--------------------------------
USS Hyperion, NCC-1791
System Intaria, Neutral Zone
0855 Hours, December 31st, 2290
“We’re approaching the sun now,” said Starakis, deftly engaging the cruiser’s maneuvering thrusters to bring Hyperion into low orbit. “The radiation is beginning to mess with our shields. I’d bring us down closer, but then we’d be charbroiled.”
“How much time?” Forester stared intently at the surface of the star, squinting his eyes in an attempt to make out something -- anything -- man-made floating in front of it. It was an exercise in futility, of course, as the viewscreen’s radiation filter significantly reduced the integrity of the image, but it was better than waiting around doing nothing.
Soravek closed his eyes briefly, and then looked up. “A little under six minutes, Captain, by my estimate.”
“Showoff.” Holger rolled his eyes.
“I am merely being efficient,” the Vulcan replied, unperturbed. “I should also tell you, Captain, that this star is unstable. I am detecting elevated heat fluctuations in the corona and chromosphere. We should not linger here longer than necessary.”
“Your warning is noted,” said the captain, a little more harshly than he’d intended. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to relax. “Can you pick up the signal again? Whatever it is?”
“Yes. I have filtered out the backwash from the sensors and directed a pinpoint scan at coordinates -- ”
“Soravek, you don’t need to give me a presentation with slides. Are we in transporter range?”
“I am transmitting the location to Ensign Christopher’s console, along with our suggested course.” If Kieran hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the Vulcan looked self-satisfied.
“I could have done that myself,” muttered Donovan. “ETA thirty-seven seconds, Captain -- wait, hold up.” His voice grew substantially louder as his broad shoulders tensed. “This is crazy -- I just detected a power surge from the Klingon ship! Torpedo launch!”
Starakis almost burst out laughing. “Look at the energy signature, flyboy. That’s no torpedo, it’s a probe they shot to make up for their crap sensors. It’s not coming for us -- ”
“ -- it’s going into the sun,” finished Forester, as an orange and red something flashed past his eyes into the roiling plasma of the star. His eyes narrowed as he watched it disintegrate just before it reached the sun’s hazy -- atmosphere -- the sun --
“My god,” he breathed. “Helm, evasive maneuvers! Now!”
For one critical second Starakis looked at her controls, trying to make sense of her captain’s latest order, and when at last she banked Hyperion hard to port a tongue of flame had already exploded from the star --
Like a sword unsheathed, a wave of superheated plasma slammed into the heavy cruiser’s shields at point-blank range. Against so many heavy ions accelerated to two million kilometers per hour, Hyperion’s deflectors stood a snowflake’s chance in hell, collapsing instantly upon impact and exposing her to the full fury of the storm. The solar flare tore through her starboard nacelle with devastating ease, overloading her warp coils with energy so concentrated that it almost sheared the pylon from the secondary hull altogether. The force of the blast sent Hyperion careening away from the sun, her impulse engines sparking uselessly as she spiraled further and further into space --
The bridge was plunged into darkness as a surge of power rushed through the ship’s delicate internal circuitry, smashing through the consoles on the bridge and casting sparks every which way. Krupskaya shrieked as she desperately tried to put out the fire that had caught on her sleeve; Christopher let out an agonized scream as he was flung backwards across the command well before being silenced when his head hit the steps. Forester, thrown from his seat, felt something wet and sticky dripping from the sides of his face -- blood, he realized, as his hand slipped off the side of his command chair and left behind slick rivulets of red. When the emergency lights blinked on at last, crimson like the charnel scent of death, a film of oil and smoke caught in his eyes.
“Stabilize us, Anastasia!” he shouted above the din of alarms and explosions, grasping the railing for support. “Bridge to Sickbay, we need a team up here immediately! What do we have left? Anybody!”
Raske clambered up and raced over to the science station, ignoring his throbbing thigh. Bone protruded from his left leg, chalky white dyed the color of fire. “Soravek is down. We’re barely holding on -- no weapons, no shields, minimal power -- ” The man gritted his teeth and opened himself up to the pain, willing himself to stay awake.
