ST: Gibraltar - Backup - Part 9
PART 9
USS Bluefin
The Bluefin and the captured Maquis Q-ship Draskaar moved together through the field of slowly drifting asteroids, their destination a set of coordinates where the ever watchful Lt. Bane had identified energy discharges similar to those marking an exchange of high-yield weapons fire.
Akinola had allowed Gralt and his team forty-five minutes to shore up their starboard nacelle strut as best they could before resuming their search for Gibraltar. The obstinate Tellarite wasn’t happy with that, and truth be told, neither was the captain. Regardless, the lives of their fellow Starfleet personnel took precedence over repairs which, if completed, would only improve Bluefin’s performance by a marginal factor.
Sitting patiently in the captain’s chair, Akinola resisted the urge to stare at Bane while the man worked to tweak his incoming sensor returns to maximize data yield. He did, however, look over at Strauss to find the young woman’s gaze focused on the Australian lieutenant. Far from anxious, Akinola would have described the look on his XO’s face as being a mix of pride and longing. Suppressing a smile, the captain turned his attention to the viewer.
“ETA to energy discharge contact three minutes,” Fralk announced from the Helm station. The Denobulan was completely engrossed in his console, plotting constant course adjustments to avoid the ever-shifting field of planetary rubble.
“XO, sound General Quarters.”
“Aye, sir.” Strauss replied, toggling the PA. “All hands, red alert. Stand to battle stations.”
Akinola accessed a scrambled laser-link comms frequency, raising the Draskaar, “Commander Ramirez, what’s your status?”
Her reply was immediate, “All weapons running hot and shields at full strength, sir. Awaiting your orders, Captain.” Akinola had to admit that thus far he’d been impressed by Ramirez. Despite being without her ship, she and her team had overcome significant odds to turn the tables on their captors. Upon Bluefin’s arrival, Ramirez had exhibited no hesitation at following the orders of a ‘mere’ Border Service captain. Rather, she’d immediately acknowledged his authority and set about working seamlessly with his crew. Joseph knew there were more than a few first officers in the Fleet who’d have balked at surrendering their authority to the CO of a cutter.
From an auxiliary console, Senior Chief Brin observed, “Captain, the Trafalgar should be arriving in system any moment, sir.”
Giving a small shake of his head, Akinola responded, “They’ll drop out of warp at the system periphery due to the severe navigational hazard of the belt. ETA from there to here at max impulse is over forty minutes. I expect this will all be over by then.”
*****
Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar
Maxwell sat impatiently, watching the seconds tick past on the chronometer his crew had installed below the viewscreen. He was just about to ask for a status report when his chief gunner spoke up. “Ben, we just lost bio-telemetry from most of the boarding party.”
Standing suddenly and moving across the cramped bridge to the gunner’s station, Maxwell asked, “Most? Who do you have?”
“Osgood and T’Mir are the only two I’m still reading, and their returns indicate both of them may be unconscious.”
“What the hell’s happening over there?” Maxwell fumed. “Beam those two back straight away.”
“Roger that.”
*****
Sickbay, USS Gibraltar
The main doors to Sickbay hissed open, and Tark found himself staring down the emitter of the Bajoran phaser pistol Sandhurst had liberated from T’Mir’s holster. “Captain?” Tark stepped forward, clearly concerned about Sandhurst’s disheveled and blood-soaked appearance.
The captain was kneeling over an unconscious female in the midst of what looked to be almost unimaginable carnage. The walls, ceiling, and work surfaces of the main Sickbay ward were splashed with crimson, the shredded remains of what appeared to be multiple people littered the floor.
“Sir… are you alright?” Tark stepped aside, allowing the rest of his ad-hoc security team through the door. There were gasps and muttered oaths from the others as they caught sight of the slaughter.
Sandhurst nodded numbly, lowering the phaser clutched in his trembling hand. “Maquis. No options,” he croaked weakly.
