Thank you CeJay! Indeed the end is nigh, but is it the end of the story or The End for Atlas?
Stay tuned...
Stay tuned...
Something of a gift!
- Thread starter unusualsuspex
- Start date
Chapter Sixteen
Turner gave two sharp tugs on the umbilical that connected him to the crewman above. He then pulled twice more so that he would be aware that this was genuinely the signal that Turner was ready to commence the separation.
Up above, the crewman turned in the lit corridor and raised a thumb to the final link in the chain, the engineer who waited in the pressurised corridor. The engineer disappeared from view for a short period then reappeared in the door port and returned the thumbs up signal.
The crewman at the access door took a firm hold on the umbilical and tugged twice, then twice more.
Turner felt the tug, closed his eyes and thumbed the sequencer. As soon as he saw the numbers begin to scroll in countdown mode, he stood and ran for his life.
“Bridge, this is Crewman Wallace. Ensign Turner reports ready for the separation.”
DeVille knew this could be the factor that may well decide their fate and hesitated a moment to look around the bridge. All the crew returned his gaze with steadfast expressions with the exception of Skell who appeared to all intents and purposes to be in a state of meditation. Communing with the Captain? DeVille wondered. He could only hope that whatever it was, separating the cargo container was the right thing to do because time had now run out.
He depressed the button on the arm of the seat. “Wallace, everything is ready here. Signal Mr Turner to proceed.”
“Aye Sir.”
He toggled the circuit closed and faced the helm. “Viewscreen aft, standby for half impulse on my mark.”
“Viewscreen aft, half impulse on standby Sir,” responded Garvey crisply. To his credit it seemed that any nerves he may have had earlier had been pushed aside.
DeVille stood from the centre seat and made his way to stand between the helm and ops stations, placing a steadying hand on Garvey’s shoulder and eyeing the viewscreen intently.
Any second now…
It was then that he felt the faintest of tremors through the bridge deck plates. On the viewscreen, a small cloud of metallic fragments and released gases expanded from between the connecting plate and container two. Beyond appeared a slowly increasing slice of deep space visible between the two.
“MARK!”
Aster realised that the gloom appeared to be fading, but that seemed to be a result of the world around her taking on a spectral appearance rather than an increase in the ambient light. The table and chairs began to become paler, growing fainter before her mental eyes and the steep, snowy slopes of her imaginary Switzerland started to blend into the homogenous white that she had first noted on her ‘awakening’.
Suddenly afraid that she would become lost once again in the all-encompassing white out, she reached for the bell. To her horror, her fingers passed through it leaving just a faint chill as if her fingers had trailed through ice water.
Skell! SKELL!
Turner felt the shortest lag in the inertial dampers but knew instantly that the ship was moving. He swung on to the rungs of the lower ladder that led up into the plate control room and ascended rapidly ensuring that the umbilical cord was clear of his feet. Up above he could see the crewman at the decompression hatch holding out a hand ready to help him the last few feet.
As he made his way across the litter and debris strewn control room, he grinned to himself. We did it Lieutenant! We did…
He never completed the thought as the floor of the control room rushed upwards. His last sight was the deck swiftly rising towards his face and then the lights flickered out.
Convinced that Atlas was free of the container, DeVille had returned to the centre seat. He barely managed to sit when the ship was thrust upwards, this time with much greater force than the initial upsurge that had caused so much damage.
As he pulled himself groggily to his feet, he knew with the heart of an engineer that the damage to the bridge was extensive. The helm and ops console were dark as were many of the others that surrounded the upper level. Of those that still showed any sign of activity at all, most were flickering and many were sparking and issuing smoke.
“Damage report!” DeVille coughed as he breathed in acrid fumes that the circulators couldn’t cope with. Silence was his only answer and as he peered through the thick chemical haze he began to understand why. Apart from himself, none of the bridge crew was rising from their sprawled positions.
He rose unsteadily and began to make a tour of the crippled bridge. Starting in the command well, he placed his fingers against the neck of Garvey and was rewarded with the feel of a weak and thready pulse. When he turned his attention to Myran at ops however, he knew that checking for a pulse was pointless; the jagged edge of dermaplast that protruded obscenely from her neck had barely given her time to register a shocked expression.
He gently closed her eyes and then returned his attention to the rest of the bridge crew. Of the nine personnel other than himself present on the bridge, five were already dead and two appeared critically injured. Quickly returning to the centre seat, he depressed the button to connect him to sickbay and prayed that it was still active.
A squawk of electronic static was quickly replaced by the voice of Marriott. In the background he heard the sound of controlled chaos.
“Doctor, I need a team to the bridge as soon as possible.”
Marriott delayed her response just long enough to dispatch a med team before returning to the comm.
“What hit us Commander?”
DeVille sighed and replied that as yet he didn’t know. “What casualties do we have so far?”
There was silence for a moment and DeVille imagined the doctor mentally calculating the cost of the mission in lives.
“So far, twelve dead, thirty seven badly injured.”
The terse report shocked him but strangely made his next decision easier.
“Jenny, I want you to prepare the critical patients for abandoning ship. Whatever hit us is likely to be just the start. I won’t risk any more lives.”
“Understood Commander. Sickbay out.”
DeVille disconnected from sickbay and took a deep breath before toggling open the shipwide system. Although his decision was already made, it still seemed surreal to be broadcasting the one command he never expected he would have to make.
“All hands, this is Commander DeVille. Abandon ship I say again, abandon ship. This is not a drill.”
SIXTEEN
Up above, the crewman turned in the lit corridor and raised a thumb to the final link in the chain, the engineer who waited in the pressurised corridor. The engineer disappeared from view for a short period then reappeared in the door port and returned the thumbs up signal.
The crewman at the access door took a firm hold on the umbilical and tugged twice, then twice more.
Turner felt the tug, closed his eyes and thumbed the sequencer. As soon as he saw the numbers begin to scroll in countdown mode, he stood and ran for his life.
* * *
DeVille knew this could be the factor that may well decide their fate and hesitated a moment to look around the bridge. All the crew returned his gaze with steadfast expressions with the exception of Skell who appeared to all intents and purposes to be in a state of meditation. Communing with the Captain? DeVille wondered. He could only hope that whatever it was, separating the cargo container was the right thing to do because time had now run out.
He depressed the button on the arm of the seat. “Wallace, everything is ready here. Signal Mr Turner to proceed.”
“Aye Sir.”
He toggled the circuit closed and faced the helm. “Viewscreen aft, standby for half impulse on my mark.”
“Viewscreen aft, half impulse on standby Sir,” responded Garvey crisply. To his credit it seemed that any nerves he may have had earlier had been pushed aside.
DeVille stood from the centre seat and made his way to stand between the helm and ops stations, placing a steadying hand on Garvey’s shoulder and eyeing the viewscreen intently.
Any second now…
It was then that he felt the faintest of tremors through the bridge deck plates. On the viewscreen, a small cloud of metallic fragments and released gases expanded from between the connecting plate and container two. Beyond appeared a slowly increasing slice of deep space visible between the two.
“MARK!”
* * *
Suddenly afraid that she would become lost once again in the all-encompassing white out, she reached for the bell. To her horror, her fingers passed through it leaving just a faint chill as if her fingers had trailed through ice water.
Skell! SKELL!
* * *
As he made his way across the litter and debris strewn control room, he grinned to himself. We did it Lieutenant! We did…
He never completed the thought as the floor of the control room rushed upwards. His last sight was the deck swiftly rising towards his face and then the lights flickered out.
* * *
As he pulled himself groggily to his feet, he knew with the heart of an engineer that the damage to the bridge was extensive. The helm and ops console were dark as were many of the others that surrounded the upper level. Of those that still showed any sign of activity at all, most were flickering and many were sparking and issuing smoke.
“Damage report!” DeVille coughed as he breathed in acrid fumes that the circulators couldn’t cope with. Silence was his only answer and as he peered through the thick chemical haze he began to understand why. Apart from himself, none of the bridge crew was rising from their sprawled positions.
He rose unsteadily and began to make a tour of the crippled bridge. Starting in the command well, he placed his fingers against the neck of Garvey and was rewarded with the feel of a weak and thready pulse. When he turned his attention to Myran at ops however, he knew that checking for a pulse was pointless; the jagged edge of dermaplast that protruded obscenely from her neck had barely given her time to register a shocked expression.
He gently closed her eyes and then returned his attention to the rest of the bridge crew. Of the nine personnel other than himself present on the bridge, five were already dead and two appeared critically injured. Quickly returning to the centre seat, he depressed the button to connect him to sickbay and prayed that it was still active.
A squawk of electronic static was quickly replaced by the voice of Marriott. In the background he heard the sound of controlled chaos.
“Doctor, I need a team to the bridge as soon as possible.”
Marriott delayed her response just long enough to dispatch a med team before returning to the comm.
“What hit us Commander?”
DeVille sighed and replied that as yet he didn’t know. “What casualties do we have so far?”
There was silence for a moment and DeVille imagined the doctor mentally calculating the cost of the mission in lives.
“So far, twelve dead, thirty seven badly injured.”
The terse report shocked him but strangely made his next decision easier.
“Jenny, I want you to prepare the critical patients for abandoning ship. Whatever hit us is likely to be just the start. I won’t risk any more lives.”
“Understood Commander. Sickbay out.”
DeVille disconnected from sickbay and took a deep breath before toggling open the shipwide system. Although his decision was already made, it still seemed surreal to be broadcasting the one command he never expected he would have to make.
“All hands, this is Commander DeVille. Abandon ship I say again, abandon ship. This is not a drill.”
dude...that was awesome
Chapter Seventeen
Throughout the crippled ship, crew-members shut down their workstations and began to quickly make their way towards E Deck where the ship’s complement of escape pods was stationed around the saucer’s rim.
Unlike most other Starfleet vessels of similar size, the Ptolemy class had no secondary hull and consequently carried approximately half the number of personnel a cruiser or science vessel might. However, even taking into account the fatalities that had occurred it still left just short of 200 personnel to evacuate.
Jenny Marriott had just finished securing Captain Aster to the antigrav gurney. Her vitals still showed extremely low readings and her appearance was ghost-like in the dim lighting. Marriott had to wonder whether her enforced movement might not be the final straw for the woman she had served under for six years.
“Doctor?”
