I was inspired to write my own 'The Untold Era' story. In Star Trek: Tales of the Eleventh Fleet, and in Star Trek: Surefoot, I have a Roylan character named Tattok. He's a Roylan like Keenser from Star Trek. He was commander of the Eleventh Fleet as a Vice-Admiral. In Star Trek: Between the Stars, he became the Deputy Chief of Starfleet Operations.
Anyways, I wanted to write something about Tattok's first command, the USS Pollux.
Enjoy.
Star Trek: The Untold Era
USS Pollux: ‘Hard Duty’
By Jack Elmlinger
On the main viewscreen, the shattered hulk of a ship drifted through space. Eruptions of fire blossomed from it, only to be extinguished an instant later by the cold vacuum of outer space. Metal fragments from it spun through the darkness like windswept snow.
Captain Tattok stumbled over his feet towards the helm console. “Damage report.”
Around him, the Bridge personnel were beginning to recover from the battle. They doused out the fires, tended to injuries like they were trained to do, and struggled with stubborn controls. A direct hit on the Pollux had penetrated and destroyed the shields, smashing into the Loknar class starship’s hull. It had been an unexpected blow, sent as a petulant, angry quietus when the crew of the Ferasan cruiser managed to fire off a missile even as their ship was crumbling around them.
Some might call it a lucky shot.
Tattok didn’t believe in luck. Only opportunities and Hemra. And mistakes.
He coughed heavily. Smoke surrounded him and the air was thick with the smell of ozone. His nostrils burned and his eyestalks were watery. Why hadn’t the air filters come online? The Bridge was illuminated by murky emergency lights that colored the smoke in shades of crimson.
“Damage report!,” he said again, louder, clenching his hands into fists in an effort to keep himself in check.
Calm.
Control.
He repeated these words to himself like a mantra.
At the Communications console, Lieutenant Casey looked over her shoulder at him. “Reports are coming in from all decks and all stations. We have numerous casualties and a hull breach on Deck Three. Damage control teams are sealing off that deck. They’re also reporting that weapons, maneuvering, primary life-support, artificial gravity on Decks Seven and Nine are out. We have fires out of control on Deck Twelve, and the fire suppression system is -- “
Tattok raised a hand. “Numerous casualties?”
“Yes, sir. The breach on Deck Three…”
A fist of ice clenched his heart and he cleared his throat. “What about the colonists?” The Pollux had been involved with the rescue of nearly sixty settlers from the Federation colony on Brynta. The bulk of them were being housed in a makeshift encampment on the Cargo Deck.
Casey spoke into her microphone and waited a few moments. She nodded her head as the reply came through her earpiece. “Some minor injuries, Captain.”
The Roylan nodded, closing his eyes for an instant. He took comfort in the darkness, overcome by the knowledge that members of his crew were dead or dying. How many? Later, he would have to hear all of the horrible statistics. For now, it was his responsibility to get the ship out of danger. He turned towards his Executive Officer.
“Commander?”
Cheryl Matheson, standing beside the helm console, straightened up at the sound of his voice. She was pressing a compress against a gash on her forehead. Blood streaked through her silver-gray hair.
“Sir?”
Tattok stepped towards her, lowering his voice. “Are you fit?”
“Sir?”
“For duty.”
“Yes, sir. It’s only a small cut.”
“Very well. You know this ship better than I do, Commander. I want you to work with Lieutenant Casey and supervise damage control. Make that your only function until we reach port. Understand?”
“Aye, sir.” Matheson moved briskly towards the communications station.
For once, there was no hesitation in Matheson’s response to his directive. Since the Roylan came aboard as a new captain, three weeks ago, he had noticed the executive officer’s poorly concealed resentment. She was close to retirement and she thought that she would have command before she left Starfleet. Her rancor towards Tattok was an inconvenient barrier to an effective command operation. In a time of crisis, it seemed that she could put her envy aside.
Tattok didn’t always understand jealousy. Some Human emotions were beyond the comprehension of some Roylans.
“Tactical,” he said, returning his gaze to the main viewscreen.
The image flickered for a moment and it was replaced by a schematic of the Pollux and its immediate surroundings.