At the helm, Starakis wrestled with her controls like some pixie against a bull, her dark hair matted with blood. “No good -- she’s handling like a pig. I have no thrusters -- nothing at all.” Soot and sweat streaked down the sides of her face: Andromache before the fall.
“How far away are we from Soravek’s signal?” Forester asked, staggering back to his chair.
“Ten klicks.” Then -- “You can’t be serious!” Raske, his handsome features contorted in anguish, still managed to sound shocked. “You can’t take us back there, not like this!”
“Holger, five more klicks -- that’s all I need.” The captain stared doggedly ahead at the viewscreen, where the sun twinkled merrily at his plight. “Find a way to get it done.”
“That’s madness. You’re going to get us all killed.” The first officer bit back a scream of pain as he tried to move his leg.
“Now!” Forester ordered, his voice hoarse and grating. “Mister Krupskaya, get me that Klink son of a bitch. I’m going to stall him as long as I can.”
The communications officer nodded, clutching a miniature fire extinguisher to her chest. Her uniform was torn and charred, and her exposed arm looked unnaturally white. As she leaned against her console for support, the skin began to peel. “There’s static,” she said, her voice coming in short, sharp breaths. “All -- radiation -- but I’ll try, sir, I’ll -- there -- ”
Kieran pushed himself upwards in his seat as he confronted the Klingon’s mocking face, and never before had an alien looked uglier. “Surrender now,” the captain said, brushing back his hair in an attempt to look professional. “You have no chance of escaping.”
At that, Mor’Qa burst into a feral grin, his sharp teeth drawing blood from his lower lip. “The commander of K’Tong was my brother, Starfleet, by right of R’uustai. I swore a blood oath to avenge him. Today, I have fulfilled my pledge and my people will sing my name in song.”
“This is your last warning,” snarled Kieran, animated by some animal rage. “Withdraw from this sector now, or your people will be singing songs of a whole different sort.”
Mor’Qa allowed himself a supremely arrogant smirk. “Spare me the lies. Do you think me a fool? I have killed your people and I have crippled your ship. Transmit to my ship what my science officer tells me you have discovered, and I may yet grant you your life.”
“We have no data, Klingon. And even if we did, we wouldn’t share it with barbaric murderers like you -- ”
“I am no murderer!” roared the alien commander, his brown eyes flashing. “We detected you scanning before you agreed to my terms, and we know you have something. You are the pledge-breaker, not I.”
“But you fired the first shot. When history is written, all the destruction that comes of today will be on your hands.” Forester managed, then, to smile. “There will be war between us -- ”
“There will be no war,” said Mor’Qa. “All your admirals will see is a starship captain who approached an unstable star, destroyed by his own arrogance. You cannot prove -- ” Suddenly, the Klingon turned to face a subordinate just outside Kieran’s vision, saying something he couldn’t quite make out. When the commander looked back, there was a hard edge in his eyes. “I have wasted enough time with you, Starfleet. This is your last chance. Give me the data or you will die.”
“QI'yaH,” spat Forester.
“Then it is decided. Goodbye, Starfleet.” Mor’Qa’s image dissolved into streaks of red and black before vanishing entirely.
“What was he told?” Kieran asked urgently, looking to Krupskaya -- and cursed, as she slumped to the ground. With effort, he made his way to her body and lowered his lips to hers, desperately trying to remember the medical training they’d taught him at the Academy -- breathe, pound, breathe, pound --
The communications officer’s eyes flickered open, briefly.
“Look at me -- that’s it. Can you tell me what he was told?” the captain asked again. “Stay with me, dammit, what was he told?”
“I don’t think you need to ask,” Starakis interrupted. “Klingon shuttle just launched. I can’t get a good read on what’s in it, but it’s heading our way -- ”
“Tricobalt,” said Raske, and he smiled at some vision only he could see. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Then, he crumpled.