Marriott started at the insistent yet gentle intrusion into her thoughts. It had come from Head Nurse T’Mek who waited patiently for Marriott’s attention.
“I’m sorry T’Mek. I’ve never lost a ship before. It’s one of the few grieving processes I never expected to have to undergo.”
The Vulcan cocked her head in silent appraisal of Marriott’s comment.
“There are few Vulcan’s serving with Starfleet at the moment Doctor, but Vulcan has had its own fleet for centuries. Whilst I too have never ‘lost a ship’ as you put it, I can certainly understand how you would grieve its loss. Despite assertions to the contrary Doctor, Vulcans do have emotions. We are simply in better control of them.”
Marriott allowed a small grin to spread on her face. “You might just have said I agree T’Mek.”
“Indeed I could, but I am not sure that would have assuaged your concerns about…”
Marriott held her hand up to forestall any further expounding by the Vulcan and let her smile grow wider. “Let’s just agree that we both hate to see Atlas go and get out of here, yes?”
“As you wish Doctor.” She indicated sickbay and a line of antigrav gurneys. “We have eight gurney confined cases and twenty seven mobile wounded. Nurses Belkind and Corey have already transferred the evac supply units.”
“Thank you T’Mek.” Marriott nodded and disconnected Aster’s antigrav pallet from the fixed stanchion. Taking a firm grip on it, she gave her domain one last wistful inspection before hitting the power disconnect and leaving her sickbay behind forever.
Immediately following DeVille’s ‘abandon ship’ broadcast, Schmitt had spoken with him directly. As per his relayed orders, as each department evacuated their power had been disconnected and re-routed into the shields. Although warp drive was permanently down, impulse was still available at half power. Their defensive weapons had never been tested in anger during the Atlas’s career and would now remain silent for good as they were also now rerouted.
Extra power not directly being fed to the shields was being appropriated to shore up life support on E Deck and the bridge, the only places that would eventually continue to operate.
DeVille had not been specific in his plan of action, merely requesting the power transfers and a rerouting of helm and ops to a single working console on the bridge. His final words had been terse however.
“Once the power shunts are complete, get all your remaining staff to E Deck and I need you to supervise the launches.”
“What about you?” she’d asked.
There had been a short pause before he answered, but it had been long enough to concern Schmitt.
“Don’t worry about me Andrea, I’ve got a couple of things to attend to but I don’t intend to play the hero. Once I’m finished I’ll be out of here.”
“Seriously?” Her reply had contained more irony than she’d intended but DeVille hadn’t seemed to notice.
“Seriously Andrea. I’ll use the command pod and join the rest of you as soon as I’m finished OK? Just make sure that everybody is out.”
She’d thought he was about to sign off but just as she was reaching for the disconnect, she heard his voice.
“Andrea?”
“Yes Tom?”
“Look after them? Godspeed.”
He disconnected for real this time, but she wasn’t sure she would have been able to answer past the lump in her throat.
All across Atlas lights winked out and whole sections descended into darkness. As airtight decompression hatches were closed and sealed, the life support to those sections was terminated and reallocated to the still inhabited areas of the ship. It took less than fifteen minutes for that area to become confined to E Deck and the bridge.
On the main viewscreen, DeVille alternated between entering commands into the console he was working from and counting the e-pods as they scattered like seeds from the saucer’s edge.
As each one flew out into the dark abyss, he knew that the onboard rudimentary AI would shepherd the pods together into a close formation before searching for the nearest point at which they could make landfall or expect rescue.
Neither of those options seemed particularly likely in this weirdly twisting section of the Delta Triangle where even the powerful sensors of a starship could be confused and befuddled, let alone the small elementary sensors packed into an e-pod. With power now diverted from across the almost empty ship, however, DeVille had made a single, concentrated sensor sweep of nearby space. It had revealed what ostensibly appeared to be a marginal Class M planet just over 50,000 kilometres away.
If the sensors were to be believed, it would be at the very limit of the e-pods range but he had instigated a plan that would hopefully improve their chances.
Interestingly, while h had been following the launches onscreen, he’d also noticed that the coloured, intertwining tendrils of energy had withdrawn from the crippled ship and were now tightly weaving a complex pattern around the two containers they had left behind.
Before being reluctantly medevaced from the bridge, Skell had confirmed that the tendrils were an extension of the creature into normal space. Apparently the Captain had insisted, through her mental link with the Vulcan science officer, that the creature was grimly battling its spawning instincts to provide Atlas and its crew whatever chance it could for them to escape.
It would appear, from the visual evidence at least, that so far it was working.
More worryingly, as Skell was at last departing, he’d reported with concern that he had lost contact with the Captain.
DeVille could only put that from his mind now knowing that whatever happened from hereon was subject as much to the whims of a dangerously erratic region of space and a sentient creature at war with its own nature as it was to any plans and schemes he may have devised.
There was only one way to find out.
SEVENTEEN
Unlike most other Starfleet vessels of similar size, the Ptolemy class had no secondary hull and consequently carried approximately half the number of personnel a cruiser or science vessel might. However, even taking into account the fatalities that had occurred it still left just short of 200 personnel to evacuate.
* * *
Jenny Marriott had just finished securing Captain Aster to the antigrav gurney. Her vitals still showed extremely low readings and her appearance was ghost-like in the dim lighting. Marriott had to wonder whether her enforced movement might not be the final straw for the woman she had served under for six years.
“Doctor?”
Marriott started at the insistent yet gentle intrusion into her thoughts. It had come from Head Nurse T’Mek who waited patiently for Marriott’s attention.
“I’m sorry T’Mek. I’ve never lost a ship before. It’s one of the few grieving processes I never expected to have to undergo.”
The Vulcan cocked her head in silent appraisal of Marriott’s comment.
“There are few Vulcan’s serving with Starfleet at the moment Doctor, but Vulcan has had its own fleet for centuries. Whilst I too have never ‘lost a ship’ as you put it, I can certainly understand how you would grieve its loss. Despite assertions to the contrary Doctor, Vulcans do have emotions. We are simply in better control of them.”
Marriott allowed a small grin to spread on her face. “You might just have said I agree T’Mek.”
“Indeed I could, but I am not sure that would have assuaged your concerns about…”
Marriott held her hand up to forestall any further expounding by the Vulcan and let her smile grow wider. “Let’s just agree that we both hate to see Atlas go and get out of here, yes?”
“As you wish Doctor.” She indicated sickbay and a line of antigrav gurneys. “We have eight gurney confined cases and twenty seven mobile wounded. Nurses Belkind and Corey have already transferred the evac supply units.”
“Thank you T’Mek.” Marriott nodded and disconnected Aster’s antigrav pallet from the fixed stanchion. Taking a firm grip on it, she gave her domain one last wistful inspection before hitting the power disconnect and leaving her sickbay behind forever.
* * *
Extra power not directly being fed to the shields was being appropriated to shore up life support on E Deck and the bridge, the only places that would eventually continue to operate.
DeVille had not been specific in his plan of action, merely requesting the power transfers and a rerouting of helm and ops to a single working console on the bridge. His final words had been terse however.
“Once the power shunts are complete, get all your remaining staff to E Deck and I need you to supervise the launches.”
“What about you?” she’d asked.
There had been a short pause before he answered, but it had been long enough to concern Schmitt.
“Don’t worry about me Andrea, I’ve got a couple of things to attend to but I don’t intend to play the hero. Once I’m finished I’ll be out of here.”
“Seriously?” Her reply had contained more irony than she’d intended but DeVille hadn’t seemed to notice.
“Seriously Andrea. I’ll use the command pod and join the rest of you as soon as I’m finished OK? Just make sure that everybody is out.”
She’d thought he was about to sign off but just as she was reaching for the disconnect, she heard his voice.
“Andrea?”
“Yes Tom?”
“Look after them? Godspeed.”
He disconnected for real this time, but she wasn’t sure she would have been able to answer past the lump in her throat.
* * *
All across Atlas lights winked out and whole sections descended into darkness. As airtight decompression hatches were closed and sealed, the life support to those sections was terminated and reallocated to the still inhabited areas of the ship. It took less than fifteen minutes for that area to become confined to E Deck and the bridge.
On the main viewscreen, DeVille alternated between entering commands into the console he was working from and counting the e-pods as they scattered like seeds from the saucer’s edge.
As each one flew out into the dark abyss, he knew that the onboard rudimentary AI would shepherd the pods together into a close formation before searching for the nearest point at which they could make landfall or expect rescue.
Neither of those options seemed particularly likely in this weirdly twisting section of the Delta Triangle where even the powerful sensors of a starship could be confused and befuddled, let alone the small elementary sensors packed into an e-pod. With power now diverted from across the almost empty ship, however, DeVille had made a single, concentrated sensor sweep of nearby space. It had revealed what ostensibly appeared to be a marginal Class M planet just over 50,000 kilometres away.
If the sensors were to be believed, it would be at the very limit of the e-pods range but he had instigated a plan that would hopefully improve their chances.
Interestingly, while h had been following the launches onscreen, he’d also noticed that the coloured, intertwining tendrils of energy had withdrawn from the crippled ship and were now tightly weaving a complex pattern around the two containers they had left behind.
Before being reluctantly medevaced from the bridge, Skell had confirmed that the tendrils were an extension of the creature into normal space. Apparently the Captain had insisted, through her mental link with the Vulcan science officer, that the creature was grimly battling its spawning instincts to provide Atlas and its crew whatever chance it could for them to escape.
It would appear, from the visual evidence at least, that so far it was working.
More worryingly, as Skell was at last departing, he’d reported with concern that he had lost contact with the Captain.
DeVille could only put that from his mind now knowing that whatever happened from hereon was subject as much to the whims of a dangerously erratic region of space and a sentient creature at war with its own nature as it was to any plans and schemes he may have devised.
There was only one way to find out.
Chapter Eighteen
Andrea Schmitt was, and always had been, a loyal and conscientious officer. As a Starfleet brat to a family whose lives were entrenched in fleet tradition and honour, she had never before questioned a senior officer’s orders. And yet here she was packing the last of the evacuees into their pod and knowing that she wouldn’t be joining their exodus.
She helped to slide the Captain’s gurney into the retaining clamps that would secure it during their flight from the ship and turned to Marriott.
