Dark Territory: Maelstrom (WIP)

[DarKush]

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USS Cuffe
Main Engineering


“Sir, you can’t be serious,” Lt. Aquiel Uhnari failed to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “What you’re proposing could blow up this ship.”

Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas huffed, “Which is what one of those Dominion ships could do any second.”

“That doesn’t mean we should help them,” Uhnari replied, more sharply than she intended. Rojas scowled.

“I wasn’t asking for your opinion,” he snapped, as an uncharacteristic streak of anger flashed through his eyes, bright enough to be seen through the gloom. Main Engineering was usually the brightest, noisiest place onboard the whole ship Aquiel thought. But now it was as quiet as a tomb.

Wrong choice of words, she realized, but couldn’t help herself. “Okay…” she managed to say to her superior. “What do you need me to do?” She had come a long way from the tempestuous young officer she had been, known more for her combative reputation than her service record. Meeting Lt. Commander Geordi LaForge had been instrumental in righting her course. He had also become a mentor, shepherding her from the communications field into engineering. He had also been more, but that was another lifetime.

The Haliian knew though that Aquiel’s choice not to challenge Lt. Commander Rojas though she thought his idea was insane would make Geordi proud. She was just sad that she wouldn’t live to see the pride on his face. But she could at least take some cowardly solace in not being there to see his grief, nor that of her sister Shianna.

“That’s more like it,” Pedro smiled. “I need you and Hutchinson to open the valves to the deuterium tanks, while Krasnikov and Verda release the antideuterium. I’ll manage their flow into the warp core, creating an internal combustion that should bring the warp core back on line.”

“If it doesn’t blow us all up like a Romulan candle,” Hutchinson griped. Aquiel was glad Dara was on her side, though she kept the thought to herself. Pedro couldn’t maintain his frown at the comment. He buried it with a sagely nod.

“If that happens, then it’ll be on my head,” He said, “Because as soon as you open the valves, I want you all to vacate Main Engineering, and take anybody still alive with you.” The comment prompted Aquiel to briefly gaze over the bodies and detritus littering the floor. Engineering had been hit hard after the Breen had deployed their weapon. The engineers assembled were the only ones able to stand on their feet, and Krasnikov, leaking blood like a faucet, was weaving. Lt. Verda, a pale green Troyian was propping the wounded man up.

“I’m not leaving you,” Verda said. Aquiel noted there was more behind the statement than merely loyalty to a superior officer.

“You’ll follow orders,” Pedro said, in a tone that brooked no debate. “We don’t have a lot of time to argue. Those bastards could be on us any second.”

Verda swallowed back a comment and helped the limping Krasnikov over to the antideuterium tanks. She propped the man beside the ladder while she scaled it. Both Aquiel and Hutchinson took to their task, slowly releasing the fuel into the main warp chamber. The clear liquid steadily filled the chamber.

They climbed back down the ladder and ran over to Pedro. He was staring at a gauge by the warp core. “I haven’t done this since the Academy,” he said, “I still can’t believe people had to do this by hand once, well, not really, but we don’t even have old computers.”

“That’s why I think this is still a bad idea,” Aquiel admitted. Rojas shrugged.

“You got a better one?” He asked. The Haliian didn’t have any answer. Ijen and Krasnikov rejoined the group.

“All right, now carry out the second part of the plan,” Rojas ordered, “And be quick about it. I’m itching to start the fireworks show.”
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USS Cuffe
Jeffries Tube-Level D-14


Captain Glover was tired, but he wasn’t going to show weakness to Gralf. Plus, with the larger Xindi behind him, forcing his bulk through the tight, cylindrical tubing, Terrence couldn’t slow down if he tried.

“How much further to Main Engineering Captain?” Lt. Gralf huffed, but Terrence knew the man wasn’t tired. He detected a tension in the voice. A possible fear perhaps? Claustrophobia? He hadn’t seen anything of that nature in the man’s psych profile. Then again that said very little, and war changed people, and usually not for the better.

“We should be there…in roughly another ten minutes,” Glover said, angry at himself, though he knew he had no reason to be. The Cuffe was a huge ship, despite its compact size. It was a miracle that the two men had only ten minutes to their destination, but both men knew it would not be enough. However Glover was determined to press on. If he had to die in the pursuit of a mission, then it would be a worthy demise.

A loud rumbling shook the ship. He tried to glance back at Gralf, but could only make out a dark shape behind him. Is this it, he thought, the end?

Lights flickered on inside the cramped tube. “What the Hells?” Gralf asked.

Glover’s compin chirped madly. He struggled to activate it.

“Captain, this is Commander Rojas, we’ve got power, but I don’t know how long, so if you’ve got a rabbit, please pull it out of your hat now.”

“Pedro, how the hell did you do it?”

“I’ll tell you at the After Burner, once you got us out of the war zone.”

“Okay, okay,” Glover said. “Well done. Glover out.” He tapped his badge again, and gave instructions to Lt. Meldin. Almost instantly, he felt the tug of the engines as the ship turned to carry out the captain’s orders.

“Pedro,” Terrence laughed, “Pedro did it!”

“Should we return to the bridge now sir?” Gralf asked, an eagerness in his voice. The captain shook his head, a bit regretfully.

“Not yet Mr. Gralf, we need to be on hand in case Pedro needs help,” Glover replied. He used his elbows to propel him forward. “Let’s keep going.”

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USS Cuffe
Main Engineering


Lt. Commander Pedro Rojas stood alone, at the base of the warp core. He stared up into the depths of the tall cylinder. Normally it was swirling with a vibrant multitude of colors, but now a sickly green tide whirled within. He hadn’t the time to mix in the other fuels. He took the most potent, anticipating a quick jolt. But now it was fading.

He tapped his combadge, “We out of the woods yet Mr. Meldin?”

“Almost,” Meldin had always been too laconic for Pedro’s taste. “However…the Dominion forces have fallen back.” He added, a curious tone to his voice.

“What?” Pedro was confused. He had never known the Jem’Hadar to ever slack up. “What’s going on up there?”

