboat was ejected. The crew were out, she’d managed to get them clear—as achievements went in a fairly unimpressive career, it was definitely at the top.
With nothing more she could do from the bridge, she stumbled for the exit on the opposite side, stepping into the short corridor she got to the Jefferies tube hatch and pushed it open. Gripping each rung tightly, she started to climb down, knowing that her chances of getting out were slim, but knowing that she needed to try anyway. Acrid smoke stung her eyes and making them water as her boot set on deck three; deep within her she felt a faint glimmer of hope. The fleeting thought that she would make it.
The Orion lurched as the striker carved into her hull once again, throwing DuMont onto the deck grating, winding her. She managed to push herself onto her hands and knees and reach for the door panel, just as the impulse drive reactors on deck eight exploded, taking out their fuel tanks and power lines, followed by a cascade of explosions throughout the engineering section, until they reached the antimatter pods.
Lieutenant Commander Clarissa DuMont managed to get to her feet and stagger into the corridor as their stores of antimatter detonated, taking the Orion with them.
* * * * *
The explosion that consumed the Orion was brilliant. Enan Lanali looked at it for as long as she could, before having to close her eyes, the image burned into her memory, the death of a great ship—her ship. Her eyes still closed, she felt tears run down her cheeks. She had done everything she could, but in the end it just wasn’t enough. They had been no match for the Breen and nothing she could’ve done would’ve changed that—unless of course she’d refitted the old girl with Galaxy-Class shield emitters and a bank of quantum torpedo launchers.
The Breen hadn’t realised the extent of the damage they’d caused and were right on top of the Orion when the antimatter pods had exploded, the force of which, as well as debris from the ship itself, had torn the hostile vessel to pieces. Following the destruction of the starship, the twelve lifeboats that had launched had come together on the outer edge of her remains—little more than chunks of metal and dust, nothing larger than a runabout, though it all dwarfed the small craft the crew were huddled in.
There was a lot of chatter in the beginning, as they tried to co-ordinate themselves, whilst others were panicking. It had quickly become clear that something had happened to Captain Reihyn and Commander DuMont, as it was Aleksander Jachim who was making decisions and trying to get everyone on track. Hearing his voice over the comm had made her heart pound all the harder, relief flooded her just knowing that he was alive. It was short lived as she started to think about what might’ve happened to the Captain and DuMont. Had they been injured? Or killed? Had one, or both, remained behind?
At a time when they needed the Captain the most, the man who’d brought together the disparate collection of rookies, retirees and reprobates—whom many others would’ve turned their backs on—and turned them into a united crew, he was nowhere to be found. Part of her wanted to ask him what had happened on the bridge, but they had an important role to play. They needed to keep the crew together and keep them working towards the ultimate goal, being rescued. Among their little flotilla, men, women and others would be feeling scared, defeated, angry, or in shock about what had happened, until they were recovered then they would have to rely on one another in order to get through.
From her place at the small control console, she looked around at the seven others in the pod. Though it was designed to hold ten people, a torrid of exploding power conduits had forced them to jettison before they could take a full load. As they’d run from main engineering to the evac point, the cascade of overloads had taken their toll on her group, with Crewman Enesh-Naij being badly burnt by a plasma fire and Doren being impaled in the side by an airborne shard of metal—both the wounded lay on the deck of the escape pod, sedated and stabilised as best they could. Petty Officer Navix hadn’t been so lucky. He’d been caught in the full force of the explosion that’d scorched Enesh-Naij, though his last act had been to push the Grazerite ahead of him, ultimately saving her life.
Tears ran unabashedly down her cheeks. How many others had they lost? Though she had access to the lifeboats limited sensor array and could easily check how many life-forms were in each pod, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“What if no one comes?” asked Crewman Torlin, his voice empty with hopelessness.
“Someone will,” she told him. “Starfleet doesn’t leave its people behind. As bleak as things may look, you have to hold onto that.”
“But…we’re just a support ship…would they bother sending someone for us?”
She wiped the tears from her face and fixed him with a determined look. “We’ve spent the last eighteen months doing just that, Crewman, so you better believe that someone will do that for us.”
The young Tiburonian still didn’t look convinced; fortunately he had the sense to keep his mouth shut and his fears to himself. The last thing the others needed was his despair adding to their own. Lanali looked forward again, closing her eyes for a second and silently praying. They will come. They have to come.