USS Hyperion, NCC-1791
System Intaria, Neutral Zone
0855 Hours, December 31st, 2290
“We’re approaching the sun now,” said Starakis, deftly engaging the cruiser’s maneuvering thrusters to bring Hyperion into low orbit. “The radiation is beginning to mess with our shields. I’d bring us down closer, but then we’d be charbroiled.”
“How much time?” Forester stared intently at the surface of the star, squinting his eyes in an attempt to make out something -- anything -- man-made floating in front of it. It was an exercise in futility, of course, as the viewscreen’s radiation filter significantly reduced the integrity of the image, but it was better than waiting around doing nothing.
Soravek closed his eyes briefly, and then looked up. “A little under six minutes, Captain, by my estimate.”
“Showoff.” Holger rolled his eyes.
“I am merely being efficient,” the Vulcan replied, unperturbed. “I should also tell you, Captain, that this star is unstable. I am detecting elevated heat fluctuations in the corona and chromosphere. We should not linger here longer than necessary.”
“Your warning is noted,” said the captain, a little more harshly than he’d intended. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to relax. “Can you pick up the signal again? Whatever it is?”
“Yes. I have filtered out the backwash from the sensors and directed a pinpoint scan at coordinates -- ”
“Soravek, you don’t need to give me a presentation with slides. Are we in transporter range?”
“I am transmitting the location to Ensign Christopher’s console, along with our suggested course.” If Kieran hadn’t known better, he would have sworn the Vulcan looked self-satisfied.
“I could have done that myself,” muttered Donovan. “ETA thirty-seven seconds, Captain -- wait, hold up.” His voice grew substantially louder as his broad shoulders tensed. “This is crazy -- I just detected a power surge from the Klingon ship! Torpedo launch!”
Starakis almost burst out laughing. “Look at the energy signature, flyboy. That’s no torpedo, it’s a probe they shot to make up for their crap sensors. It’s not coming for us -- ”
“ -- it’s going into the sun,” finished Forester, as an orange and red something flashed past his eyes into the roiling plasma of the star. His eyes narrowed as he watched it disintegrate just before it reached the sun’s hazy -- atmosphere -- the sun --
“My god,” he breathed. “Helm, evasive maneuvers! Now!”
For one critical second Starakis looked at her controls, trying to make sense of her captain’s latest order, and when at last she banked Hyperion hard to port a tongue of flame had already exploded from the star --
Like a sword unsheathed, a wave of superheated plasma slammed into the heavy cruiser’s shields at point-blank range. Against so many heavy ions accelerated to two million kilometers per hour, Hyperion’s deflectors stood a snowflake’s chance in hell, collapsing instantly upon impact and exposing her to the full fury of the storm. The solar flare tore through her starboard nacelle with devastating ease, overloading her warp coils with energy so concentrated that it almost sheared the pylon from the secondary hull altogether. The force of the blast sent Hyperion careening away from the sun, her impulse engines sparking uselessly as she spiraled further and further into space --
The bridge was plunged into darkness as a surge of power rushed through the ship’s delicate internal circuitry, smashing through the consoles on the bridge and casting sparks every which way. Krupskaya shrieked as she desperately tried to put out the fire that had caught on her sleeve; Christopher let out an agonized scream as he was flung backwards across the command well before being silenced when his head hit the steps. Forester, thrown from his seat, felt something wet and sticky dripping from the sides of his face -- blood, he realized, as his hand slipped off the side of his command chair and left behind slick rivulets of red. When the emergency lights blinked on at last, crimson like the charnel scent of death, a film of oil and smoke caught in his eyes.
“Stabilize us, Anastasia!” he shouted above the din of alarms and explosions, grasping the railing for support. “Bridge to Sickbay, we need a team up here immediately! What do we have left? Anybody!”
Raske clambered up and raced over to the science station, ignoring his throbbing thigh. Bone protruded from his left leg, chalky white dyed the color of fire. “Soravek is down. We’re barely holding on -- no weapons, no shields, minimal power -- ” The man gritted his teeth and opened himself up to the pain, willing himself to stay awake.
