Otherworld
Ensign
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The Tchaikovsky purred seamlessly as the runabout dropped from warp. Harrison Mueller had just given himself injections of hyronalyn and acinolyathin from the replicator. He was enjoying the remainder of the ride with his head lulled back against the seat and his eyes closed. The half-hour stint in a clinic before this trip had been the modestly embarrassing result of an aggresively-needed shore leave. The fog of the resulting hangover, began to lift.
He’d been culled from the Academy his senior year for a post on one of the newer Axis-Class border cutters. The Admiralty had given him a week to get his affairs in order, say his goodbyes and enjoy a few days on shore leave before commiting himself to three years out of touch with family and friends in the Beta Quadrant. He’d rendezvous with the U.S.S. Exeter-C at Litvok Nor upon completion of Liberty, to begin his tour of duty.
The Tchaikovsky’s pilot was a sculpted Bolian named Telsa, wearing a pea soup green variant Starfleet uniform tunic. The other passenger wore a tan Corp of Engineers’ uniform that had definitely seen better days. The Tellarite engineer set down his home-made tool belt on the deck, just to the starboard of Mueller’s chair by the boarding hatch, and introduced himself as Commander Malsh.
Despite the recent war, Betazed still had the best recreation amenities. Liberties were coming up increasingly few and far between, the way the Dominion War had settled things. He’d had his fill of attending memorials, getting probed by doctors or badgered by counselors. He’d decided to remain in seclusion for the remainder of his free time. Unfortunately, Life (and Starfleet Command,) had other ideas.
Mueller thought about settling on Betazed permanently. The hostess who’d brought him his meals at the restaurant certainly wasn’t difficult to imagine looking-at, the rest of his life. He’d spent a few of the nights on Liberty with the same local girl.
A week of paradise, about to be lost. She’d taken him to see the fireworks shows. Her mother liked him. They’d tried as politely as possible to sneak away after being inundated with Jeanette’s baby pictures and questions about his background. In the meantime, everyone had begun hearing about the disappearance of the Titan near Romulus with all hands.
In addition to the disappearance of the Titan, things had become exponentially worse between Vulcan & Romulus. Ambassador Spock had been assasinated at a Peace Rally. The Remans were demanding a continent of their own on Romulus or sufficient supplies to begin a successful colony. A lot of off-worlders had run into problems stemming from the annihilation of the Maquis and the recovering public support for Terra Prime.
Centuries-old animosities had been rejuvinated via the outer worlds. A significant number of the back-water worlds most affected by the Dominion War were unappologetically thinking about (or acting on,) secession from the Federation to the T’zin-kethi, Klingon Empire, Tholians, Cardassian Union, or Romulan Star Empire.
The Tchaikovsky slowed to a halt. Telsa summoned Malsh into the cockpit. Nervous chatter in the cockpit began aggravating Mueller’s ability to relax. The Tellarite engineer lept from his position and yanked the thirty-two year old medic out of his chair by his collar.
“Get to tactical!” Harrison complied, realizing that the shit was about to hit the fan in a huge way as soon as he saw the vessel heading straight for them through the windshield.
A series of ships were making strenuous efforts to destroy each other. Miranda-Class versus Sovereign-Class. Constitution-Class versus D’Kyr-Class. A Tellarite destroyer had turned its attention on the runabout from a defeated Constellation-Class derelict. It would be ten seconds until the runabout was in their weapons’ range.
The Bolian was sweating profusely, her fingers skittered across the flight operations panel.
“One one two mark one three. Closing at maximum impulse.”
Mueller added, “Re-routing emergency power from life support, replicators and long-range sensors to the warp-drive, weapons and shields. Shields up. Setting frequencies to infinity modulation program. Phasers online . Configuring aft launcher for microtorpedoes.”
“Get us the hell out of here!” Malsh bellowed from Engineering.
“Can’t we take some lifeboats under tractor-beam?”
“Not nearly enough time or power. That Tellarite ship will vaporize us before we reach Jupiter Station.”
Telsa’s agile ministrations had deftly twisted the runabout back out of the center of the confrontation at two-thirds impulse. Once she’d gotten the ship & her crew clear of the Vulcan system, jumped to warp four. The Tellarite cruiser decided to break off pursuit as another vessel began firing on it, pounding its ventral port shields. According to the transponder code on Mueller’s display, their saviour was the Trident under the command of Captain Elizabeth Shelby.