“Jenny, you’re in charge during my absence.”
Marriott eyed her suspiciously. “You make it sound like you’re playing hooky Andrea but I know it’s a damn sight more serious than that. What’s going on?”
Schmitt let out a deep sigh. “My dad always told me never to lie to a doctor.”
“Well at least somebody has respect for the medical profession,” snorted Marriott.
“Actually,” she grinned, “it was less respect than suspicion. He said he’d never known a doctor who couldn’t read your mind so lying was pointless.”
“Ooh, physician heal thyself.” Marriott clutched at her heart before her demeanour became serious once more. “So you’re staying with the Commander.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Jenny, I have to.” Schmitt’s shoulders slumped and her hands waved ineffectually at the air. “I don’t know why but something just tells me he’ll need help.”
Marriott took her by the shoulders and, with typical gallows humour, said, “Make sure you stay alive so I can represent you at the court martial ok?”
Schmitt took her into a tight hug before ushering the Doctor into the final pod and hauling down on the manual release handle. With a wheeze of released hydraulics, the inner door slid shut followed immediately by the outer.
Moments later, a solid thump indicated that Marriott’s pod had been released and Schmitt headed quickly down the radial corridor hoping that she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.
DeVille saw the final pod ejected amidst a fine spray of crystallized atmosphere and watched as it reoriented itself to head towards the flotilla of e-pods that had formed ahead of the ship.
Checking the readouts on his console, he saw that all the power shunts were in place and whatever happened now was in the laps of the Gods. He reached out to tap in the final commands and was shocked to hear the soft German accent of his Chief Engineer surprisingly close by.
“Tom?”
“Andrea? What the hell…”
“I’m assuming we don’t have time to argue over why I’m here, so let’s just accept the fact that I am and argue about it later…please?”
Throughout DeVille’s rapid concoction of the plan he was about to set in motion, the one question he had never been able to answer honestly was if there would ever be a later for him. He certainly had no intention of deliberately sacrificing his life, but the crew would always come first whatever the cost. He was simultaneously angry and touched by Schmitt’s presence and decided there and then that she was right; they could debate the rights and wrongs of her decision afterwards.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he smiled. “You’re a brilliant engineer Andrea but you’re a bloody insubordinate one. Don’t count on me for a glowing reference.” The smile effectively removed the sting from his comment.
“Noted. So what’s the plan Commander?”
He quickly explained his hopes for enhancing the e-pods survival chances and was gratified to see her nodding in appreciation.
“Forgive me for my surprise, but this might just work!”
DeVille shook his head in mock disgust. “Insubordination and sarcasm. Let’s do this before I have to run a drumhead court here.”
Schmitt grimaced before tapping several commands into the console, quickly creating a duplicate setup on the adjacent station.
“I’ll take the helm, you take the rest.” She shrugged at his expression. “It’s your plan. I don’t want to take the blame if it goes wrong that’s all.”
He sat down next to her entering commands of his own before turning to her.
“Thanks Andrea.” Her smile was enough response for now. “Alright half impulse or the best you can give me, heading 012 mark 47.”
“012 Mark 47 aye.”
DeVille knew straight away that the ship was struggling to achieve what he was asking of it simply by the feel of the vibrations through the deck plates, but he didn’t need it to struggle for long.
Reaching out, he entered his own set of commands into the soot covered console and a link was established out to the cargo drone, Delta Two. He plotted a course that would take it back towards the containers they had left far behind and where the creature was even now feeding on the energy contained within the two cargo containers. The drone was surplus to his requirements anyway and it would serve the dual purpose of buying them time as well as feeding the needs of the creature.
Schmitt in the meantime had herded the e-pods together with deft manipulation of the ship’s tractor beam and DeVille slowly brought the remaining cargo drone, Delta One, to a position in front of and slightly below Atlas.
This was the most important part and he prayed silently, as he entered the energy transfer commands, that the conduits would feed power out to the drone cleanly. With the battering that Atlas had taken, it would only take one faulty tap to discharge the funnelled energy directly back into the energy grid. After that…well it wouldn’t matter.
Slowly but surely, the partially drained energy supplies of the drone began to creep into the amber zone on his console and he couldn’t resist a swift punch at the air even if he was tempting the Gods on this one.
“Andrea, monitor the energy transfer to Delta Two please. I need to set up the protocols for the last part.”
Not wasting time on words, she nodded and transferred the protocols to her own station and tweaked them here and there to increase the rate of flow.
DeVille, meanwhile, remotely entered commands into the drone’s own nav and ops computers. When he selected the final go command, the drone would pick up the e-pods and herd them ahead of itself towards the distant planet DeVille had detected. He’d programmed a delay into the command that would enable them to reach the command e-pod and catch up with the small fleet.
“Alright, I’ve given us two minutes for the evac then the drone gets underway with or without us.”
If only they had been able to trust the transporter’s targeting and rematerialization protocols, they could have beamed directly to the drone but having seen the state that the test item had returned in, DeVille had vetoed the idea immediately.
“Energy levels are peaking on the drone Tom, we…”
“Oh my God!”
Schmitt turned to see what had so rattled DeVille and saw that he was gaping wide eyed at the viewscreen. Following his stare, she too uttered a particularly vile Andorian curse. The screen showed an aft view looking back towards the location of the abandoned cargo containers, but dominating them and growing swiftly in size was an obscene flower of brightness.
DeVille was certain that it wasn’t the antimatter. It just didn’t look right. Whatever it was though was blossoming rapidly in all directions. Boiling with fiery reds and yellows it seemed to spark smaller, shorter lived eruptions around its periphery.
“This isn’t good is it?”
DeVille didn’t even think about answering what was obviously a rhetorical question. Instead he hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the kick panel at the rear of the bridge.
“Prep the pod Andrea, I’ll initiate the protocols. Move!”
The deck shuddered beneath her feet as she stumbled around the bridge’s upper level and towards the panel making her slide first one way and then the other before catching a handhold on the bright red railing. Using it as a pivot, she hauled her feet around and landed a sound kick on the panel which fell away to reveal the hatch to the command e-pod just beyond.
“Got it Tom! Come on!”
She split her attention between DeVille’s flying fingers and the growing flower of unimaginable energy that seemed to balloon towards them. Just as she was about to call him again, he finished with a flurry and pulled himself to his feet.
“Get the hatches open Andrea!”
Reaching inside the open panel, she selected the draw down bar and pulled it hard. She suddenly realised that it was the one link in their escape plan that hadn’t been tested until now but chased it from her mind as first the outer and then the inner hatches irised open.
Turning, she reached out to take DeVille’s outstretched hand and was blinded as an explosion of purest white filled the screen.
The antimatter!
Even at extreme range, the blast screamed down upon Atlas and pushed down hard on the tail end of the ship before the inertial dampers could react. Schmitt was thrown backwards into the open hatch of the pod and outside she heard DeVille scream once. It was quickly cut off with a sickening thud.
As her eyesight began to return, she pulled herself up into the hatch and looked out on to the darkened bridge and immediately felt her heart grow cold.
DeVille had been thrown clear across the bridge and struck the railing on the far side. The force had been such that the stanchion supporting the rail had been thrust up and through DeVille’s midriff to protrude in a glistening and growing pool of red.
She was, against all common sense, about to clamber free of the pod to reach him but he shook his head weakly. When he spoke, his voice gurgled as blood red foam flecked his lips.
“Get…out…now Andrea!”
She shook her head, frozen by shock and unable to act on her own screaming instincts for survival.
“ANDREA! GO…NOW!”
It wasn’t anger that raised DeVille’s voice above the sound of groaning that filled the dying ship; it was the sound of pure pleading.
As if his voice had connected directly to her brain’s autonomous motor functions, she fell back into the pod blinded by the flood of tears that had sprung into her eyes, and brought her fist down hard on to the launch panel. Before she could even attempt to grab a hand hold, the pod leaped towards freedom and as her head struck the entrance hatch, she was thrown into merciful darkness.
DeVille saw the light on the hatch frame flicker from red to green and felt himself relax. He was finding it difficult to breathe but, strangely, there was no pain. Turning his attention back to the screen he saw the command e-pod arc around towards the drone and its minnow-like collection of pods. A single beam of hazy blue flickered out to snatch the pod from flight and draw it carefully into the protective group.
It seemed that the drone had fared better than Atlas following the shockwave and as it elongated and vanished into warp, DeVille felt his anchor on consciousness begin to slip.
The screen was filled now with the vast expanse of the astral flower of energy and he knew that within seconds it would be upon him but, in a strange way, he now welcomed it. Flowing around and through the glare, he once again saw the spiralling ribbons of the creature…No, it must have been dozens of them.
Each second, as if appearing from a magician’s brightly coloured cape, the tendrils multiplied and seemed to dance in and out of normal space; a dance of creation, of elation, and DeVille was perhaps the first human ever to witness it.
He felt a profound sadness that he wouldn’t be able to relate the story to somebody else but maybe it would be enough that he had born witness to it.
Reaching out towards the slowly turning shell of Atlas, they caressed the warp nacelles, spiraling and pirouetting around them before climbing the pylons and suffusing the bridge in rainbow arcs of joy.
It was then, in the last moments of his life, that DeVille looked deeply into the cloud that was about to engulf him. What he saw there absurdly reminded of one of his favourite 2D movies that he hadn’t seen in years, and he smiled, tears glistening in his eyes.
My God! he thought, the tears slipping freely down his cheeks,it’s full of stars!
And with a sparkling flash of prismatic colour, his world dissolved.
EIGHTEEN
She helped to slide the Captain’s gurney into the retaining clamps that would secure it during their flight from the ship and turned to Marriott.
“Jenny, you’re in charge during my absence.”
Marriott eyed her suspiciously. “You make it sound like you’re playing hooky Andrea but I know it’s a damn sight more serious than that. What’s going on?”
Schmitt let out a deep sigh. “My dad always told me never to lie to a doctor.”
“Well at least somebody has respect for the medical profession,” snorted Marriott.
“Actually,” she grinned, “it was less respect than suspicion. He said he’d never known a doctor who couldn’t read your mind so lying was pointless.”
“Ooh, physician heal thyself.” Marriott clutched at her heart before her demeanour became serious once more. “So you’re staying with the Commander.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Jenny, I have to.” Schmitt’s shoulders slumped and her hands waved ineffectually at the air. “I don’t know why but something just tells me he’ll need help.”