“I’m not sure,” Meldin replied. “But it appears the Dominion is allowing escape pods to go unmolested. Several starships are assisting in the efforts. Perhaps, we can turn around and…”

Pedro never heard the rest.

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[DarKush]

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USS Cuffe
Main Engineering
Antechamber


Lt. Verda stood by the dull gray blast doors, pressing her hands against them. Aquiel squeezed the woman’s shoulder and whispered in her ear, “It’s going to be all right. Commander Rojas…Pedro…knows what he’s doing.” The small engineering team was waiting anxiously as Commander Rojas restarted the engines. So far, so good, but Uhnari was still concerned. In the meantime Dara had found a medical kit and was doing the best she could to repair Krasnikov’s wounds. She had the man prone over the master display.

Verda looked at her, her cheeks wet with tears. “I hope so.” Seconds later, a loud blast shook the entire chamber, throwing the group to the floor. Krasnikov grunted, and Hutchinson cursed as Krasnikov’s wounds began to bleed again. Verda scrambled back to door. The heavy duranium had been pushed outward. She touched it, and screamed in agony, yanking back her curling hands. Aquiel ran to her and grasped her wrists, turning her hands around. They were scorched. She looked up and met Verda’s eyes. They both knew.

“Oh Gods no,” Verda shook her head, her voice cracking. “No,” she turned back toward the door, but Aquiel held onto her.

“No,” Aquiel said, “There’s nothing….”

“Don’t say that,” Verda rounded her on, “Don’t ever say that!” She pulled free from Aquiel and went back to the door. However, she didn’t touch the scorching metal. Instead she kneeled in front of it, her wail just as rending as the blast that had caused it.

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USS Cuffe
Jeffries Tube-Level D-14


He felt a second tremble beneath him. “What was that?” Glover asked, stopping. Lt. Gralf hit the back of the captain’s boots, grumbling something unintelligible. “What did you say?” The captain asked.

“Nothing,” the Xindi replied.

“What was the cause of that tremor?” Glover asked, concerned. He knew all the sounds of his ship and that didn’t sound right.

“Probably something unforeseen with Commander Rojas’s solution,” Gralf answered bluntly.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Terrence replied. “I hope Pedro didn’t do anything crazy.” A second explosion plunged the corridor into darkness.

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USS Tempest
Main Bridge


“I believe the human phrase is ‘bat out of hell’,” Lt. Commander T’Vari replied, arching an eyebrow.

“That sounds most appropriate,” Captain Berkhalter said. He, along with the rest of the bridge crew were transfixed by the starship plowing through the debris, a trail of fire behind them, issuing from the ship’s nacelles. It reminded Berkhalter of the old footage of Earth’s fire rockets. The spectacle had momentarily pulled him away from recovering escape pods. Now the runaway ship threatened to crush some in their way. “Can we raise them?”

“No sir,” Lt. Halse, his Operations Officer, replied. “They’ve got some power, but it’s fluctuating and it’s not enough to maintain a sustained signal for communication.”

“Damn it Glover,” Berkhalter grumbled quietly, “You figured out a way around the Breen weapon, but it might cost us additional lives in the process.” He turned to his First Officer.

“T’Vari, is there some way we can alter its course?”

“Perhaps changing the polarity of our tractor beams,” the Vulcan quickly replied, “to make them repel, not attract, and using them to push the Cuffe out of the way.”

“Do it,” Berkhalter replied without hesitation. T’Vari put her idea in motion. Seconds later, a cone of green energy focused on the Cuffe, turning it starboard, just avoiding a gathering of pods and lifeboats. The Tempest bridge crew erupted in cheers. Even Berkhalter pumped a fist. Finally we’re doing something right today and not just cleaning up a mess, he thought.

“Uh oh,” Halse gulped. “You’re not going to like this.”

“What now?” Berkhalter grumbled, following Halse’s pointing finger. “Shit.” The Cuffe’s nacelles were engulfed in flame and the ship was heading for the line of Dominion vessels quietly ringing the battlefield.

For some eerily strange reason the Dominion and Breen ships had pulled back and allowed the Midas, Victory, and Tempest to recover as many survivors from the battle as possible. Berkhalter wasn’t sure how they would respond to a starship bearing down on them. It might bring them back out to the battlefield and reignite the battle, and it was one that the captain wasn’t sure the allied reserve fleet waiting at the edge of the system, defending the Federation’s border, could win, not with the Breen’s new weapon.

“After that ship,” the captain ordered.
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[mirandafave]

That was ...

An intense segment. Pedro truly went out in a blaze of glory. But the fate of the Cuffe is still unclear as the Tempest chases after her.

Your new opener was a headscratcher. This continuation is a jaw dropper.

 

[CeJay]

Rojas pulls a Spock. Sacrificing himself in order to save the ship. Only problem with his plan, he might actually achieve the opposite. Now that would suck.

A great segment though!

 

[Dnoth]

Aww, suck. After all that effort and they might end up doing more harm than good.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Oh man...that would be sadly ironic--Rojas's act of heroism causing even more damage. Sadly, things like that do happen.

 

[DarKush]

Author's Note: I had to make a few changes. Gibraltar kindly reminded me that the Tempest's XO was his own Liana Ramirez during the Dominion War, so from here on in, I will include her in the story, and for the completed version that will be posted on the United Trek website.

I also added names to Berkhalter-Gary Berkhalter. If Berkhalter has a first name already, someone please let me know.

Changed Halse's name to Landon Hause.

BTW, thank you for reading and/or commenting.

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Central Command Vessel Gianour
Command Bridge


Gul Omal Panar gripped her armrests, her neck ridges pinching with restrained anger. “Why can’t we engage them?” She asked, forcing herself not to shout at the Vorta standing placidly at her side.

Gallven barely glanced at her before responding, “Because the Founder wishes it.”

“That ship is on an intercept course, heading right for us. Clearly they are provoking us,” Panar retorted. “Honor demands we respond to their provocation.”

Gallven sniffed, as if he smelled refuse. “And clearly you are willfully oblivious of the true condition of that vessel. It was deactivated by one of the Breen ships. Though somehow the crew has found a way to counteract the dissipation ray,” the Vorta paused to rub his hairless chin. “Interesting.”