“I’m… I’m sure, sir.” Tark offered lamely. As he moved towards a second intact but unmoving figure, this one a male Human, he detected the harmonic component of a transporter beam. As the comatose male vanished before his eyes, Tark turned to shout a warning to Sandhurst, spinning around just in time to see the telltale red shimmer of a Klingon transporter beam engulfing both the captain and the woman at his feet.
*****
SS Draskaar
Calling back to where Lar’ragos manned the weapons console, Ramirez inquired, “You ready for a fight, Pava?”
“Always am, sir.”
“Mr. Ashok,” she called, “Ready those additional generators and power cells, we’re going to kick the Maquis in the teeth until they beg for mercy.”
The Bolian’s only reply was a satisfied sounding grunt.
Taiee stepped onto the bridge, carrying an emergency medical kit. She assumed a seat at an empty cargo management console.
Ramirez glanced over at the nurse practitioner, “Evening, Doc. Come to watch the show?”
“More like patch the lot of you up after the brawl,” she answered with an ironic smile.
“Fair enough.” Ramirez addressed Sarnak, the Vulcan flight control officer on loan from the Bluefin. “How is she responding at helm, Lieutenant?”
“Sluggishly, sir. Her modification into a combat platform included only a slight improvement in maneuverability from the ship’s original design specifications.”
Ramirez grinned, “You mean she handles like a beached whale.”
Sarnak minded his console, trying to maintain formation with the more maneuverable Bluefin. “I believe that is what I’d indicated, Commander.” The Vulcan seemed immune to the laughter this response elicited from the others. As the Draskaar cleared the last of the rocky obstructions, he noted stoically, “We have arrived at the projected coordinates, sir.”
Lar’ragos chimed in, “Sensors reading… one Constitution-class starship, one Maquis Q-ship, and a Klingon scout-type Bird-of-Prey.”
Ramirez resisted the urge to lean forward in the command chair, “Status of Gibraltar, Ashok?”
“I’m seeing moderate damage to the engineering hull and serious structural integrity loss to the main shuttle bay. Their tactical systems and shields have been compromised, and they appear to be running on minimal emergency power, sir.”
“She’s damaged and in over her head,” Lar’ragos muttered sardonically, “It must be Tuesday.”
*****
USS Bluefin
Bane reported much the same information to Akinola as the Bluefin crested an asteroid similar in size to the object that caused the great Cretaceous extinction on Earth. Akinola keyed his comlink to the Draskaar. “Akinola to Ramirez, we’ll take the Bird-of-Prey, you keep that other Q-ship occupied.”
“Acknowledged, Captain.”
A photon torpedo accompanied by twin disruptor blasts from Garth of Izar’s wingtip cannons slammed into Bluefin’s forward screens, causing the bridge lights to dim momentarily as the ship’s shield generators pulled additional power to stabilize the defense grid.
“XO, priority targeting on weapons and propulsion. I want prisoners.” Akinola planted his elbows on the command chair’s armrests and interlaced his fingers, his mind now switching to full tactical mode.
“Aye, opening fire.” A volley of torpedoes reached out for the Bird-of-Prey as the smaller ship winged-over and raced for cover. One of the two torpedoes reached their target, as did a phaser blast from the cutter, delivering a serious blow to the scout’s aft deflectors as the ship disappeared behind a nearby asteroid.
Momentary confusion on the part of the Maquis manning the Q-ship led to their opening fire on Bluefin first, despite the sudden approach of the Draskaar. A salvo of merculite missiles swarmed through the void to impact the cutter’s shields amidst punishing strikes from the freighter’s disruptor batteries.
On Bluefin’s bridge, it felt like multiple sledgehammer blows against the ship’s spaceframe, causing consoles to crackle and tossing T’Ser out of her seat at the Ops board. Cursing under her breath, the Vulcan pulled herself back into a sitting position as Gralt called out, “Port-aft shields failing, Captain. Re-routing the auxiliaries to the defense grid, but that’s going to drain our available phaser power.”