“Are you sure they aren’t on our side?”
“In a situation like this, kid -- better to shoot first & ask questions later. Aim for these spots.”
Muller opened-fire as instructed, guiding their weapons to unguarded gashes located at the stem of a nacelle strut. The Tellarite vessel lost its port nacelle entirely as the Trident had decided to fire upon that same spot. They’d evaded certain death for the moment. Telsa brought the runabout back on its original course for Earth and didn’t spare the horses.
The Trident was lost moments later in a spectacular series of flashes. A refit Excelsior-Class ship dropped from high impulse, discharging its secondary deflectors in addition to its’ standard weapons. Its’ torpoedoes tore right through the Trident’s engineering hull as Shelby ordered an emergency saucer separation. The saucer took heavy damage from the initial explosion of its drive section, (in addition to the direct-hit by the Excelsior’s secondary deflector pulses.)
The saucer section of the Trident cranked end over end, before its’ impulse engines finally blew-up.
Telsa had cloaked the runabout, concealled themselves in the water and set them down just a few dozen feet from the west end of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was late evening, just after dinner according to the Starfleet Headquarters’ chronometer. People were frantically trying to locate their home-groups and save what they could of their former lives. Airtrams and civilian craft struggled not to crash into each other in the contest to clear a war zone.
Starfleet Officers were firing every variety of directed-energy weapon at one another, if they weren’t fighting for their lives in hand-to-hand combat. Muller went with Telsa to ascertain exactly what started the fighting – and who, if anyone, was still in charge. Bodies and vehicles, broken windows, stores’ merchandise, and personal possessions littered the street. Red Cross Workers and Starfleet Medical personnel were tending to civilians and getting the deserving into shelters.
Air Raid sirens reverberated through empty neighborhoods. Crying, and yelling of people trying to bargain with those whose rage couldn’t or wouldn’t be reasoned with. The twisted light of burning buildings caressed wildly out-of-control black clouds. Mueller and Telsa materialized just outside Sarek Hall, the main auditorium where people were gathering to organize with the community. They’d left Malsh aboard the runabout, just in case they needed to transport out again on short notice.
“Star Trek: The Continuing Mission”
“After Earth”
Stardate:
61574.3
Old Calendar Date:
Saturday February 9 2380
Chapter One
He’d been culled from the Academy his senior year for a post on one of the newer Axis-Class border cutters. The Admiralty had given him a week to get his affairs in order, say his goodbyes and enjoy a few days on shore leave before commiting himself to three years out of touch with family and friends in the Beta Quadrant. He’d rendezvous with the U.S.S. Exeter-C at Litvok Nor upon completion of Liberty, to begin his tour of duty.
The Tchaikovsky’s pilot was a sculpted Bolian named Telsa, wearing a pea soup green variant Starfleet uniform tunic. The other passenger wore a tan Corp of Engineers’ uniform that had definitely seen better days. The Tellarite engineer set down his home-made tool belt on the deck, just to the starboard of Mueller’s chair by the boarding hatch, and introduced himself as Commander Malsh.
Despite the recent war, Betazed still had the best recreation amenities. Liberties were coming up increasingly few and far between, the way the Dominion War had settled things. He’d had his fill of attending memorials, getting probed by doctors or badgered by counselors. He’d decided to remain in seclusion for the remainder of his free time. Unfortunately, Life (and Starfleet Command,) had other ideas.
Mueller thought about settling on Betazed permanently. The hostess who’d brought him his meals at the restaurant certainly wasn’t difficult to imagine looking-at, the rest of his life. He’d spent a few of the nights on Liberty with the same local girl.
A week of paradise, about to be lost. She’d taken him to see the fireworks shows. Her mother liked him. They’d tried as politely as possible to sneak away after being inundated with Jeanette’s baby pictures and questions about his background. In the meantime, everyone had begun hearing about the disappearance of the Titan near Romulus with all hands.
In addition to the disappearance of the Titan, things had become exponentially worse between Vulcan & Romulus. Ambassador Spock had been assasinated at a Peace Rally. The Remans were demanding a continent of their own on Romulus or sufficient supplies to begin a successful colony. A lot of off-worlders had run into problems stemming from the annihilation of the Maquis and the recovering public support for Terra Prime.