“I propose we retrieve the ship for study and detain the crew for questioning,” the Jem’Hadar First grumbled, surprising Panar that he half-way took her side in the debate. “In order for our victory to be complete we must deny the enemy any glimmer of hope.”

“Care to tell the Founder that?” Gallven challenged. The Jem’Hadar scowled, but didn’t reply.

“I will,” Panar said. She snapped at her communications officer to open a channel.

“That won’t be necessary,” Gallven said hurriedly, “I am sure the Founder would understand your need to prevent damage or destruction to your vessel.”

“I’m glad that Her Divinity considers Cardassians lives as worthy as those of our enemies…and the Breen,” Panar didn’t try to douse her sarcasm. Gallven either ignored the jab, or was oblivious to her challenge. The Vorta merely nodded.

“Arm spiral wave cannons,” She ordered.

“Hold!” Gallven said, with the imperiousness of a Legate. “Preventing damage to your vessel doesn’t mean that you destroy the Federation vessel. You could just as easily use evasive maneuvers, employ your tractor beam to slow its trajectory, and then offer assistance.”

“Are you insane?” Panar asked as many in her crew gasped.

Gallven smiled. “The Founder has issued an order. We are to allow the remaining Starfleet ships and vessels safe passage, so that they can spread the horror of their defeat, and the invincibility of our forces, due to the Breen superweapon, to the rest of the Federation Alliance. Their own fear will undo them. It is a masterful plan, and you will not ruin it,” he declared, still smiling, but his eyes had turned into pale blue ice chips. “If you cannot follow the chain of command you will be replaced.” The small Jem’Hadar contingent tensed, their eyes brightening at the prospect of conflict.

Panar bit back the comment burning her tongue. “Well?” Gallven asked, goading her. Panar looked at her crew and she saw a mixture of defiance and trepidation. What good would it do for her, or her family, to defy the pompous Vorta, especially right after a great victory against the Alliance? If she minded her tongue, she would surely be feted back on Prime. She might even receive the Legate’s Crest. But if she gave into her pride, and revealed her true disgust of the Vorta and his Jem’Hadar thugs, and scoffed at the divinity of the shape-shifter, Panar knew Gallven would not hesitate to make good on his threat. And then a Dominion toady would be occupying her chair, and she had worked too hard to allow that to happen.

The gul promised herself that Gallven would receive his comeuppance at her hand, but not today. Panar sighed before relenting. “Do as he says, make the offer.”

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USS Cuffe
Jeffries Tube-Level D-14


Lt. Gralf shook him roughly. “Captain, captain,” the man yelled.

“Wha?” Glover asked groggily. He blinked several times, the darkness punctured by a cascade of stars. The captain shook his head, wincing. He gingerly touched the throbbing bump already forming on his forehead. “This isn’t going to help my concussion,” he grumbled. “Glad Dr. Cole isn’t here.”

“What was that sir?” The arboreal asked.

“Nothing, are you okay?”

“We arboreal are sturdy stock,” Gralf replied.

“I’m certain,” His pounding headache did nothing to lessen his drollness. Gralf’s miffed grumble was almost payment enough. The need to chuckle reminded him of Pedro, and his heart thudded almost as loudly as the pain pulsed inside his skull. “Pedro…Engineering….” He started forward again, but Gralf grabbed his ankle. “What the hell are you doing Mr. Gralf?”

“We need to return to the bridge. That is where you belong, actually you belong in Sickbay.”

“Hold on a minute, the last time I checked, I’m the captain.”

“A captain suffering from two severe blows to the head. Do you think that might’ve affected your judgment, or your ability to render assistance to Commander Rojas, even if he is still alive?”

“Still…alive,” Glover’s voice choked. “Don’t you ever say something like that…don’t you ever even think it!” He snarled, his foot lashing out and connecting with Gralf’s nose. He heard the crunching of bone and he started crawling forward again. But Gralf had been correct about the hardiness of his species. An even firmer grip locked on his ankle, and ground the bone until it snapped. Glover bit back a whelp. He tried to turn around in the cramped, dark space to at least stare in Gralf’s direction.

“What did you just do? You just assaulted a superior officer; me, for goodness sakes. I’ll have your ass for this!”

“You broke my nose, I broke your ankle, a fair exchange,” Gralf mumbled. “Besides, you might in time come to thank me for saving your life. You know this ship better than I do, and even I can feel it’s out of control. Something bad…something terrible happened in Engineering, and it’s my duty to keep you from it. If that costs me my rank, then fine.”

“You son of a bitch!” Glover roared, lashing out with his good foot. But he struck only air.

“Sir, I suggest we turn back now,” the Xindi said.

“You do that, I’m going forward,” the captain declared. “And once I find out what’s going on in Engineering, I’ll deal with you.”

Gralf sighed loudly, and then grabbed Terrence’s other ankle. “You wouldn’t,” the captain dared, trying futilely to use his other leg, with its dangling foot to beat back the Arboreal. Gralf quickly broke the captain’s second ankle.

“No!” Glover wailed more in anger than agony, pounding the metal plates surrounding him. His anger was mixed in with fear and concern for Pedro. He knew that Gralf was right, he felt something awry had happened, but he didn’t want to leave his friend facing it alone, whatever it was. And now Gralf had robbed him of that.

Terrence hadn’t been there when his wife had lost her arm and leg early in the war, and he had always felt that she silently blamed him, or better yet, he blamed himself for not being able to protect her. And now it might happen all over again, but this time he wasn’t a half-quadrant away. He might be able to actually help, if not for Gralf. He buried his head in his hands and cried, his tears flowing like a rainstorm. Once the storm had passed, he said quietly, his voice lethal, “I will never forgive you for this.”

“I know,” Gralf, just as quietly, responded. “I know.”

********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Main Bridge


Lt. Commander Cherenkov had been able to double-time it back to the main bridge as soon as power was restored to the engines. He and Lt. N’Saba arrived just as Pedro’s transmission was cut short and the ship was gripped by a powerful explosion. It threw the Russian against the perturbed Lt. Meldin, who had still been occupying the center seat. The Benzite steadied him while also deftly vacating the command chair and plopping Ivan down into it. Hardly missing a beat, Ivan asked, “Status report?”