Marriott took her by the shoulders and, with typical gallows humour, said, “Make sure you stay alive so I can represent you at the court martial ok?”
Schmitt took her into a tight hug before ushering the Doctor into the final pod and hauling down on the manual release handle. With a wheeze of released hydraulics, the inner door slid shut followed immediately by the outer.
Moments later, a solid thump indicated that Marriott’s pod had been released and Schmitt headed quickly down the radial corridor hoping that she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.
* * *
Checking the readouts on his console, he saw that all the power shunts were in place and whatever happened now was in the laps of the Gods. He reached out to tap in the final commands and was shocked to hear the soft German accent of his Chief Engineer surprisingly close by.
“Tom?”
“Andrea? What the hell…”
“I’m assuming we don’t have time to argue over why I’m here, so let’s just accept the fact that I am and argue about it later…please?”
Throughout DeVille’s rapid concoction of the plan he was about to set in motion, the one question he had never been able to answer honestly was if there would ever be a later for him. He certainly had no intention of deliberately sacrificing his life, but the crew would always come first whatever the cost. He was simultaneously angry and touched by Schmitt’s presence and decided there and then that she was right; they could debate the rights and wrongs of her decision afterwards.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he smiled. “You’re a brilliant engineer Andrea but you’re a bloody insubordinate one. Don’t count on me for a glowing reference.” The smile effectively removed the sting from his comment.
“Noted. So what’s the plan Commander?”
He quickly explained his hopes for enhancing the e-pods survival chances and was gratified to see her nodding in appreciation.
“Forgive me for my surprise, but this might just work!”
DeVille shook his head in mock disgust. “Insubordination and sarcasm. Let’s do this before I have to run a drumhead court here.”
Schmitt grimaced before tapping several commands into the console, quickly creating a duplicate setup on the adjacent station.
“I’ll take the helm, you take the rest.” She shrugged at his expression. “It’s your plan. I don’t want to take the blame if it goes wrong that’s all.”
He sat down next to her entering commands of his own before turning to her.
“Thanks Andrea.” Her smile was enough response for now. “Alright half impulse or the best you can give me, heading 012 mark 47.”
“012 Mark 47 aye.”
DeVille knew straight away that the ship was struggling to achieve what he was asking of it simply by the feel of the vibrations through the deck plates, but he didn’t need it to struggle for long.
Reaching out, he entered his own set of commands into the soot covered console and a link was established out to the cargo drone, Delta Two. He plotted a course that would take it back towards the containers they had left far behind and where the creature was even now feeding on the energy contained within the two cargo containers. The drone was surplus to his requirements anyway and it would serve the dual purpose of buying them time as well as feeding the needs of the creature.
Schmitt in the meantime had herded the e-pods together with deft manipulation of the ship’s tractor beam and DeVille slowly brought the remaining cargo drone, Delta One, to a position in front of and slightly below Atlas.
This was the most important part and he prayed silently, as he entered the energy transfer commands, that the conduits would feed power out to the drone cleanly. With the battering that Atlas had taken, it would only take one faulty tap to discharge the funnelled energy directly back into the energy grid. After that…well it wouldn’t matter.
Slowly but surely, the partially drained energy supplies of the drone began to creep into the amber zone on his console and he couldn’t resist a swift punch at the air even if he was tempting the Gods on this one.
“Andrea, monitor the energy transfer to Delta Two please. I need to set up the protocols for the last part.”
Not wasting time on words, she nodded and transferred the protocols to her own station and tweaked them here and there to increase the rate of flow.
DeVille, meanwhile, remotely entered commands into the drone’s own nav and ops computers. When he selected the final go command, the drone would pick up the e-pods and herd them ahead of itself towards the distant planet DeVille had detected. He’d programmed a delay into the command that would enable them to reach the command e-pod and catch up with the small fleet.
“Alright, I’ve given us two minutes for the evac then the drone gets underway with or without us.”
If only they had been able to trust the transporter’s targeting and rematerialization protocols, they could have beamed directly to the drone but having seen the state that the test item had returned in, DeVille had vetoed the idea immediately.
“Energy levels are peaking on the drone Tom, we…”
“Oh my God!”
Schmitt turned to see what had so rattled DeVille and saw that he was gaping wide eyed at the viewscreen. Following his stare, she too uttered a particularly vile Andorian curse. The screen showed an aft view looking back towards the location of the abandoned cargo containers, but dominating them and growing swiftly in size was an obscene flower of brightness.
DeVille was certain that it wasn’t the antimatter. It just didn’t look right. Whatever it was though was blossoming rapidly in all directions. Boiling with fiery reds and yellows it seemed to spark smaller, shorter lived eruptions around its periphery.
“This isn’t good is it?”
DeVille didn’t even think about answering what was obviously a rhetorical question. Instead he hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the kick panel at the rear of the bridge.
“Prep the pod Andrea, I’ll initiate the protocols. Move!”
The deck shuddered beneath her feet as she stumbled around the bridge’s upper level and towards the panel making her slide first one way and then the other before catching a handhold on the bright red railing. Using it as a pivot, she hauled her feet around and landed a sound kick on the panel which fell away to reveal the hatch to the command e-pod just beyond.
“Got it Tom! Come on!”
She split her attention between DeVille’s flying fingers and the growing flower of unimaginable energy that seemed to balloon towards them. Just as she was about to call him again, he finished with a flurry and pulled himself to his feet.
“Get the hatches open Andrea!”
Reaching inside the open panel, she selected the draw down bar and pulled it hard. She suddenly realised that it was the one link in their escape plan that hadn’t been tested until now but chased it from her mind as first the outer and then the inner hatches irised open.
Turning, she reached out to take DeVille’s outstretched hand and was blinded as an explosion of purest white filled the screen.
The antimatter!
Even at extreme range, the blast screamed down upon Atlas and pushed down hard on the tail end of the ship before the inertial dampers could react. Schmitt was thrown backwards into the open hatch of the pod and outside she heard DeVille scream once. It was quickly cut off with a sickening thud.
As her eyesight began to return, she pulled herself up into the hatch and looked out on to the darkened bridge and immediately felt her heart grow cold.
DeVille had been thrown clear across the bridge and struck the railing on the far side. The force had been such that the stanchion supporting the rail had been thrust up and through DeVille’s midriff to protrude in a glistening and growing pool of red.
She was, against all common sense, about to clamber free of the pod to reach him but he shook his head weakly. When he spoke, his voice gurgled as blood red foam flecked his lips.
“Get…out…now Andrea!”
She shook her head, frozen by shock and unable to act on her own screaming instincts for survival.
“ANDREA! GO…NOW!”
It wasn’t anger that raised DeVille’s voice above the sound of groaning that filled the dying ship; it was the sound of pure pleading.
As if his voice had connected directly to her brain’s autonomous motor functions, she fell back into the pod blinded by the flood of tears that had sprung into her eyes, and brought her fist down hard on to the launch panel. Before she could even attempt to grab a hand hold, the pod leaped towards freedom and as her head struck the entrance hatch, she was thrown into merciful darkness.
* * *
It seemed that the drone had fared better than Atlas following the shockwave and as it elongated and vanished into warp, DeVille felt his anchor on consciousness begin to slip.
The screen was filled now with the vast expanse of the astral flower of energy and he knew that within seconds it would be upon him but, in a strange way, he now welcomed it. Flowing around and through the glare, he once again saw the spiralling ribbons of the creature…No, it must have been dozens of them.
Each second, as if appearing from a magician’s brightly coloured cape, the tendrils multiplied and seemed to dance in and out of normal space; a dance of creation, of elation, and DeVille was perhaps the first human ever to witness it.
He felt a profound sadness that he wouldn’t be able to relate the story to somebody else but maybe it would be enough that he had born witness to it.
Reaching out towards the slowly turning shell of Atlas, they caressed the warp nacelles, spiraling and pirouetting around them before climbing the pylons and suffusing the bridge in rainbow arcs of joy.
It was then, in the last moments of his life, that DeVille looked deeply into the cloud that was about to engulf him. What he saw there absurdly reminded of one of his favourite 2D movies that he hadn’t seen in years, and he smiled, tears glistening in his eyes.
My God! he thought, the tears slipping freely down his cheeks,it’s full of stars!
And with a sparkling flash of prismatic colour, his world dissolved.
Epilogue One
The drone had indeed found the planet, racing just ahead of the continually expanding area of disrupted space. At warp three, it had managed to place some distance between it and the energy surge but would it be enough?
Gently lowering the e-pods by tractor beam to the planet’s surface, it then performed an emergency planet fall itself as programmed in DeVille’s final act. He’d known that if the surviving crew managed to reach this planet and had to stay there any length of time, then the grain stored aboard the ship would serve to sustain them and the ship itself provide them with shelter.
When he had rapidly devised the plan for escape, he had had no idea whether the erupting pockets of subspace that had so disastrously struck Atlas would also have wrought the same consequences on the fleeing drone. What he had fervently hoped was that the survivors could safely wait out the consequences of the creature’s rebirthing down on the planet’s surface and depart afterwards.
It would be uncomfortably close quarters aboard the drone, but it would at least mean survival.
Marriott was one of the first to step from the grounded pods and her first impression was of dense jungle heat. Many of the pods had come through the overhead canopy of unimaginably tall trees whilst the majority had been placed in a clearing by the drone’s sensors. She ensured that T’Mek would check the Captain’s vital signs before striking out.
Quickly making her way through the cluster of metallic lifeboats, she searched for the one that she knew would be painted bright yellow. In the darkness it was difficult to see very far despite the increasing glow in the night sky and the hand held emergency lamp she carried, but she knew it should be there; she’d seen it brought into the flotilla through the single transparisteel port of her own pod.
As she moved through the clearing, other pods began to unseal, their occupants tumbling out into the humid night air. She stopped here and there to offer words of encouragement and to task members of staff with a full headcount before continuing her search.
Eventually, she found it half hidden in a lush growth of what looked remarkably like huge hydrangea shrubs. Crushed beneath the weight of the pod, they emitted a sweet, tantalisingly familiar aroma. She was concerned to see that the pod had not yet opened, having expected that DeVille or Schmitt would want to supervise the survivor’s arrival on the planet.