At the helm, Starakis wrestled with her controls like some pixie against a bull, her dark hair matted with blood. “No good -- she’s handling like a pig. I have no thrusters -- nothing at all.” Soot and sweat streaked down the sides of her face: Andromache before the fall.
“How far away are we from Soravek’s signal?” Forester asked, staggering back to his chair.
“Ten klicks.” Then -- “You can’t be serious!” Raske, his handsome features contorted in anguish, still managed to sound shocked. “You can’t take us back there, not like this!”
“Holger, five more klicks -- that’s all I need.” The captain stared doggedly ahead at the viewscreen, where the sun twinkled merrily at his plight. “Find a way to get it done.”
“That’s madness. You’re going to get us all killed.” The first officer bit back a scream of pain as he tried to move his leg.
“Now!” Forester ordered, his voice hoarse and grating. “Mister Krupskaya, get me that Klink son of a bitch. I’m going to stall him as long as I can.”
The communications officer nodded, clutching a miniature fire extinguisher to her chest. Her uniform was torn and charred, and her exposed arm looked unnaturally white. As she leaned against her console for support, the skin began to peel. “There’s static,” she said, her voice coming in short, sharp breaths. “All -- radiation -- but I’ll try, sir, I’ll -- there -- ”
Kieran pushed himself upwards in his seat as he confronted the Klingon’s mocking face, and never before had an alien looked uglier. “Surrender now,” the captain said, brushing back his hair in an attempt to look professional. “You have no chance of escaping.”
At that, Mor’Qa burst into a feral grin, his sharp teeth drawing blood from his lower lip. “The commander of K’Tong was my brother, Starfleet, by right of R’uustai. I swore a blood oath to avenge him. Today, I have fulfilled my pledge and my people will sing my name in song.”
“This is your last warning,” snarled Kieran, animated by some animal rage. “Withdraw from this sector now, or your people will be singing songs of a whole different sort.”
Mor’Qa allowed himself a supremely arrogant smirk. “Spare me the lies. Do you think me a fool? I have killed your people and I have crippled your ship. Transmit to my ship what my science officer tells me you have discovered, and I may yet grant you your life.”
“We have no data, Klingon. And even if we did, we wouldn’t share it with barbaric murderers like you -- ”
“I am no murderer!” roared the alien commander, his brown eyes flashing. “We detected you scanning before you agreed to my terms, and we know you have something. You are the pledge-breaker, not I.”
“But you fired the first shot. When history is written, all the destruction that comes of today will be on your hands.” Forester managed, then, to smile. “There will be war between us -- ”
“There will be no war,” said Mor’Qa. “All your admirals will see is a starship captain who approached an unstable star, destroyed by his own arrogance. You cannot prove -- ” Suddenly, the Klingon turned to face a subordinate just outside Kieran’s vision, saying something he couldn’t quite make out. When the commander looked back, there was a hard edge in his eyes. “I have wasted enough time with you, Starfleet. This is your last chance. Give me the data or you will die.”
“QI'yaH,” spat Forester.
“Then it is decided. Goodbye, Starfleet.” Mor’Qa’s image dissolved into streaks of red and black before vanishing entirely.
“What was he told?” Kieran asked urgently, looking to Krupskaya -- and cursed, as she slumped to the ground. With effort, he made his way to her body and lowered his lips to hers, desperately trying to remember the medical training they’d taught him at the Academy -- breathe, pound, breathe, pound --
The communications officer’s eyes flickered open, briefly.
“Look at me -- that’s it. Can you tell me what he was told?” the captain asked again. “Stay with me, dammit, what was he told?”
“I don’t think you need to ask,” Starakis interrupted. “Klingon shuttle just launched. I can’t get a good read on what’s in it, but it’s heading our way -- ”
“Tricobalt,” said Raske, and he smiled at some vision only he could see. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Then, he crumpled.
)