Meldin had taken the Executive Officer’s seat usually occupied by Ivan. He looked down at the inset console, flickering simultaneously with the bridge’s lighting. The Benzite frowned. “I-I can’t say.” Through the static on the main screen, Ivan saw the ship careening toward a line of Dominion vessels.

“I think that says it all,” Cherenkov grimly quipped. I just hope I get to see Aquiel’s face again, he prayed.

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[CeJay]

Oh boy, Galf is going to be in a world of pain once Glover gets back on his feet ... which of course, seeing that he broke his ankles, could be a while. But damn, that's some dedication by the Xindi. I'm sure not even Worf would have gone that far.

And is Cherenkov and Cuffe going to accept Cardassian assistance? Now that's a strange twist indeed.

 

[mirandafave]

Agreed it is a strange twist of fate for the crew to be rescued by those who would destroy them otherwise. It remains to be seen as to what happens next.

As for Galf ... well there's dedication to your captain and then there's the doing the Kathy Bates Misery thing. Whatever you do don't hand him a typewriter!

 

[DarKush]

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USS Tempest
Main Bridge


“Cardassian ship hailing,” Hause said.

Oh shit, here it comes, Captain Berkhalter thought. Though the Tempest was as quick and tough as any ship the captain had served on or commanded, he knew it was no match for a Galor-class destroyer in a straight-up fight, especially when they were trying to recover a runaway starship. But he would be damned if he backed away, and he knew Liana would never let the thought even cross his mind. He glanced at the olive skinned woman by his side. She sat ramrod straight in her seat, her gaze as hard as duranium. Berkhalter swallowed his doubts. “On screen,” he said with as much authority as he could muster.

Berkhalter was surprised by the loveliness of his adversary. A comely Cardassian woman glared at him, the anger in her eyes clashing with the relative softness of her scaly features. A dash of teal in the center of her forehead off set the grayness of her complexion. The markings on the breastplate of her dull brown cuirass identified her rank as a gul. “I’m Captain Gary Berkhalter of the Starship Tempest,” he began his introduction, but the woman held up a hand to silence him.

“We wish to offer you assistance in corralling the Nebula-class starship,” the gul said through gritted teeth. If Berkhalter hadn’t been sitting he would’ve hit the floor in surprise.

“Come again?” He asked, still not believing it.

The gul sighed, and started repeating herself. Commander Ramirez nudged him, and Berkhalter said, “Oh, I didn’t mean that…”

“What did you mean?” The Cardassian’s gaze was relentless.

“Oh, uh, never mind. How do you wish to provide assistance,” Berkhalter asked as his exasperation and incredulity got the better of him.

“I propose we trap the ship in a pincer of tractor beams, halting it from ramming into our fleet,” the gul proposed. The idea had merit, and they had just used a novel tractor beam approach on the Cuffe. Going to the well once more wouldn’t drain it, or Berkhalter hoped it wouldn’t.

“And then we allow the ship to return with you,” said a Vorta, stepping into range of the main viewer. “We have no desire to reignite hostilities.”

Berkhalter merely nodded, “Sounds good.” He had completely given up on trying to understand of any of this. After the Dominion had pounded the holy hell out of them they quit, and now they were offering to help the survivors of their onslaught. If there was some type of diabolical, masterstroke the Dominion had devised, the captain couldn’t see it. So, he decided against all logic to take them at their word. The captain glanced at Lt. Commander T’Vari. The Vulcan’s expression was more inscrutable than usual.

“Reverse the polarity on the tractor beams, and once in range, attach it to the old girl’s aft section,” Berkhalter ordered.

“Aye sir,” T’Vari replied. On the screen, they watched as the Cardassian warship broke free from the wall of Dominion vessels to intercept the Cuffe. They latched onto the primary hull, slowing the ship, but not stopping it. Gouts of flame were sparking from the Cuffe’s nacelles, driving the ship forward.

“I don’t like this,” Lt. Commander Ramirez huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t trust them.”

Berkhalter didn’t either, but he saw no point in adding to Liana’s black mood. “Are we in range yet?”

“In half a second,” T’Vari said. Then: “Now.”

“Engage,” Berkhalter ordered. Another greenish tractor beam issued from the Tempest, finding purchase along the Cuffe’s hind quarters. “Good job.” The captured starship trembled in its vise, shaking the Tempest in the process. “Divert more power to the tractor beam,” Berkhalter said, growing concerned. “We’ve got to find a way to stop that thing before it shakes itself apart.”

“Captain, I suggest we send engineering and medical teams over to the Cuffe, I’ll take the lead,” Commander Ramirez said, never shy about taking initiative. The young woman continued to impress. She’ll make a hell of a captain someday, Berkhalter realized. Someday soon, he thought, a bit sad about the prospect of letting her go.

“Make it happen,” Berkhalter said.
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USS Cuffe
Main Engineering
Ante-Chamber

Lt. Uhnari was holding the quivering Verda when the darkness was pierced by four bright shafts of light. A voice in the darkness said, “I’m Doctor Blassingame, Chief Medical Officer on the Tempest; we’re here to help.” The team activated several wristlamps, and swept them around the room. The Tempest’s chief medic spied the distended duranium door, “My God. Was anyone in there?”

The question brought on another round of crying from Verda. Aquiel nodded a few times before finding her voice. “Yes.” She whispered.

“Who was it?” Another member of the medical team asked, drawing a disapproving grumble from Blassingame.

But Aquiel answered the man’s question the best way she knew how, “A friend.”
********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

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USS Cuffe
Main Sickbay


The transporter beam had placed Captain Glover on the biobed only seconds before, but he was already sitting up, trying to force his uncooperative feet to touch the ground. “Juanita,” he whispered, his eyes riveted to a scene across the room out of his worst nightmares. Medics from both the Cuffe and the Tempest were trying to hold both her and Lt. Verda back from the transparent tube holding a body charred almost beyond recognition.