* * * * *
“Chief?” called out Ensign Fitzgerald, rousing Chief Petty Officer Diego Ramirez from his doze—the cramped confines of the lifeboat didn’t lend itself to getting any proper sleep.
He stepped over to the forward controls stations, whilst the alarm in the ensign’s tone had woken the other four in the pod. Technically, due to being a commissioned officer, Fitzgerald was in charge but she was only eighteen months out the Academy and had never been through a starship evacuation or had to spend six days in an escape pod—granted neither had he, but he did have almost twenty years’ service under his belt to draw upon, so she deferred a lot to his experience.
“What is it?”
“I’ve picked up a ship dropping out of warp, closing at full impulse.”
Quickly, he took the co-pilot station and took note of her findings. Since the loss of the Orion, the twelve pods had been dispersed around the debris that remained of the old Constellation-Class ship, each one keeping watch for rescue or for other hostile ships in the area. Given how vulnerable they were, it made sense, rather than having them all clustered in one place, as well as increasing the coverage of their limited sensors.
“See if you can identify them, I’ll standby on thrusters.” If they did detect any hostiles, the plan was to move into the debris and cut power, so they would look just like the rest of the chunks of metal.
The junior ops officer tapped fervidly on her control panel, whilst the others behind them waited, breath held, for an answer—were they saved or were they in even more trouble. Ramirez himself could feel his heart pounding as he waited for the young woman to finish her analysis.
“It…its Starfleet,” she gasped, her voice a mixture of relief and disbelief. “Two ships, a Defiant- and a Miranda-Class!”
“YES!” cried out Crewman Dol, his exuberance far too loud for the small lifeboat.
Ears ringing, he opened the communications system just as a channel was opened. “Orion survivors,” came a familiar Texan drawl, “this is Captain Burbank of the Ariel. Please activate your locator beacons and we will begin recovery operations, you’re safe now.”
Before he could return the signal, he checked the security code transmitted on their frequency and matched it, confirming that it was genuine. He switched to a secure channel. “Ramirez to Jachim.”
“Go ahead, Chief.”
“Sir, the Ariel has made contact with us. They’re here on rescue and recovery operations. They’re requesting all pods to activate locator beacons.”
There was a moment’s pause, in which he could hear the excited chatter from the other pod. “Tell them we’ll have all pods with injured onboard to activate first, they are to take priority then once they’ve been recovered the others will signal their location—also, tell them they have our gratitude.”
“Aye sir,” he replied, feeling the right corner of his lips curve upwards.
He toggled from one channel to the other. “Ariel, this is Chief Ramirez of the Orion. Are we glad to see you.”
“It’s good to hear your voice, Chief. For a second there we were worried none of you folks had made it.”
“Our lifeboats with injured onboard will activate their beacons first. After they’ve been recovered then the others will begin transmitting,”
“Acknowledged, I’ve got my best operators handling the transporters and every crewman who knows how to use a dermal regenerator on standby.”
“Captain, you have our deepest thanks. We were beginning to wonder if anyone would be coming.”
“Turnabout is fair play, Chief. You’ve rescued more than your fair share, so we’re glad to return the favour,” the Captain of the supply ship paused. “What word on Captain Reihyn?”
Ramirez hesitated. All five pairs of eyes were on him in that moment. “He…he’ll be among the first group.”
“Understood,” was the simple reply, one that spoke volumes.
On his sensor board five emergency transponders, dotted throughout the debris field, came to life. On those five lifeboats were thirty-eight survivors, half of whom were injured, with nine in critical condition. Everyone in the flotilla of escape pods knew just what the condition of the Captain was, as well as the fact that Lieutenant Commander DuMont hadn’t made it off the ship—her last act as their First Officer had bought them the time they’d needed to get to safety, at the cost of her own life.
The Orion was gone along with several of her crew as others fought for their lives. Soon they would be safely onboard the old Miranda-Class (which had also been dragged out of mothballs) and heading for the nearest station, which was when the unlikely crew would find themselves scattered into the wind. Without a strong hand like Captain Reihyn’s at the rudder, there was no telling just what might happen to them all, or where they might end up.
* * * * *