The crippled Ferasan ship continued to move underneath its own inertia. Beyond it were the battered hulks of several small fighters from the outpost. The outpost itself, Helios Station -- a massive array of spheres and jutting appendages -- appeared to have suffered near fatal damage. They had intended to drop the settlers off at the massive space station but they had arrived instead to find Helios in the midst of a furious battle with Ferasan vessels. A large percentage of the people on Helios were Caitians and the Ferasans had obviously targeted it in their quest to eliminate the Caitian people.
“Contact Helios Station,” Tattok ordered,” and notify them that we will assist them as soon as possible and that other Federation vessels are on the way.”
“Aye, sir.”
Tattok furrowed his brow, studying the diagram. Something was troubling here…
He stood up straight. “Navigation?”
“Sir?”
“Compute a course towards that Ferasan cruiser.”
“Aye, sir.”
After a moment, a dotted line appeared and began to angle outward from the nose of the cruiser. The view rotated and zoomed in to follow the line. The line intersected neatly with the center of the station. Letters appeared at the top of the screen painted in red: COLLISION IMMINENT.
“It’ll smash right into Helios,” said the navigation officer.
Tattok grimaced at this news. “Indeed.”
On the screen, a timer appeared and it began counting down from 22:02.
“Unless it changes course,” Casey said.
At the tactical station, Ensign Cen chimed in “That ship couldn’t change a diaper. She’s dead in the water.
Tattok moved besides Cen. He was young, a recent graduate of the Academy, blue-skinned, bald, and Bolian. His appearance was a misrepresentation as he often displayed a cynicism that was well beyond his years. It was a trait that he understood and didn’t object to. His own youth had forced him to grow up too fast.
“I need a torpedo.”
Cen held up his hands in front of him before he checked the readings on his panel. “Systems are down, sir. I have a single torpedo primed, but the firing system is offline. Energy couplers are completely destroyed, according to Engineering. The phasers are red-lined as well -- I can’t spit as much as an atom out of these things.”
Tattok looked at him in the eyes. “One torpedo.”
“But, sir -- “
“Find a way, Mister Cen. Quickly.”
He met his gaze. “Aye, sir.” He hopped up out of his chair to slip underneath his console and open the access panel.
The Roylan directed three other Bridge officers to assist the Bolian in diverting power to the torpedo firing system before he turned back to the viewscreen display. He studied the sensor readings coming from the station. They had no shields and their hull integrity was tenuous. Nearly ten thousand people lived there and it was about to come apart like a shattered pane of glass.
“Suggestions?”
“Tractor beam.”
“It would require too much power,” someone responded with an answer.
“How about remote-piloting a shuttle? Use them like tugs, and try to knock that cruiser off-course.”
“That would be like trying to knock an Earth elephant on its ass with a pebble,” Cen responded from underneath the tactical console, his bead and arms extended into the innards of the equipment. “That thing has too much mass and inertia.”
Tattok waited. The only sound on the Bridge was the chatter of reports at the communications station and the murmur of the Bridge controls.
The screen read 20:04.
Tattok crossed his arms over his chest, pacing back and forth before his command chair. Thousands of lives were only minutes away from destruction and he felt powerless. Frustration burned through him while he sifted through a multitude of options before he dismissed them all.
Then another tactic occurred to him. The logic of it was clear, he thought, but could pure logic be relied upon when so much was at stake?
He remembered words from his past and his father who had spoken them. He could recall his courage and his dignity when he sacrificed his own life for the lives of so many others. The voice of Thassyn echoed clearly through his mind. The people come before one’s self.
He had sung at his memorial service on Royla and he sang at every taped record of his death. Would he have denounced his song? No. He recognized his limitations. His son had always suppressed his emotions but he finally came to need them and depend on them. He also understood the value of wisdom. Certain situations demanded the absence of meddling emotions.
Yes, certain situations required pure, cold, reasoning logic like this situation called for.
Tattok clasped his hands behind his back, mimicking the pose that his last captain had adopted on many occasions. “Helm?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I need functioning impulse drives in five minutes.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Ms. Matheson?”
Matheson looked up from beside Casey at the communications console. Sir?”
“I want you to initiate an evacuation of this vessel.”