But the knot of stone in Terrence’s stomach was all the confirmation that he needed. That lump of blackened flesh and shorn bone was Pedro. It had been Pedro. His friend, no, his best friend, and Terrence had failed him, as a friend, as a captain. “No,” he groaned, the pain unbearable. He rammed his fist into the bed, and then ground his knuckles onto the bed’s unyielding surface to give himself enough purchase to stand up.

“Captain Glover, just what are you doing?” Dr. Rieta Cole, his chief medical officer, ran over to his bedside. She stood in front of him. With her arms folded across her chest and that scowl on her face, she reminded him of his mother. “You’re in no condition to move. We haven’t had a chance to look at your ankles. Lt. Gralf informed me you were injured, but until I am able to take a look for myself you’re confined to that bed sir. Doctor’s orders,” she said in a disapproving voice, made all the more authoritative due to her clipped British accent.

“Then take care of the problem now,” Glover snapped. “I’m going to see my friend.” She looked back in the direction of Pedro, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry sir, but there’s not much you can do for him now,” She said, her expression becoming melancholy. “The explosion in Engineering exposed him to fatal deuterium and antideuterium radiation.”

“I need to see him, I need to be with him,” Glover pleaded. He hated begging, but his image was the least of his concerns right now. He not only had to be there for Pedro, but for Juanita as well. The young pilot was bawling, her cries ripping across the packed Sickbay. An older, dark-skinned man with snowy white hair and a kind face, had succeeded in pulling the woman away, but he had to hold on to her. “Who is that?”

“Dr. Blassingame,” Cole explained. “From the Tempest. His team has been a big help to us. There’s no way we could deal with all of the injuries….and other casualties that occurred, and on half-power, without their assistance.” Another member from the Tempest had been able to corral Verda away from Pedro’s impromptu casket.

“Half-power,” Glover mumbled. “What’s our status?”

“You’ll have to ask Commander Cherenkov about that,” Cole said. “It’s not my area of expertise.”

“Touche,” Glover said, though without the usual joy their repartee always brought him. Verbal sparring with the good doctor was the last thing on his mind right now. “I’m getting up, without or without you.” He slid off the bed, wincing in pain, as his legs buckled. He fell forward, and with surprising strength and speed, Dr. Cole pushed him back onto the bed.

“Some people just have to learn the hard way,” she replied.

“Get out of my way,” Glover said, gently moving her to the side as he tried to sit back up. Cole sighed loudly. Uh oh, the captain thought, that sigh of frustration sounding a lot like Gralf’s did back in the Jeffries Tube. He went to into a hypo-assisted slumber wondering what Rieta was going to do to him next.

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USS Cuffe
Observation Lounge


Captain Berkhalter hadn’t felt right commandeering his counterpart’s ready room to meet with the Cuffe’s senior staff, so he opted to hold a meeting in the ship’s spacious observation lounge after conducting a brief tour of the damaged vessel. The Tempest skipper had also wanted to get a first-hand look at the efforts to repair the ship’s critical systems, especially propulsion before he heard the assessments of the department heads.

There hadn’t been much discrepancy between what he saw and what the Cuffe and Tempest repair teams reported. They were doing a splendid job, all things considered. His engineering chief, Fatima Eaves, was working with Lt. Uhnari, the Cuffe’s senior engineering officer to restore full impulse power. They had achieved quarter impulse power; which was impressive considering they were also cleaning up the radiation caused by the accident that had claimed life of Lt. Commander Rojas.

Berkhalter made sure to keep the meeting short, though there was one officer he kept behind after dismissing the others. Lt. Gralf gave him a sour glance. “Is there something I can assist you with further sir?” The captain was put off by the man’s insolent tone, but he chalked it up to the stress he had been under.

“Listen, Commander Cherenkov told me what happened with you and Captain Glover. I just wanted to let you know that once he’s back, he’ll understand you did what you thought was best.”

“Like hell,” A harsh voice boomed. Berkhalter hadn’t even heard the door hiss open, and from the startled look on Gralf’s face, the arboreal hadn’t either. A hulking Captain Glover stood in the doorway, his face a mask of anger.

“Terrence, it’s been a long time,” Berkhalter put on his best disarming grin. But his counterpart was having none of that.

“Off my ship Gary. Now!”

“Terrence, I wasn’t informed you had been cleared from Sickbay,” Berkhalter said. If Terrence wanted to play hardball, he could play with the best of them. Though his Pulsar Squad flight team had lost the Rigel Cup against Glover’s Novas at the Academy, Gary had made them earn it.

“I’m standing here, aren’t I?” Terrence declared.

“Barely,” Berkhalter retorted. “Listen Terrence, you’ve just been a really traumatic experience, emotionally…and physically.” He winced at the mention of Glover’s physical torment because it shifted the fuming captain’s focus back on Gralf. Though the stout man was doing his best to look unruffled, Berkhalter was close enough to see him trembling slightly. Just what kind of ship are you running here Terrence? Berkhalter wondered. What the hell had the war done to him? Stupid question, answered the other half of the internal monologue.

Glover hobbled into the room with an unstable gait. “I need to speak with Mr. Gralf, alone.”

“I’m sorry Terrence, but I don’t think that’s wise, for either you or Lt. Gralf,” Berkhalter said, planting his boots into the carpet.

“I don’t give a damn what you think,” Terrence seethed. “Mr. Gralf prevented me from saving my friends life, and he did it by physically assaulting me.”

“I did my duty,” the man said quietly, keeping eye contact with Glover.

“I want you off my ship,” He said, jabbing his finger at the man. “I want you gone.”

“Terrence, you’re letting your emotions get the best of you, and it’s unbecoming,” Berkhalter snapped, pushing niceties to the side. “Good Ops Officers are hard to come by. Don’t do something in the heat of the moment that you’ll regret later,” he advised.

“Like you did on Kobax II,” Glover shot back. Berkhalter’s next words died on his tongue as his stomach clenched. “I had no choice,” he said quietly. “I had to leave them….”