With increasing trepidation she called out to Lieutenant Commander Grax, the Triexian chief of security, who had just stepped nimbly from the hatch of his own pod.
“Chief! On me!”
She held up her hand lantern so that he would be able to spot her then waited as he approached, his three legged gait easily carrying him through the undergrowth.
“Give me a hand to pop the hatch here Grax,” she croaked, her throat annoyingly dry, as she pointed towards the command pod. “Looks like they might need a hand.” She attempted to keep her tone light but she saw the grim expression on Grax’s rugged face as he moved ahead of her.
Let’s hope we’re both wrong she prayed as she followed him forward.
It took several attempts to free the hatch, but when it finally gave, it slid back into the ceiling area revealing what initially appeared to be an empty interior. It was only when Marriott stuck her head inside that she saw the foetal form of Andrea Schmitt in the back corner behind an acceleration couch.
Quickly moving inside, she approached Schmitt expecting the worst and yet found her to be, physically at least, unharmed. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the haunted expression and the distant look in Schmitt’s eyes. The chief engineer didn’t respond in any way to Marriott’s appearance in the pod, seemingly locked into a world of horror that only she could see.
Leaning in close to the security officer and keeping her voice low, she said “Grax, I want you to stay here with Commander Schmitt while I get my medical kit.”
He nodded once and nimbly sidestepped to allow Marriott to exit the pod before moving to guard its entrance. She noticed that the air had cooled a little with the tall trees whispering in a breeze that seemed to have just arisen. Lifting her face she revelled in the cool air but was snatched back to reality by the chirp of her communicator.
“T’Mek to Marriott, come in please Doctor.”
Lifting the unit to her lips she replied quietly. “What is it T’Mek?”
“Doctor you should return here immediately. It’s the Captain.”
Marriott swore under her breath. I won’t lose another one dammit! “What’s happening? Has the coma worsened?”
It was perhaps the first time that Marriott had been struck speechless since they left Earth, but it was also perhaps the most joyous of reasons for it to happen.
“I think we can safely say the coma has not worsened Jenny, but thanks for your concern.”
“Alison?” The sound of Aster’s weak but instantly recognizable response had Marriott breaking into a run past startled crew members, a wide grin of relief plastered across her face. She began to laugh when she heard an engineering crewman complain to his friend, “Great the Captain’s in a coma, the Doc’s gone loco and we don’t have a ship. Now can I resign?”
It had eventually taken four hours but the survivors had managed to form the e-pods into a protective circle, their rudimentary sensors tuned to scan outwards for signs of local predators. Within the circle, fires had been lit and meals were being prepared whilst Marriott’s teams were out tending to the wounded. Two more lives had been lost during the escape due to severe injuries received aboard Atlas but miraculously that had been the extent of their losses.
Aster had surprised everybody, especially Marriott, by making what appeared to be a full recovery the only remaining symptom being a strong headache. As a battery of tests had been run on her, Aster had revealed to a stunned Marriott the details of her mental communion with the creature and the mindscape that Skell had prepared for her.
“Until Skell appeared, I’ve got to say I was pretty convinced that everything I was experiencing was an illusion.”
Aster nodded, both in response to Aster’s statement and to her satisfactory medical signs.
“How is Skell?”
Marriott closed the tricorder and returned it to the pouch on her belt.
“The physical damage is repaired but it will take him time to recover from being yanked out of the mental link with you.”
Aster and Marriott both turned as Grax entered the pod. It was difficult to interpret his facial expression, but his voice carried the gravity of his report.
“Captain, it is good to see you well.” He placed his medical tricorder on the equipment shelf which only served to increase the feeling of claustrophobia in the cramped confines of the pod. “Doctor, Commander Schmitt is now sedated and being tended by Nurse T’Mek, but I feel that her experience has left a mark that will take more than medicine to cure.”
Marriott sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. It did nothing to relieve the worsening headache that had taken residence behind her eyes.
“Thank you Lieutenant,” she replied. “We’ll take it a day at a time, but I appreciate your help out there.”
Grax nodded his acknowledgement of the thanks but turned as if at the sound of a shout. He would never know exactly what it was that had made him react so, but he was immediately in a high state of alertness. His phaser had cleared his holster before his three feet had hit the ground and he’d fallen into a defensive crouch. Surveying the clearing however revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Puzzled, he turned to see both Marriott and Captain Aster had joined him outside, almost as if they too had heard or sensed something amiss. In a blending of muted reds, blues and golds, survivors from all over the improvised camp stepped into the open, all turning their eyes skywards. It was as if there was a communal anticipation of some event that, on the sub-conscious level at least, they had been expecting.
A silence so deep that it was almost palpable crept over the jungle clearing. The sibilant whisper of the humid breeze through the canopy overhead faded to nothing as the movement of small creatures through the undergrowth ceased altogether. The only sound remaining was the crackling of burning camp fires and the muted chirp of the e-pod sensor net.
And then it began…
Coloured streamers of scintillating energy that some had already seen dancing around Atlas writhed across the sky. Here and there they intertwined for just a moment before separating once more and disappearing. It was almost as if they had slipped behind some vast curtain that itself was hidden in the darkness.
Aster, captivated like the rest of the survivors, was reminded of a mission to Pacifica in the early years of her career. It was there she had seen the Pacifican equivalent of Earth’s flying fish slipping through the crystal clear waters, occasionally breaking the surface in a rainbow shimmer of reflected light before slipping like quicksilver below the surface once more. It had seemed to Aster that to the Milathri there was no distinction between the air and the water; they were masters of both elements.
And so it seemed with the streamers of light/energy…
No, she reminded herself, these are not simply random energy emissions, these are the young of perhaps one of the longest living cosmozoans we have ever encountered, beginning what could be an aeon’s long journey of discovery.
Gradually, the astral dance faded, the youngsters decreasing in number as they sparkled into other space. The darkness left behind by their absence was temporary however. Approaching from the area of the sky the survivors had recently fled, a warm golden glow infused with oranges and reds grew, slowly but surely washing out the stars.
Far from being frightening, its warm, welcome hues touched something deep within each and every one of the survivors and as its stately progression at last engulfed the planet, each surviving member of the Atlas’s crew was limned in a golden aura of unspeakable beauty.
Within seconds, each one had also fallen silently to the ground.
EPILOGUE ONE
Gently lowering the e-pods by tractor beam to the planet’s surface, it then performed an emergency planet fall itself as programmed in DeVille’s final act. He’d known that if the surviving crew managed to reach this planet and had to stay there any length of time, then the grain stored aboard the ship would serve to sustain them and the ship itself provide them with shelter.
When he had rapidly devised the plan for escape, he had had no idea whether the erupting pockets of subspace that had so disastrously struck Atlas would also have wrought the same consequences on the fleeing drone. What he had fervently hoped was that the survivors could safely wait out the consequences of the creature’s rebirthing down on the planet’s surface and depart afterwards.
It would be uncomfortably close quarters aboard the drone, but it would at least mean survival.
Marriott was one of the first to step from the grounded pods and her first impression was of dense jungle heat. Many of the pods had come through the overhead canopy of unimaginably tall trees whilst the majority had been placed in a clearing by the drone’s sensors. She ensured that T’Mek would check the Captain’s vital signs before striking out.
Quickly making her way through the cluster of metallic lifeboats, she searched for the one that she knew would be painted bright yellow. In the darkness it was difficult to see very far despite the increasing glow in the night sky and the hand held emergency lamp she carried, but she knew it should be there; she’d seen it brought into the flotilla through the single transparisteel port of her own pod.
As she moved through the clearing, other pods began to unseal, their occupants tumbling out into the humid night air. She stopped here and there to offer words of encouragement and to task members of staff with a full headcount before continuing her search.
Eventually, she found it half hidden in a lush growth of what looked remarkably like huge hydrangea shrubs. Crushed beneath the weight of the pod, they emitted a sweet, tantalisingly familiar aroma. She was concerned to see that the pod had not yet opened, having expected that DeVille or Schmitt would want to supervise the survivor’s arrival on the planet.
With increasing trepidation she called out to Lieutenant Commander Grax, the Triexian chief of security, who had just stepped nimbly from the hatch of his own pod.
“Chief! On me!”
She held up her hand lantern so that he would be able to spot her then waited as he approached, his three legged gait easily carrying him through the undergrowth.
“Give me a hand to pop the hatch here Grax,” she croaked, her throat annoyingly dry, as she pointed towards the command pod. “Looks like they might need a hand.” She attempted to keep her tone light but she saw the grim expression on Grax’s rugged face as he moved ahead of her.
Let’s hope we’re both wrong she prayed as she followed him forward.
It took several attempts to free the hatch, but when it finally gave, it slid back into the ceiling area revealing what initially appeared to be an empty interior. It was only when Marriott stuck her head inside that she saw the foetal form of Andrea Schmitt in the back corner behind an acceleration couch.
Quickly moving inside, she approached Schmitt expecting the worst and yet found her to be, physically at least, unharmed. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the haunted expression and the distant look in Schmitt’s eyes. The chief engineer didn’t respond in any way to Marriott’s appearance in the pod, seemingly locked into a world of horror that only she could see.
Leaning in close to the security officer and keeping her voice low, she said “Grax, I want you to stay here with Commander Schmitt while I get my medical kit.”
He nodded once and nimbly sidestepped to allow Marriott to exit the pod before moving to guard its entrance. She noticed that the air had cooled a little with the tall trees whispering in a breeze that seemed to have just arisen. Lifting her face she revelled in the cool air but was snatched back to reality by the chirp of her communicator.
“T’Mek to Marriott, come in please Doctor.”
Lifting the unit to her lips she replied quietly. “What is it T’Mek?”
“Doctor you should return here immediately. It’s the Captain.”
Marriott swore under her breath. I won’t lose another one dammit! “What’s happening? Has the coma worsened?”
It was perhaps the first time that Marriott had been struck speechless since they left Earth, but it was also perhaps the most joyous of reasons for it to happen.
“I think we can safely say the coma has not worsened Jenny, but thanks for your concern.”
“Alison?” The sound of Aster’s weak but instantly recognizable response had Marriott breaking into a run past startled crew members, a wide grin of relief plastered across her face. She began to laugh when she heard an engineering crewman complain to his friend, “Great the Captain’s in a coma, the Doc’s gone loco and we don’t have a ship. Now can I resign?”