Each member of the Bridge crew drew in their breaths sharply.
“The colonists are our first priority,” he continued,” and we will be using every possible conveyance. The escape pods, shuttlecraft, utility vehicles, and even the EVA suits. Make use of every square inch of space upon those vessels. No personal belongings.”
“Yes, sir, but the Pollux is holding together. She’ll survive. There’s no need to -- “
“If we find ourselves without another option, we will use the Pollux to stop that ship, Ms. Matheson. She will serve as a shield.”
“Sir--” Her voice was very faint.
“As I said, the colonists are our first priority. After each of them has been assigned a departure station, then all non-military personnel will be similarly designated an escape conveyance.” He ran some figures through his head. “According to my estimation, we will have little room left for the crew and the officers.” He was speaking very fast now, aware of the ticking clock while he wasn’t allowing anyone the opportunity to interrupt him. It required a conscious effort to keep the strain from his voice. “I’ll need a handful of volunteers to remain with me on the Bridge. Everyone else, after you have assisted in the evacuation procedures, will be directed to move immediately to the Recreation Deck. Emergency bulkheads will be sealed, surrounding that area.”
Matheson’s eyes widened but she offered him no protests.
“Any questions?,” asked Tattok.
The Executive Officer drew in a breath, held it in, before standing up straight. Resignation was in her expression, but there was something else as well. Pride, perhaps?
“No, sir,” came her answer.
“All evacuees must be off this ship in eight minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Matheson darted for the turbolift.
The other Bridge officers remained silent. Each of them had undoubtedly been searching for other options and examining other scenarios. However, now they understood their duty.
“The people come before one’s self. We will defend the lives of those aboard Helios Station at all costs, but we will also protect this ship. We will use one well-placed photon torpedo to send that cruiser into oblivion.” He turned back towards the tactical station. “Correct, Mister Cen?”
From beneath his console, the Bolian answered,” Aye, sir.” Amazingly, he managed to respond without a hint of sarcasm.
“I will need volunteers to stay on the Bridge. I would prefer to send everyone to the Cargo Deck -- the bulkhead system should protect that area of the ship -- but I want every available option explored. If another course of action presents itself, I'll need a crew to carry it out.”
There was a moment of thick silence before Lieutenant Casey said,” I’d prefer to stay, Captain.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cen said.
Quickly, each of the other Bridge officers responded and Tattok soon found himself among a Bridge crew of volunteers. No one opted to leave.
“Very well,” he said. “What’s our engine status?”
“Routing power now, sir. You’ll have impulse power in about two minutes.”
He looked over his shoulder. “What’s the estimated time of arrival for our calvary, Miss Casey?”
“The Palomino is twenty-nine minutes out, sir.”
The screen’s timer read 17:32.
“Let’s get to work.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Tattok knelt down beside Cen at the tactical station. On the main viewscreen was the image of the Ferasan cruiser, its hull scorched and pierced by jagged hull breaches. There were occasional flares of residual energy dancing along with the twisted metal.
The time ticked away relentlessly. It was now down to 6:15.
The Pollux had moved into an intersecting position between the station and the cruiser. They were located as close as possible to Helios Station while they still ensured that the resultant collision of the two ships wouldn’t destroy the station.
And time was running out.
Several other options had been studied and dismissed. The evacuation of the colonists had been completed on schedule, and the rest of the crew -- with the exception of Bridge personnel -- were in the process of securing the Recreation Deck. Tattok knew that the chances of survival for them would be slim, but it was the only chance that they had.
Cen called out for a probe and he handed it to him.
A sudden flare of sparks and hot-blue energy sent him sliding out of the compartment underneath the tactical console. “Damn,” the Bolian said, frustration flaring in his eyes before he smacked the probe against the panel door. He lowered his voice. “It’s no use. The firing system is nothing but link after link of melted circuitry. There’s no power. Nothing.” His gaze drifted over to the viewscreen and back to the Roylan captain. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Tattok leaned back against the console.
The turbolift door slid open with a whoosh and Commander Matheson stepped out onto the Bridge. She straightened her maroon uniform jacket and said,” I’d like to remain, sir.”
Tattok nodded at her and turned to face the others. Was this it? Was there nothing more that could be done but wait?