“You made a decision in the heat of battle,” Glover said, with surprising warmth. “The rightness or the wrongness aside, you can’t take it back. But you own up to it, and you moved on. That’s what both Gralf and I need to do right now. We have a lot to talk about.”

Berkhalter swallowed before pressing on. “I can’t allow that,” he tapped his combadge. “Counselor Ellan,” he called.

“Yes,” the Deltan answered promptly.

“This is Captain Berkhalter. You’re needed in the Observation Lounge, pronto.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Perhaps I’m not the best person to listen or give advice to either of you,” Gary admitted, “But Lt. Ellan knows you both. I think he’ll be better qualified.”

“But a whole lot more touchy feely,” Terrence groaned. Gary was glad to see the man had a little bit of humor left in him. Though he hadn’t forgiven him totally because of the cheap shot about Kobax II.

As if reading his mind, Terrence grumbled, “Sorry about mentioning Kobax.”

“Hey, we’ve all got our cross to bear,” Berkhalter said, unable to shake the sadness from his tone. “I just pray that you won’t have to carry a similar one before this war is over.”

********************************************************************

 

[Dnoth]

It sucks being caught in the middle. They are in more ways than one.

 

[Gibraltar]

Wow, I think Berkhalter just prevented a murder.

Terrence can be prickly at the best of times, and now with a gut full of anger and guilt, he's far more dangerous than usual.

I'd wondered what the exact circumstances were surrounding Pedro's death, and the picture you've painted is even more agonizing than I'd imagined. And what can I say, I just plain enjoy the hell out watching Glover chew the scenery.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

That was intense on so many different levels. Berkhalter might very well have prevented a murder. As for Gralf--as far as the Cuffe is concerned, odds are he's gone. Nice bit of foreshadowing in the end too.

 

[mirandafave]

His friend, no, his best friend, and Terrence had failed him, as a friend, as a captain.

That was the summation of things for Terrence. Failed on a personal and professional level to Pedro who never let Glover down no matter how much of a prig he might have acted and Pedro had to try and rescue the situation.

Not often one can feel too sorry for him as he often draws things down upon himself but the reality of it is pure agony and fuels a lot of anger within Glover in light of everything. Galf is in the firing line and Glover does indeed chew the scenery when he feels the need to.
​

 

[CeJay]

I can't really see any scenario in which Galf comes out of this in tact. Berkhalter might have dowsed the flames somewhat but Terrence will never be able to look at his operations officer again without being reminded of what he has done and what it led to.

The guy did his duty but now he's gotta pay for it.

 

[DarKush]

********************************************************************

USS Cuffe
Captain’s Quarters
Five Hours Later…


Captain Glover pondered his answer for a few moments. “Come in,” he eventually griped. Dr. Rieta Cole walked into the room, unfazed by the gruff response.

“Glad to see you too,” she said drolly.

“Now’s not a good time,” Glover replied before turning his attention back to gazing at the black screen on his desktop computer. He had been staring at it for the last half-hour. He hadn’t been able to do anything else since Jasmine had told him that she couldn’t attend Pedro’s funeral. She gave him some excuse about being knee-deep in the Corps of Engineers efforts to rebuild San Francisco after the Breen attack. Terrence knew that was important work, but Pedro was family, and as far was Terrence was concerned, you don’t cut out on family. Even Admiral Glover, Terrence’s father, stuck on the Romulan front, was going to send a personal message.

Pedro had been one of the biggest boosters of Terrence settling down with Jasmine. He had shored up Glover’s fading certainty about the pairing on more than one occasion. She owed Pedro, if for nothing else, she owed him for that. He didn’t know how he was going to explain her absence to Pedro’s family. It felt like he had failed his friend all over again. And to think they wanted him to conduct the eulogy.

He was really feeling unworthy, of everything, and he needed Jasmine right now. She was his wife, for God’s sake. But ever since she was injured at Tyra, Jasmine had pulled away from him. He had tolerated it though it had hurt him tremendously. Terrence thought that if Jasmine spent time on Earth with her sister and nephew it would help heal her physically and emotionally. Perhaps it had, but the healing was occurring without Terrence being present, and it felt wrong not to be there, or to even feel involved. He was her husband, he should be there, she should want him there, but she had pushed him away, time and again.

Unable to control his pent up frustrations, he had lashed out at her. Their conversation had ended in an argument. On one level Glover knew he should’ve conducted himself better, but at the same time, Jasmine should’ve known, should’ve sensed somehow through the bond they were supposed to share that his anger was covering up his pain, and she should’ve understood. But she got moody and defensive, and struck back.

After she had disconnected the call, tears streaming down her face, Glover’s pride had prevented him from calling back. So he had sat alone in his cabin, stewing.

“Is everything all right sir?” Cole asked, bringing him back to the present. Glover turned back around and stared at the woman. She shifted uncomfortably, shrugging her shoulders. “Stupid question right?”

“Yes,” Terrence wasn’t in the mood to mince words. “What do you want?”

Cole pursed her lips, and the captain could tell she was struggling not to aim another acerbic comment at him. “Just checking up on my patient,” she said. “I’m old fashioned that way.”

“Hmmm,” Glover folded his arms across his chest. “Is that right? Then where is your bag or your instruments?”

The medic held up her hands and wiggled her fingers. “These are all the tools I need.”

“What are you really here for…Rieta,” He hesitated over calling the woman by her first name. He wasn’t sure how personable he wanted to be at the moment. Though the familiarity did take the tension out of the woman’s posture. She visibly relaxed.

“Permission to speak freely sir?”

“Sure, and while you’re at it, take a seat. You standing by the door is starting to make me nervous.”

“I didn’t think anything could make the Great Terrence Glover nervous?”

“I’m not feeling all that great today,” Terrence quietly admitted. In fact, he hadn’t been feeling great since the war started. He had lost so many friends along the way, the closest being Lt. Dryer, Lt. Commander Bheto, and now Pedro. When was it going to end?

“Sir, we’re at war, and unfortunately these things happen.”

“I’m not a child Doctor!” Glover snapped.

“Neither am I,” she riposted, “And I would prefer that you not talk to me like one.” Glover was impressed by the woman’s fire.