“Do what you have to, Commander,” came Akinola’s brusque reply. “Helm,” Akinola called out over the cacophony of alarms and the squawk of frantic comms bleeding across the PA system, “Get after that bird, and keep us out of that monster’s gun sights!”
*****
SS Draskaar
“The Q-ship’s firing on Bluefin.” Lar’ragos assessed as the Draskaar bore down on her sister vessel.
“Open fire, Lieutenant. Give them everything we have.” Calling over her shoulder to Ashok, she ordered, “All ancillary power to the forward shields.” Then to Helm, “Mr. Sarnak, ramming speed.”
To his credit, the Vulcan did not hesitate or demonstrate the slightest emotional response, merely voicing, “Aye, Helm answers ahead full. Ramming speed.”
“Bring us in at an angle that will cause maximum damage to their weapons arrays as we clip them, Lieutenant.”
Sarnak complied promptly, adjusting the Draskaar’s course while Lar’ragos pummeled the other ship with a scorching bombardment designed to tax their opponents’ shielding.
Ramirez keyed the PA, “All hands, brace for collision!”
Draskaar slammed into its twin, the impact devastating the faltering shields of the Maquis vessel. Draskaar’s underside hull plating gouged a trench across the other Q-ship’s faux upper cargo holds which contained her formidable weapons arrays. Secondary explosions rippled across the Maquis ship’s exterior as her merculite batteries and disruptor cannons were annihilated by the mass of the attacking vessel.
As Draskaar lurched free of its doppelganger, trailed by a cloud of glittering debris and escaping gasses, Lar’ragos pivoted his weapons batteries on their swivel mounts to an aft-ward orientation. The El Aurian sent a stream of disruptor fire and the last of their merculite missiles at the now unshielded behemoth. His aim was true, and Lar’ragos’ fusillade devastated the last of the Maquis weapons arrays as well as their impulse engines, leaving the hapless freighter adrift in a shimmering cloud of flotsam as atmosphere vented from her catastrophic wounds. “Target has been incapacitated, sir” he announced with finality.
“Well done, Pava,” Ramirez praised as she assessed the condition of Gibraltar, which hung dark and powerless on the viewer, the latter-half of her secondary hull scored and pitted.
“Shall we pursue Bluefin and the Bird-of-Prey, Commander?” Sarnak inquired.
“Negative, Lieutenant. Both ships are too maneuverable, we’d never catch up in this hulk. Bring us alongside Gibraltar so we can render aid.”
*****
Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar
Sandhurst blinked, eyes adjusting to the dimly lit interior of the Klingon transporter room. He caught sight of a Human female standing at the control console, staring at him with evident shock. She reached for something at her waist, and Sandhurst raised and fired his phaser in a single impulsive movement that was completed even before he’d fully realized what was happening.
The beam struck the left side of the woman’s chest, which erupted in a shower of sparks as the energy stream penetrated her torso and incinerated the organs within. As disoriented as Sandhurst was, he’d merely assumed the phaser was set to stun, he had neglected to check when he’d pulled it from the Vulcan’s holster. “No!” he screamed as he rushed off the transport platform. “No, no, no!” He knelt at the woman’s side, searching frantically for a pulse, a breath, any sign of life. There was none.
Sandhurst began CPR, giving the woman life-breaths and chest compressions until after a few moments it became evident that there was no longer an intact heart or pulmonary system left to stimulate.
The doors lurched open with a metallic shriek, admitting a burly looking Bolian that the dazed Sandhurst nearly mistook for Ashok. The man looked at the unconscious Vulcan and Human laying on the transport dais, then zeroed in on Sandhurst kneeling over the clearly deceased transporter operator.