Centuries-old animosities had been rejuvinated via the outer worlds. A significant number of the back-water worlds most affected by the Dominion War were unappologetically thinking about (or acting on,) secession from the Federation to the T’zin-kethi, Klingon Empire, Tholians, Cardassian Union, or Romulan Star Empire.
The Tchaikovsky slowed to a halt. Telsa summoned Malsh into the cockpit. Nervous chatter in the cockpit began aggravating Mueller’s ability to relax. The Tellarite engineer lept from his position and yanked the thirty-two year old medic out of his chair by his collar.
“Get to tactical!” Harrison complied, realizing that the shit was about to hit the fan in a huge way as soon as he saw the vessel heading straight for them through the windshield.
A series of ships were making strenuous efforts to destroy each other. Miranda-Class versus Sovereign-Class. Constitution-Class versus D’Kyr-Class. A Tellarite destroyer had turned its attention on the runabout from a defeated Constellation-Class derelict. It would be ten seconds until the runabout was in their weapons’ range.
The Bolian was sweating profusely, her fingers skittered across the flight operations panel.
“One one two mark one three. Closing at maximum impulse.”
Mueller added, “Re-routing emergency power from life support, replicators and long-range sensors to the warp-drive, weapons and shields. Shields up. Setting frequencies to infinity modulation program. Phasers online . Configuring aft launcher for microtorpedoes.”
“Get us the hell out of here!” Malsh bellowed from Engineering.
“Can’t we take some lifeboats under tractor-beam?”
“Not nearly enough time or power. That Tellarite ship will vaporize us before we reach Jupiter Station.”
Telsa’s agile ministrations had deftly twisted the runabout back out of the center of the confrontation at two-thirds impulse. Once she’d gotten the ship & her crew clear of the Vulcan system, jumped to warp four. The Tellarite cruiser decided to break off pursuit as another vessel began firing on it, pounding its ventral port shields. According to the transponder code on Mueller’s display, their saviour was the Trident under the command of Captain Elizabeth Shelby.
“Are you sure they aren’t on our side?”
“In a situation like this, kid -- better to shoot first & ask questions later. Aim for these spots.”
Muller opened-fire as instructed, guiding their weapons to unguarded gashes located at the stem of a nacelle strut. The Tellarite vessel lost its port nacelle entirely as the Trident had decided to fire upon that same spot. They’d evaded certain death for the moment. Telsa brought the runabout back on its original course for Earth and didn’t spare the horses.
The Trident was lost moments later in a spectacular series of flashes. A refit Excelsior-Class ship dropped from high impulse, discharging its secondary deflectors in addition to its’ standard weapons. Its’ torpoedoes tore right through the Trident’s engineering hull as Shelby ordered an emergency saucer separation. The saucer took heavy damage from the initial explosion of its drive section, (in addition to the direct-hit by the Excelsior’s secondary deflector pulses.)
The saucer section of the Trident cranked end over end, before its’ impulse engines finally blew-up.
Telsa had cloaked the runabout, concealled themselves in the water and set them down just a few dozen feet from the west end of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was late evening, just after dinner according to the Starfleet Headquarters’ chronometer. People were frantically trying to locate their home-groups and save what they could of their former lives. Airtrams and civilian craft struggled not to crash into each other in the contest to clear a war zone.
Starfleet Officers were firing every variety of directed-energy weapon at one another, if they weren’t fighting for their lives in hand-to-hand combat. Muller went with Telsa to ascertain exactly what started the fighting – and who, if anyone, was still in charge. Bodies and vehicles, broken windows, stores’ merchandise, and personal possessions littered the street. Red Cross Workers and Starfleet Medical personnel were tending to civilians and getting the deserving into shelters.
Air Raid sirens reverberated through empty neighborhoods. Crying, and yelling of people trying to bargain with those whose rage couldn’t or wouldn’t be reasoned with. The twisted light of burning buildings caressed wildly out-of-control black clouds. Mueller and Telsa materialized just outside Sarek Hall, the main auditorium where people were gathering to organize with the community. They’d left Malsh aboard the runabout, just in case they needed to transport out again on short notice.