“I…apologize,” he said. “I’m…not on top of my game today.”

“That’s understandable,” Cole said softly, and Glover knew that she meant it. She did understand. Working as a medic, she dealt with life and death situations even more than Terrence did sitting in the command chair. She probably knew loss better than anyone on board. He wished she was the counselor instead of Ellan. The gregarious Deltan was too emotive and grabby for Terrence’s comfort. He had done the perfunctory session and psych review after admitting he wanted to throttle Gralf in the conference room.

Terrence wouldn’t know if Ellan was going to report the incident to the higher-ups or not. He certainly didn’t feel unstable, or a risk to his crew and if the counselor put some garbage like that in his report Glover would fit it with every ounce of strength he could muster. But at the moment he didn’t care.

The Cuffe was scheduled for significant repairs, and he was going to escort Pedro back home in one of the starship’s shuttles. He would learn of his fate when he got back.

“I see that Gralf is taking a leave of absence,” Cole said. Glover raised an eyebrow.

“Oh.”

“Please don’t be coy with me sir. I had to give him a check-up before he disembarked.”

“Had to?” Cole merely shrugged and smiled, but Glover wasn’t amused. “If you wanted to dig for information Doctor, you could’ve come to me.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Though Terrence should’ve been pissed by her insolence, the challenging stance she took made him smirk. Before Dr. Nemato, the Cuffe’s former Chief Medic had taken a position at Starfleet Medical, he had recommended Cole to replace him. The Antosian had promised Glover that she was tougher than she looked, and once again Nemato had been right.

“Yes, Lt. Ellan thought it would be best if we both took some time away from the ship, but the only time I’m leaving this vessel is for Pedro’s funeral. Operations officers are easier to replace than starship captains.”

“Gralf doesn’t deserve that,” Dr. Cole said with a scowl. “I don’t know much about him, but by almost every measure he is more than competent. Am I incorrect?”

“No,” Glover grumbled, after a long pause. “He’s…a good officer.”

“An officer so committed to protecting your life that he was willing to sacrifice his career, or even worse, incur your wrath,” the medic concluded. “He deserves some understanding from you.”

“I understand what he did!” Glover gasped, exasperated. He threw up his hands. “And I know he’s a good officer damn it. I wouldn’t have selected him if he hadn’t been. It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about…Terrence,” Cole said quietly, without accusation. She leaned forward, peering deeply into his eyes. “You can tell me.”

The captain sighed. “He…Gralf, he didn’t trust me,” Glover said, his voice cracking. “He didn’t trust in my ability to make everything all right. He didn’t even give me the chance to attempt to save Pedro. He capriciously made the decision for me.”

“He took power away from you, that’s what it’s about, isn’t it?”

“No,” Glover shook his head. “It isn’t about me.” He paused, an askew grin formed across his face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Dr. Cole chuckled, “Neither can I.”

“But I’m serious. It isn’t about me. I could’ve done something to help Pedro, and Gralf stopped me. He didn’t trust me and I no longer trust him.”

“Believe me captain there’s nothing you could’ve done. Death was instantaneous. There’s no way Lt. Commander Rojas could’ve predicted the volatile mix would explode, or when. Gralf saved your life.”

Glover grunted, and looked away for a long time. Eventually he turned back around, “That’s cold comfort.”

“No, that’s survivor’s guilt talking,” Rieta replied.

“Ellan tried to lay the same line on me,” Glover said. “I wasn’t in the mood for psychobabble then and I’m not in the mood for it now.”

“I’m not here to analyze you; I’m here to…to be a friend.”

“Okay,” Terrence shrugged, noncommittal.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm.” The drollness had returned. “It looks like this is going to be a long trip.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m accompanying you and Lieutenants Rojas, Verda, and the others to New Milan,” Dr. Cole said, matter of fact, “If you don’t mind of course.”

“Well…I…,” Glover stammered, not sure what to say. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Dr. Cole said. “Pedro really helped make my transition to the Cuffe far easier than it could’ve been, especially in wartime. It’s the least I could do to accompany him home.”

“Thank you,” Glover smiled, his eyes glistening. Dr. Cole got up from the couch and squeezed his shoulder. A jolt ran through his system. He scooted back in his chair and Rieta stepped away from him. They both looked at each other.

“I…I have some reports to finish up in Sickbay, I better get back there,” Cole said quickly.

“Okay,” Glover said. Cole backed out of the room, Terrence watching her leave. Alone again, he turned back to the blank screen. Someone had stepped up for him in his hour of need, he realized. It just hadn’t been his wife.
********************************************************************

 

[DarKush]

********************************************************************
Starbase 116
Main Concourse
Late November 2375

Captain Terrence Glover pushed through the bustling crowds. He approached the slender man perched at the metallic railing running the length of the corridor. The Efrosian was staring down into the station’s main core from the railing, his back to Glover. For a few seconds, Terrence thought about startling the man in jest, but then decided not to. Instead he cleared his throat and trumpeted, “Captain Rahul, it’s good to see you.”

The man turned around slowly, and his smile was even slower, but no less heartfelt, “Captain Glover, likewise.” The two men clasped hands. “How is your father?” Rahul asked.

“He’s doing well,” Glover remarked. Rahul was the last man to serve as his father’s Executive Officer on Deep Space 3 before it was destroyed in the last Borg incursion two years ago. Since then Rahul had been promoted to command, with Admiral Glover’s blessing.

“Admiral Glover’s working as a liaison on the Romulan front,” Terrence added. Samson Glover was one of the Federation’s foremost Romulan experts, and had even written two well regarded tomes on the Earth-Romulan War and the Tomed Incident.

“I’m sure that the admiral’s knowledge of the Star Empire will be of great value to both Starfleet and the Imperial Navy,” Rahul said, before lowering his voice to add, “I just wish I could be accorded the same courtesy here.”

Glover stepped beside the man, placing his hands on a part of the railing as he leaned close to him. “Sub-Admiral Hesporian doesn’t appear to be one that countenances advice easy,” he said.