Casting a glance at the Bajoran phaser laying nearby, Sandhurst realized that if he went for the pistol he’d have no chance to alter the setting before firing. He’d be forced to kill. Again. The Bolian evidenced no such hesitation, drawing a large knife from a leg sheath and advancing on the blood spattered Starfleet officer. Sandhurst rolled, snatching up the phaser as he rose to his knees. The Bolian was ready for him, delivering a jolting kick that knocked the phaser from Sandhurst’s hands and sending it skittering across the deck. Raising his knife, the Bolian sneered, “Time to die, little man.”
His chemically induced strength now ebbing, Sandhurst struck out with a foot, trying for the Bolian’s knee. It was like kicking the trunk of a tree, and just as effective. Laughing mockingly, the Bolian sheathed his knife, growling, “I’m going to make this last awhile.” Reaching down and hefting Sandhurst by his hospital gown, he pulled the captain to his feet. Sandhurst pulled back, then drove his fist into the Bolian’s face as hard as he could, hearing a satisfying crunch from the man’s bifurcated nose. Bluish blood trickled from his nostrils, but the large man seemed otherwise unaffected. He wrapped his meaty hands around Sandhurst’s throat and began to squeeze.
Sandhurst gurgled, gasping for breath as his windpipe was constricted. He clawed and struck at the Bolian’s face, to no avail. The ship lurched suddenly, the lights dimming with an exterior weapons impact, but the Bolian kept his feet, his face contorting into a blood-thirsty mask of rage. “That woman over there, Ganzi, was my lover. Do you understand, Human? My mate!”
With just enough strength left for one last attempt, Sandhurst reached down, grasping the handle of the Bolian’s knife. He even managed to get it out of the scabbard before the Bolian doubled his effort to crush the captain’s throat, causing Sandhurst’s hand to spasm as the knife slipped free of his grasp and clattered to the floor.
“I say,” a clipped voice sounded from behind the Bolian, “I believe he’s had enough.”
The large man craned his head around to look at the newcomer, finding a youthful looking Human male dressed in dark clothing standing by the control console. He was definitely not one of the Garth of Izar’s crew compliment. Giving Sandhurst’s neck a final squeeze for good measure, the Bolian tossed the man’s body unceremoniously to the deck. “Who the hell are you?” he challenged as he stooped to retrieve his knife from the floor.
“An old friend of Donald’s.”
“Fine,” the Bolian spat, “You two can arrive in the afterlife together.” He moved towards the smaller Human, his blade carving intricate patterns in the air.
The Human didn’t move until the Bolian finally committed and slashed outward with the knife. The smaller man stepped forward, catching the larger man’s arm, twisting and pivoting simultaneously with surprising strength, adding his own momentum to the thrust that was redirected up and into the Bolian’s own gut. The man twisted the knife cruelly, causing the Bolian to cry out in pain as he sank to his knees.
“I can make this quick for you,” the Human said gently, “If you beg.”
“Please,” the Bolian whispered, still trying to pull the knife free with his considerable strength. The smaller man held the blade firmly in place, however, unmoved by the Bolian’s efforts.
The Human drew an object from his pocket that shimmered briefly in the dim light. He touched it lightly to the Bolian’s forehead, and the object emitted a pencil-thin red beam that punched through the larger man’s skull, killing him instantly. The Human dragged the Bolian with surprisingly little effort over to where his mate had died mere minutes earlier. Laying the man next to her, the Human returned to where Sandhurst rest on the deck.
The man passed the object in his hand over Sandhurst, a yellow teardrop shaped crystal whose facets danced with alien glyphs and colors. “No, Donald. Today is not your day. Soon, though. You have debts to pay, old friend.” The crystal glowed brightly, and Sandhurst, already dead for nearly two minutes, drew in a sharp, shuddering breath. The ship lurched again, accompanied by the crash of straining shields and groaning of stressed metals. “Now then, let’s get you to an escape pod. Appearances must be kept, after all…”
*****
This segment was worth the wait.