* * *
Aster had surprised everybody, especially Marriott, by making what appeared to be a full recovery the only remaining symptom being a strong headache. As a battery of tests had been run on her, Aster had revealed to a stunned Marriott the details of her mental communion with the creature and the mindscape that Skell had prepared for her.
“Until Skell appeared, I’ve got to say I was pretty convinced that everything I was experiencing was an illusion.”
Aster nodded, both in response to Aster’s statement and to her satisfactory medical signs.
“How is Skell?”
Marriott closed the tricorder and returned it to the pouch on her belt.
“The physical damage is repaired but it will take him time to recover from being yanked out of the mental link with you.”
Aster and Marriott both turned as Grax entered the pod. It was difficult to interpret his facial expression, but his voice carried the gravity of his report.
“Captain, it is good to see you well.” He placed his medical tricorder on the equipment shelf which only served to increase the feeling of claustrophobia in the cramped confines of the pod. “Doctor, Commander Schmitt is now sedated and being tended by Nurse T’Mek, but I feel that her experience has left a mark that will take more than medicine to cure.”
Marriott sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. It did nothing to relieve the worsening headache that had taken residence behind her eyes.
“Thank you Lieutenant,” she replied. “We’ll take it a day at a time, but I appreciate your help out there.”
Grax nodded his acknowledgement of the thanks but turned as if at the sound of a shout. He would never know exactly what it was that had made him react so, but he was immediately in a high state of alertness. His phaser had cleared his holster before his three feet had hit the ground and he’d fallen into a defensive crouch. Surveying the clearing however revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Puzzled, he turned to see both Marriott and Captain Aster had joined him outside, almost as if they too had heard or sensed something amiss. In a blending of muted reds, blues and golds, survivors from all over the improvised camp stepped into the open, all turning their eyes skywards. It was as if there was a communal anticipation of some event that, on the sub-conscious level at least, they had been expecting.
A silence so deep that it was almost palpable crept over the jungle clearing. The sibilant whisper of the humid breeze through the canopy overhead faded to nothing as the movement of small creatures through the undergrowth ceased altogether. The only sound remaining was the crackling of burning camp fires and the muted chirp of the e-pod sensor net.
And then it began…
Coloured streamers of scintillating energy that some had already seen dancing around Atlas writhed across the sky. Here and there they intertwined for just a moment before separating once more and disappearing. It was almost as if they had slipped behind some vast curtain that itself was hidden in the darkness.
Aster, captivated like the rest of the survivors, was reminded of a mission to Pacifica in the early years of her career. It was there she had seen the Pacifican equivalent of Earth’s flying fish slipping through the crystal clear waters, occasionally breaking the surface in a rainbow shimmer of reflected light before slipping like quicksilver below the surface once more. It had seemed to Aster that to the Milathri there was no distinction between the air and the water; they were masters of both elements.
And so it seemed with the streamers of light/energy…
No, she reminded herself, these are not simply random energy emissions, these are the young of perhaps one of the longest living cosmozoans we have ever encountered, beginning what could be an aeon’s long journey of discovery.
Gradually, the astral dance faded, the youngsters decreasing in number as they sparkled into other space. The darkness left behind by their absence was temporary however. Approaching from the area of the sky the survivors had recently fled, a warm golden glow infused with oranges and reds grew, slowly but surely washing out the stars.
Far from being frightening, its warm, welcome hues touched something deep within each and every one of the survivors and as its stately progression at last engulfed the planet, each surviving member of the Atlas’s crew was limned in a golden aura of unspeakable beauty.
Within seconds, each one had also fallen silently to the ground.
Epilogue Two
Was this awakening? Was it birth? Or perhaps rebirth?
Out in free space – not yet in free spaces – it flew; dancing with photons, slipping between the thin fractures of subspace, not yet having the ability to enter other dimensions as it would in adulthood.
Yet here in this barren region of space, the one thing it desired was thinly spread. The awakening had been at the expense of local stellar systems though the youngling knew beyond doubt that these systems had been barren of life to begin with. It was part of the racial memory passed down from the last progenitor, and as the creature began to expand both physically and mentally, more memories began to emerge.
Their star spanning race, the Lethaniaa, were millions of years old and directly descended from planet dwelling humanoids that had grown beyond the need for bodies and a single dwelling place. Now the Universe was their home, in its entirety.
It recalled other species, some like the Lethaniaa and others as disparate as it was possible to be; some were aware of his race, others were not yet advanced enough to detect them yet the creature felt an affinity for all of them.
And the stars, millions upon millions of them…
My God…
The glory of novae, the fury of starbith…
And then he remembered…
TO BE CONTINUED
EPILOGUE TWO
Out in free space – not yet in free spaces – it flew; dancing with photons, slipping between the thin fractures of subspace, not yet having the ability to enter other dimensions as it would in adulthood.
Yet here in this barren region of space, the one thing it desired was thinly spread. The awakening had been at the expense of local stellar systems though the youngling knew beyond doubt that these systems had been barren of life to begin with. It was part of the racial memory passed down from the last progenitor, and as the creature began to expand both physically and mentally, more memories began to emerge.
Their star spanning race, the Lethaniaa, were millions of years old and directly descended from planet dwelling humanoids that had grown beyond the need for bodies and a single dwelling place. Now the Universe was their home, in its entirety.
It recalled other species, some like the Lethaniaa and others as disparate as it was possible to be; some were aware of his race, others were not yet advanced enough to detect them yet the creature felt an affinity for all of them.
And the stars, millions upon millions of them…
My God…
The glory of novae, the fury of starbith…
It’s full of…
…stars…
And then he remembered…
TO BE CONTINUED
IN
STAR TREK – DEVIL’S GATE BOOK TWO
VICEROY
Many thanks CeJay! 
You're right, it's actually running over three short(ish) stories.
The first (ATLAS) depicts how something intriguing has happened in The Delta Triangle with several loose ends. Some will be left intentionally open (see *** for why!
), while others will be answered or furthered in book two.
The second is VICEROY (beginning shortly folks!) which will advance the story somewhat both in time and content. We find out what exactly it is that's happened out there with another Starfleet vessel in jeapordy from both inside and out!!!
Finally, the third story - CERBERUS - brings us right up to date and Starfleet finally begins to fulfil its mission of exploration once again in a brand new area of space...
*** And that's where you writers enter the picture because you get a brand new arena in which to pit the skills of your crews!! Hang on till after book three so you get the full picture but after that the more the merrier!!
My thanks to everybody who has been reading so far and in particular to CeJay who has been a constant companion in the journey so far! Cheers mate!
Don't forget, comments are always welcome as long as they're constructive guys an gals! Any questions??
VICEROY coming to a screen near you soon!!
You're right, it's actually running over three short(ish) stories.
The first (ATLAS) depicts how something intriguing has happened in The Delta Triangle with several loose ends. Some will be left intentionally open (see *** for why!
), while others will be answered or furthered in book two.The second is VICEROY (beginning shortly folks!) which will advance the story somewhat both in time and content. We find out what exactly it is that's happened out there with another Starfleet vessel in jeapordy from both inside and out!!!
Finally, the third story - CERBERUS - brings us right up to date and Starfleet finally begins to fulfil its mission of exploration once again in a brand new area of space...
*** And that's where you writers enter the picture because you get a brand new arena in which to pit the skills of your crews!! Hang on till after book three so you get the full picture but after that the more the merrier!!
My thanks to everybody who has been reading so far and in particular to CeJay who has been a constant companion in the journey so far! Cheers mate!
Don't forget, comments are always welcome as long as they're constructive guys an gals! Any questions??
VICEROY coming to a screen near you soon!!
Ok, just before the premiere of VICEROY, a quick image in rememberance of ATLAS. Missing in Action.
Oh, and a teaser for the forthcoming story - VICEROY!
Almost a century in fact! There are multifold reasons but obviously I'm giving nothing away.....YET! 
VICEROY - Epilogue / Prologue
DEVIL’S GATE
BOOK TWO
EPILOGUE / PROLOGUE
VICEROY
EPILOGUE / PROLOGUE
Delta Triangle
2266
Was this awakening? Was it birth? Or perhaps rebirth?
Out in free space – not yet in free spaces – it flew; dancing with photons, slipping between the thin fractures of subspace, not yet having the ability to enter other dimensions as it would in adulthood.
Yet here in this barren region of space, the one thing it desired was thinly spread. The awakening had been at the expense of local stellar systems though the youngling knew beyond doubt that these systems had been barren of life to begin with. It was part of the racial memory passed down from the last progenitor, and as the creature began to expand both physically and mentally, more memories began to emerge.
Their star spanning race, the Lethaniaa, were millions of years old and directly descended from planet dwelling humanoids that had grown beyond the need for bodies and a single dwelling place. Now the Universe was their home, in its entirety.
It recalled other species, some like the Lethaniaa and others as disparate as it was possible to be; some were aware of his race, others were not yet advanced enough to detect them yet the creature felt an affinity for all of them.
And the stars, millions upon millions of them…
My God…
The glory of novae, the fury of starbith…
It’s full of…
…stars…
Elsewhere
2362
Almost a century later, the creature basked in the glow of a G type star, drinking in its energy and absorbing the hard radiation it gave forth in the same way a gourmet would appreciate fine wine and food. He recollected those first bewildering moments of rebirth in the Delta Triangle decades before. Momentarily stunned by the realisation of whom it had once been and, perhaps more importantly, what that person had now become, DeVille had spiralled through space in a whirl of confusion.
He recalled that the emergence of that memory, and the realization of the gift of life bestowed on him by the progenitor, had filled him with wonder which had warred with shock and disbelief. Suddenly at odds with the form he inhabited, he had attempted to flex muscles he no longer possessed. Panic had gripped him, redundant instincts telling him that he could not possibly be alive in the depths of hard vacuum yet his continued existence gave lie to that belief.
He had no idea how long it had eventually taken to regain some semblance of control over his new self, but eventually he had. Time had suddenly become a very elastic medium, and he would now have to adjust to a life that extended to eons rather than the century or so allotted to a human. Realisation and acceptance of this gift that the progenitor had bequeathed him also made him aware of something altogether more wondrous. All his adult human life he had marvelled at the stars and exhilarated in travelling amongst them and now, suddenly, from death had arisen an existence where the experience would be orders of magnitude more intense, more…tangible.