Rahul stroked his drooping white mustache, a devilish twinkling in his pale blue eyes, “An understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”

“In the interest of maintaining the alliance we have to give the Romulans command of some of our forces,” Glover conceded.

“Too bad, it’s this mission, with my crew’s lives on the line,” Rahul replied with a scowl. “Don’t get me wrong Captain Glover. Sub-Admiral Hesporian is a highly decorated officer. She’s been in countless scrapes in her storied career and come out on the winning side more often than not. However, I think her leadership style is a mismatch for our current mission.”

“How so?” Terrence asked, genuinely curious. Dozens of starships swarmed around the starbase, with many taskforces assigned to different missions. Glover’s ship, the Cuffe, had been assigned to transport weapons to the nascent Cardassian resistance being led by Legate Damar. The starship had recently been cleared to return to active duty, and Command had decided to break her in with a relatively easy mission. He didn’t know anything about Rahul’s assignment, except that Romulan and Alshain forces were involved, which made it a big deal.

“I can’t divulge too many details, but it involves the ketracel white facility in the Negation Expanse.”

“Say no more,” Glover said, remembering the patch of space. It was an anomaly littered expanse on the far side of Alshain space. From what Terrence had gleaned from reports supplied by Lt. Commander Pell Ojana, who was serving onboard the Chevalier, the ship that had been instrumental in bringing the Alshain Exarchate into the war, the Alshain had ceded the expanse to the Son’a decades ago, and the Son’a had turned it into one of the biggest ketracel white production facilities in the quadrant. The Son’a Imperium had largely done so with impunity due to the support they once enjoyed from the Alshain Starforce and the natural buffers provided by the negative energy filaments spread throughout the reach.

“I will say that where we are going will require some adaptability due to potential unpredictable conditions, and flexibility isn’t a trait the sub-admiral seems to possess much of,” Rahul sourly surmised. “The only bright spot so far is that I’ve petitioned the Alshain to allow us to collect sensor data along our journey, and inside the Negation Expanse itself.”

“Did they agree?” Terrence asked.

“Negotiations are still ongoing,” Rahul admitted, his joy flickering.

“They still don’t quite trust us, do they?” Glover asked.

“Our previous alliance with the Son’a doesn’t help matters,” The Efrosian glumly replied.

“But we learned our lesson,” Glover leaned forward and said more softly, “Far sooner than they did it seemed.” The Efrosian merely nodded. The Alshain and Son’a had been allies for decades, until the new Alshain monarch, Jedalla, had sought to reverse their creeping dominion over his people. The Son’a had latched on to the fading Exarchate and used them as a buffer against larger powers, Jedalla had charged. But Glover agreed that the Son’a had attempted a similar kind of parasitic relationship with the Federation, and once that hadn’t worked, the Son’a had switched allegiances to the Dominion.

Now they were using their skills at manufacturing ketracel-white not only to flood the quadrant with illegal narcotics but to provide the Dominion’s Jem’Hadar shock troops vital nourishment. As a point of pride, Jedalla wanted to reclaim the system, and military necessity demanded that the Allies eliminate a major piece of the Dominion war machine. Without sufficient quantities of the white, the Jem’Hadar soldiers would go insane and then die. Crippling production of ketracel-white could save millions of lives. Plus, after the attack on Earth and the slaughter at Chin’toka, the Allies needed a major victory.

Heavy clanking drew the two men’s attention back to the concourse. A path was made for heavily-armored Alshain warriors. The hirsute lupanoids loomed over everyone, drawing looks of fascination and fear from the throng. Adding to the unusual site was the steel gray-haired, lean Romulan woman at the head of the group. “Hesporian?” Glover whispered, and Rahul nodded.

“Running weapons sounds like a walk in the park compared to what you’re going to have to deal with,” Terrence said, only half-teasing. Rahul’s face twisted in displeasure.
“Don’t remind me,” he sighed. Glover clapped the man’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Terrence replied, “I’m sure you were picked because of your level-headedness. Just make sure you don’t allow Hesporian to get under your skin.”

“Too late,” Rahul replied. “You sure you don’t want to switch?” Glover pondered the question for a few seconds. In actuality, he would like to switch. He was certain that Rahul’s taskforce would encounter Dominion forces, whereas that probability was up in the air for his more clandestine mission. And Glover wanted to take down as many Jem’Hadar as possible for Pedro, who had recently given his life at Chin’toka. Whenever he thought about his dead friend, and so many others who had lost their lives due to the Dominion, hatred flowed like lava through his veins. He just didn’t want to defeat the Dominion; he wanted to punish them, to hurt them like they had hurt others, like they had hurt him.

“Captain Glover, are you okay?” Rahul asked. Terrence shook his head, though he couldn’t quite shake free from his rage.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly, nearly choking on his anger. “Just give those Jem’Hadar bastards Hell for me,” he said. “Make them remember Chin’toka.” His voice nearly choked as memories of Pedro continued to chip away at him.

Rahul nodded, his expression growing grim. “I’ll do my best to make sure they remember during the few seconds of life they will have left.”

Terrence clapped the man’s back again. “Sounds good to me,” he replied. “Do you have time for a drink before you disembark?”

“Unfortunately no,” Rahul replied. “I have some diagnostic reports I need to read.”
“Oh well,” Terrence said. “We’ll toss back a couple when you get back.”

Rahul nodded. “That sounds like a plan.” The Efrosian pushed back from the railing. “Make sure to tell your father I said hello,” he said before merging into the bustle.

“Will do,” Glover remarked, but Rahul had already disappeared.
*******************************************************************

 

[CeJay]

Sometimes I tend to forget all the bad things Terrence Glover has been through. The guy is still an arrogant, self-absorbed jerk at times (most times) but sometimes you understand why. He's just not getting enough lovin' from the old lady ...

And now it seems he has his mind set on revenge. That could go quite badly, I predict.

 

[BrotherBenny]

Badly for the Dominion, yes, and for any of his people who get in the way.

If there's one thing I've learned writing within the UTverse, it's that we tend to put our captains and their senior officers through hell. If the Enterprise officers went through a tenth of what we put our guys through, they'd lose their minds.