His final memories of the Delta Triangle were as clear as if the events of almost a hundred years ago had occurred just yesterday. In the distance he had seen the expanding boundary of what had been the birthing ground of his species - though the word saw was far too ineffectual to describe the senses at play. In the midst of that awe inspiring eruption of energy and other-space had laid the wreck of the Atlas, the majority of its crew fortunate enough to have escaped its eventual destruction.
He hadn’t expected the sudden undertow of swirling energy that caught him however, energy so intense and raw that it made escaping it as impossible as swimming up a waterfall. It caused no pain or discomfort despite its undeniable power but he found that all he could do was surrender to the maelstrom that surrounded him, allowing it to first envelop him and then carry him…
…Elsewhere.
2266
Was this awakening? Was it birth? Or perhaps rebirth?
Out in free space – not yet in free spaces – it flew; dancing with photons, slipping between the thin fractures of subspace, not yet having the ability to enter other dimensions as it would in adulthood.
Yet here in this barren region of space, the one thing it desired was thinly spread. The awakening had been at the expense of local stellar systems though the youngling knew beyond doubt that these systems had been barren of life to begin with. It was part of the racial memory passed down from the last progenitor, and as the creature began to expand both physically and mentally, more memories began to emerge.
Their star spanning race, the Lethaniaa, were millions of years old and directly descended from planet dwelling humanoids that had grown beyond the need for bodies and a single dwelling place. Now the Universe was their home, in its entirety.
It recalled other species, some like the Lethaniaa and others as disparate as it was possible to be; some were aware of his race, others were not yet advanced enough to detect them yet the creature felt an affinity for all of them.
And the stars, millions upon millions of them…
My God…
The glory of novae, the fury of starbith…
It’s full of…
…stars…
Elsewhere
2362
Almost a century later, the creature basked in the glow of a G type star, drinking in its energy and absorbing the hard radiation it gave forth in the same way a gourmet would appreciate fine wine and food. He recollected those first bewildering moments of rebirth in the Delta Triangle decades before. Momentarily stunned by the realisation of whom it had once been and, perhaps more importantly, what that person had now become, DeVille had spiralled through space in a whirl of confusion.
He recalled that the emergence of that memory, and the realization of the gift of life bestowed on him by the progenitor, had filled him with wonder which had warred with shock and disbelief. Suddenly at odds with the form he inhabited, he had attempted to flex muscles he no longer possessed. Panic had gripped him, redundant instincts telling him that he could not possibly be alive in the depths of hard vacuum yet his continued existence gave lie to that belief.
He had no idea how long it had eventually taken to regain some semblance of control over his new self, but eventually he had. Time had suddenly become a very elastic medium, and he would now have to adjust to a life that extended to eons rather than the century or so allotted to a human. Realisation and acceptance of this gift that the progenitor had bequeathed him also made him aware of something altogether more wondrous. All his adult human life he had marvelled at the stars and exhilarated in travelling amongst them and now, suddenly, from death had arisen an existence where the experience would be orders of magnitude more intense, more…tangible.
His final memories of the Delta Triangle were as clear as if the events of almost a hundred years ago had occurred just yesterday. In the distance he had seen the expanding boundary of what had been the birthing ground of his species - though the word saw was far too ineffectual to describe the senses at play. In the midst of that awe inspiring eruption of energy and other-space had laid the wreck of the Atlas, the majority of its crew fortunate enough to have escaped its eventual destruction.
He hadn’t expected the sudden undertow of swirling energy that caught him however, energy so intense and raw that it made escaping it as impossible as swimming up a waterfall. It caused no pain or discomfort despite its undeniable power but he found that all he could do was surrender to the maelstrom that surrounded him, allowing it to first envelop him and then carry him…
…Elsewhere.
Re: Something of a gift! - VICEROY
And, as before, here's the cover image without titles
And, as before, here's the cover image without titles
Hehe! Yep, tis he and things are building towards... well you'll find out!
Chapter One
SPACEDOCK
GEOSTATIONARY EARTH ORBIT
SECTOR 001
2362
The personnel of spacedock were accustomed to the sight of vessels arriving and departing. The to and fro that accompanied Starfleet’s on-going mission had become common place to the serving men and women of the effective home port of Starfleet, so much so that it only rarely received more than passing interest.
The exceptions to the rule tended to occur at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. A vessel returning from a successful or high profile mission would always garner interest, not only from station staff but from the embedded news service stringers. For converse reasons, the return of a vessel that had suffered damage or loss seemed to have a magnetic draw on all station residents.
There would be those who had connections with the vessel or crew, merely wishing to ensure that colleagues or friends were safe. Others would share in the need to honour the vessels return in silent retrospect. The final group, thankfully in the minority and often shunned, felt the need to be voyeuristic eyewitnesses to the destruction that the vastness of space could inflict on the unwary, the unprepared or the unlucky.
Captain Alexia Stevens felt that she fitted into the first category by mischance and the second category by choice. She despised any who fitted into the latter category and was not afraid to speak her mind about it but fortunately, in the Traffic Control Centre of Spacedock, it was a group that had no followers.
“Viceroy, this is System Control. You’re identified on sensors and remote docking is available at your request.”
Stevens knew that it was standard procedure for vessels intending to dock internally to be allotted automatic docking. It wasn’t distrust of a helmsman’s skills; computer controlled docking simply expedited the process in an extremely busy area of orbital activity. However, it was offered only as a courtesy to returning vessels that had suffered damage or loss. The thinking behind this unofficial decision was based on the wish to offer the vessel and crew the dignity to finish their homeward journey under their own guidance. It was left to the captain’s discretion of course but as a psychological morale boost, it was rarely declined.
Which is why, when Stevens heard Viceroy’s reply, she was more than surprised.
“Ah, Control,” came the puzzlingly hesitant reply, “the acting captain politely accepts your offer of remote docking.”
From the corner of her eye, Stevens caught the furtive glance that the duty controller gave her but didn’t acknowledge it even though she thought she understood why it had been cast her way.
“Viceroy, that’s understood. Standby for docking protocol transfer on my mark.”
The controller selected several sub-menus in the LCARS display before him then returned to the main screen.
“Viceroy, docking protocol transfer in three, two, one mark.”
Tabs on the display flickered to green indicating that the transmission and reception of the automated docking routine had been successful and Stevens nodded imperceptibly before turning and heading towards the exit.
“Control, protocol received, helm in auto, Viceroy standing by.”
The controller acknowledged Viceroy’s closing transmission, turning just in time to see Stevens’ brunette ponytail exiting the control room.
“Good luck Captain,” he whispered under his breath and wondered what the immediate future held for Captain Alexia Stevens.
Stevens rode the turbolift down from Spacedock control, feeling the almost imperceptible lag in the inertial dampers that indicated she had just changed direction and was now moving horizontally around the rim of the huge saucer section. Moments later she reached the section containing the offices of the Starfleet Operations Administration.
Announcing her arrival at the reception desk, she was escorted by a young yeoman to the outer office of Sector 001’s Operations Co-ordinator, Vice Admiral Vance Stockard. Sitting patiently in the Admiral’s ante-room, she reflected with some concern on the events surrounding Viceroy’s return.
It could genuinely be nothing, she told herself. It was a possibility that Viceroy had helm issues that prevented her from docking manually. Of course if that was the case, her conscience answered, then control would have been made aware of the issue well before the ship had entered orbit.
Other possibilities ran through her mind but she dismissed them one at a time knowing that, somewhere in the chain of communication, she would have been notified.
No, she finally concluded, something is wrong. She could only hope that Stockard had finally gained some insight that she may have missed. In isolation, this latest issue seemed a trifling matter to be concerned about but as Stevens knew only too well, this was the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
She spent the next few moments in introspective contemplation returning to the present only when Stockard’s P.A. advised her that the Admiral was now available to see her. Rising, she thanked the Asian lieutenant and entered Stockard’s inner sanctum.
Although she’d been here many times before, she never ceased to be impressed by the room’s ever present atmosphere of history and power. The room was almost redolent with it. The wall closest to the station’s core was covered in holos, plaques and mementoes that spanned over sixty years of service on a dozen different vessels. The outer wall, in contrast, was entirely taken up by a ceiling to floor transparisteel window that gave a panoramic view of Earth and the space surrounding Spacedock. On either side were draped the flags of both the Federation and Starfleet.
Silhouetted against the central vista of velvet blackness was a bear of a man, his back to the room and his hands crossed at parade rest behind him. Silence reigned in the room for some while as Stevens waited for Admiral Stockard to acknowledge her arrival. She belatedly realised exactly what had transfixed his attention beyond the transparisteel window as Viceroy began her approach to Spacedock. Off in the distance and arcing down towards the blue and green gem below, she could see one of the ship’s Type 6 shuttles escorting a converted Sydney class shuttle she knew to be carrying the remains of those so recently lost on the Tzenkethi border.
Stockard bowed his head in silent respect which Stevens mirrored until she heard him release a pent up sigh. The rustle of movement alerted her to the fact that Stockard was returning to the large Mars-wood desk that dominated the centre of the room.
Easing his not insubstantial frame into his high backed chair, he picked up the solitary PADD that had lain atop his desk, studying it momentarily before passing it to Stevens.
“She’s not a happy ship Alex,” he said, his deep, baritone voice conveying both sadness and concern. “Certainly not the Viceroy we knew that’s for sure.”
Fifteen years had passed since they had first served together aboard Viceroy as a seasoned captain and freshly minted lieutenant respectively. Recognising the potential in Stevens, Stockard had become both her sponsor and mentor; more importantly a friendship had developed that had deepened over the years.
Just three months ago, when Captain Aaron Blane had announced his decision to retire after his current tour of duty had ended, Stockard had sponsored Stevens for the captaincy of Viceroy which had been duly approved. Even so, she hadn’t expected it to come to fruition under these circumstances.
“I believe it was Thomas Wolfe who said you can never go home again,” offered Stevens with a wry grin.
Stockard chuckled good naturedly in reply. “I admit, when you get to a certain stage in life you tend to reminisce fondly about the better postings,” he admitted candidly but his tone became serious as he continued. “I’m not viewing this through rose tinted glasses though Alex. You’ve seen the same after action reports that I have and all I see is a badly fractured crew. Even worse I genuinely can’t see why.” He gestured at the PADD that Stevens held. “They were on border patrol for just under six months, most of those without serious incident barring that last combat with the Tzenkethi.”
“But it was a bad one Sir,” interjected Stevens. “You’d expect any crew to suffer after that.”
Stockard sat back in his chair, fingers laced on the table before him, and frowned disconsolately. “Hmm, true enough,” he allowed, “but we’re talking about a seasoned crew here Alex. No first tourers and the last posting in had been almost five months prior to deployment out to the border. The senior staff had all seen combat before and, as if that wasn’t enough, just look at the ship’s evaluation record.”
Of course Stevens had committed them to memory after learning of her forthcoming captaincy but flicked forward to the appropriate section on the PADD.
A vessel’s evaluation report was based on every aspect of the ship’s operations ranging from combat readiness to mission efficiency and from crew morale to the condition of the ship’s galleys. This, along with a study of **dozens of other factors, allowed Starfleet to effectively judge a ship and her crew’s readiness for service.
Over the past 18 years, Viceroy had always been in the top five per cent of the fleet and even won the coveted Fleet Phoenix Award, the most prestigious commendation short of battle honours that a Starfleet ship could be awarded.
“I have no idea why,” continued Stockard, “but in my opinion, neither Viceroy nor her crew are ready to head back out there yet.” He looked at Alexia with genuine contrition. “I’m sorry Alex, I’ll have to recommend that she’s grounded until such time as a board are satisfied that she and her crew are in a fit condition to resume service.”
Stockard saw an infinitesimal slump in her shoulders before she caught herself and sat up straight in the chair once more. He was well aware just how badly Alexia Stevens was to get out to the very edges of Federation space and start exploring, but he also knew that she was a realist and that she too shared his misgivings of returning Viceroy to space until her issues were resolved.
It would take a further six months of both crew reallocation and ship repairs and upgrades before Viceroy once more sped into the element she had been designed for.
ONE
GEOSTATIONARY EARTH ORBIT
SECTOR 001
2362
The personnel of spacedock were accustomed to the sight of vessels arriving and departing. The to and fro that accompanied Starfleet’s on-going mission had become common place to the serving men and women of the effective home port of Starfleet, so much so that it only rarely received more than passing interest.
The exceptions to the rule tended to occur at opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. A vessel returning from a successful or high profile mission would always garner interest, not only from station staff but from the embedded news service stringers. For converse reasons, the return of a vessel that had suffered damage or loss seemed to have a magnetic draw on all station residents.
There would be those who had connections with the vessel or crew, merely wishing to ensure that colleagues or friends were safe. Others would share in the need to honour the vessels return in silent retrospect. The final group, thankfully in the minority and often shunned, felt the need to be voyeuristic eyewitnesses to the destruction that the vastness of space could inflict on the unwary, the unprepared or the unlucky.
Captain Alexia Stevens felt that she fitted into the first category by mischance and the second category by choice. She despised any who fitted into the latter category and was not afraid to speak her mind about it but fortunately, in the Traffic Control Centre of Spacedock, it was a group that had no followers.
“Viceroy, this is System Control. You’re identified on sensors and remote docking is available at your request.”
Stevens knew that it was standard procedure for vessels intending to dock internally to be allotted automatic docking. It wasn’t distrust of a helmsman’s skills; computer controlled docking simply expedited the process in an extremely busy area of orbital activity. However, it was offered only as a courtesy to returning vessels that had suffered damage or loss. The thinking behind this unofficial decision was based on the wish to offer the vessel and crew the dignity to finish their homeward journey under their own guidance. It was left to the captain’s discretion of course but as a psychological morale boost, it was rarely declined.
Which is why, when Stevens heard Viceroy’s reply, she was more than surprised.
“Ah, Control,” came the puzzlingly hesitant reply, “the acting captain politely accepts your offer of remote docking.”
From the corner of her eye, Stevens caught the furtive glance that the duty controller gave her but didn’t acknowledge it even though she thought she understood why it had been cast her way.
“Viceroy, that’s understood. Standby for docking protocol transfer on my mark.”
The controller selected several sub-menus in the LCARS display before him then returned to the main screen.
“Viceroy, docking protocol transfer in three, two, one mark.”
Tabs on the display flickered to green indicating that the transmission and reception of the automated docking routine had been successful and Stevens nodded imperceptibly before turning and heading towards the exit.
“Control, protocol received, helm in auto, Viceroy standing by.”
The controller acknowledged Viceroy’s closing transmission, turning just in time to see Stevens’ brunette ponytail exiting the control room.
“Good luck Captain,” he whispered under his breath and wondered what the immediate future held for Captain Alexia Stevens.
* * *
Stevens rode the turbolift down from Spacedock control, feeling the almost imperceptible lag in the inertial dampers that indicated she had just changed direction and was now moving horizontally around the rim of the huge saucer section. Moments later she reached the section containing the offices of the Starfleet Operations Administration.
Announcing her arrival at the reception desk, she was escorted by a young yeoman to the outer office of Sector 001’s Operations Co-ordinator, Vice Admiral Vance Stockard. Sitting patiently in the Admiral’s ante-room, she reflected with some concern on the events surrounding Viceroy’s return.
It could genuinely be nothing, she told herself. It was a possibility that Viceroy had helm issues that prevented her from docking manually. Of course if that was the case, her conscience answered, then control would have been made aware of the issue well before the ship had entered orbit.
Other possibilities ran through her mind but she dismissed them one at a time knowing that, somewhere in the chain of communication, she would have been notified.
No, she finally concluded, something is wrong. She could only hope that Stockard had finally gained some insight that she may have missed. In isolation, this latest issue seemed a trifling matter to be concerned about but as Stevens knew only too well, this was the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
She spent the next few moments in introspective contemplation returning to the present only when Stockard’s P.A. advised her that the Admiral was now available to see her. Rising, she thanked the Asian lieutenant and entered Stockard’s inner sanctum.
Although she’d been here many times before, she never ceased to be impressed by the room’s ever present atmosphere of history and power. The room was almost redolent with it. The wall closest to the station’s core was covered in holos, plaques and mementoes that spanned over sixty years of service on a dozen different vessels. The outer wall, in contrast, was entirely taken up by a ceiling to floor transparisteel window that gave a panoramic view of Earth and the space surrounding Spacedock. On either side were draped the flags of both the Federation and Starfleet.
Silhouetted against the central vista of velvet blackness was a bear of a man, his back to the room and his hands crossed at parade rest behind him. Silence reigned in the room for some while as Stevens waited for Admiral Stockard to acknowledge her arrival. She belatedly realised exactly what had transfixed his attention beyond the transparisteel window as Viceroy began her approach to Spacedock. Off in the distance and arcing down towards the blue and green gem below, she could see one of the ship’s Type 6 shuttles escorting a converted Sydney class shuttle she knew to be carrying the remains of those so recently lost on the Tzenkethi border.
Stockard bowed his head in silent respect which Stevens mirrored until she heard him release a pent up sigh. The rustle of movement alerted her to the fact that Stockard was returning to the large Mars-wood desk that dominated the centre of the room.
Easing his not insubstantial frame into his high backed chair, he picked up the solitary PADD that had lain atop his desk, studying it momentarily before passing it to Stevens.
“She’s not a happy ship Alex,” he said, his deep, baritone voice conveying both sadness and concern. “Certainly not the Viceroy we knew that’s for sure.”
Fifteen years had passed since they had first served together aboard Viceroy as a seasoned captain and freshly minted lieutenant respectively. Recognising the potential in Stevens, Stockard had become both her sponsor and mentor; more importantly a friendship had developed that had deepened over the years.
Just three months ago, when Captain Aaron Blane had announced his decision to retire after his current tour of duty had ended, Stockard had sponsored Stevens for the captaincy of Viceroy which had been duly approved. Even so, she hadn’t expected it to come to fruition under these circumstances.
“I believe it was Thomas Wolfe who said you can never go home again,” offered Stevens with a wry grin.
Stockard chuckled good naturedly in reply. “I admit, when you get to a certain stage in life you tend to reminisce fondly about the better postings,” he admitted candidly but his tone became serious as he continued. “I’m not viewing this through rose tinted glasses though Alex. You’ve seen the same after action reports that I have and all I see is a badly fractured crew. Even worse I genuinely can’t see why.” He gestured at the PADD that Stevens held. “They were on border patrol for just under six months, most of those without serious incident barring that last combat with the Tzenkethi.”
“But it was a bad one Sir,” interjected Stevens. “You’d expect any crew to suffer after that.”
Stockard sat back in his chair, fingers laced on the table before him, and frowned disconsolately. “Hmm, true enough,” he allowed, “but we’re talking about a seasoned crew here Alex. No first tourers and the last posting in had been almost five months prior to deployment out to the border. The senior staff had all seen combat before and, as if that wasn’t enough, just look at the ship’s evaluation record.”
Of course Stevens had committed them to memory after learning of her forthcoming captaincy but flicked forward to the appropriate section on the PADD.
A vessel’s evaluation report was based on every aspect of the ship’s operations ranging from combat readiness to mission efficiency and from crew morale to the condition of the ship’s galleys. This, along with a study of **dozens of other factors, allowed Starfleet to effectively judge a ship and her crew’s readiness for service.
Over the past 18 years, Viceroy had always been in the top five per cent of the fleet and even won the coveted Fleet Phoenix Award, the most prestigious commendation short of battle honours that a Starfleet ship could be awarded.
“I have no idea why,” continued Stockard, “but in my opinion, neither Viceroy nor her crew are ready to head back out there yet.” He looked at Alexia with genuine contrition. “I’m sorry Alex, I’ll have to recommend that she’s grounded until such time as a board are satisfied that she and her crew are in a fit condition to resume service.”
Stockard saw an infinitesimal slump in her shoulders before she caught herself and sat up straight in the chair once more. He was well aware just how badly Alexia Stevens was to get out to the very edges of Federation space and start exploring, but he also knew that she was a realist and that she too shared his misgivings of returning Viceroy to space until her issues were resolved.
It would take a further six months of both crew reallocation and ship repairs and upgrades before Viceroy once more sped into the element she had been designed for.
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