The timer continued its relentless countdown: 5:01.
No. There must be something. Tattok remembered the no-win scenario that he had been tested against in the Academy simulators. Even that, he found, could be thwarted. The no-win situation didn’t exist.
Losing is not an option, his father had said to him, many years before.
Neither did he.
His mind spun its wheels, with ideas stampeding through his thoughts. He narrowed his eyestalks, concentrating. What are our options? They had no phasers and only a single primed photon torpedo that couldn’t be fired from the launch tubes. They didn’t have enough power to divert to the tractor beam to alter the course of the --
The tractor beam!
There wasn’t enough power to use it against the cruiser, but what about something smaller?, he asked himself. He felt a smile lift the corners of his mouth. Cen stared at him as if he had gone insane.
He stood up and moved towards the turbolift. “Mister Cen, Ms. Matheson, you’re with me. I’ll need four others to help ups carry a photon torpedo.”
Other officers scrambled out of their chairs, joining him at the lift.
“Carry a torpedo?,” Cen asked him.
“Yes,” I intend to knock this particular elephant on its -- what was the expression?”
“Ass, Captain.”
“Indeed.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Hangar Bay was empty. All of the ship’s shuttles had been sent into space, jammed tight with colonists. They carried the torpedo to the center of the deck and set it down. Its black, chitinous shell gleamed dully in the crimson glow of the emergency lighting panels.
“Mister Cen,” Tattok said, turning to the tactical officer,” I need the torpedo timed to arm itself in fifty-five seconds.”
“Aye, sir.” He bent down, removed the casing, and he got to work on the electronics inside the torpedo.
“Everyone else with me.” The Captain led them into a service lift which deposited them quickly inside of the Hangar Bay’s control room. He went over to the main console, activated it, and charged up the tractor beam. It was normally used for guiding the shuttles in and out of the bay, but he had a different purpose in mind.
Through the observation windows, he watched as Ensign Cen sealed the torpedo’s casing and backed away from it. He signally to him before running to climb into the lift.
“Collision Imminent,” the ship’s computer announced over the intercom in a monotone feminine voice. “All hands, brace for collision. Collision in twenty-five seconds.”
Tattok’s hands flew across the controls. The Hangar Bay doors split apart, revealing the cruiser looming nearby against a backdrop of stars. It looked like a deformed moon. “Commander?”
Matheson stepped up beside him. “Sir?”
“Scan that vessel. We need to find its Achilles heel.”
“Yes, sir.” Matheson brought up a scanner display on an adjacent console and studied it intently. She gestured at a point along one engine nacelle. “There’s a critical buildup at the final stage intercoolers.”
Tattok nodded to her. The energy from that section of the ship hadn’t vented as it should have. Hitting that portion of the ship would be like tossing a grenade into an armory. He used the tractor beam to lift the torpedo off of the deck and send it over the fantail.
“Fifteen seconds.”
The cruiser looked like it was close enough to touch the Pollux’s hull. The torpedo flew towards it, aiming itself suddenly and transforming itself into an incandescent sphere of achromatic flame. It moved with slow, deliberate purpose.
Tattok jammed his thumb into the intercom button. “Bridge, bring us around to ten-three-one, mark-twelve. Full impulse, now!”
The Pollux swung around hard, sending all of them careening to the deck. Tattok fell down, rolled over, and got up to his knees before he scrambled back up towards the console. The artificial gravity -- attempting to compensate for the ship’s violet maneuver -- pressed at him. He could see the Ferasan cruiser and the torpedo gliding towards it. The Loknar class starship turned away and put distance between it and the enemy vessel, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.
He reached up and pressed the button to seal the Hangar Bay doors. They began closing…
… and then, the torpedo struck.
He was aware of an intense white light. Closing his eyes against it, he opened them again and saw the doors buckling inward against a wave of concussive force.
“Damn.”
There was a moment of all-encompassing pain, and then darkness.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Captain Tattok woke up slowly, like a diver who was struggling upward from a great depth. He opened his eyes, and squinted his eyestalks in an attempt to resolve the strange, and indistinct forms around him.
“Captain?,” someone said.
He sat up, wincing as pain lanced its way through his chest.
A hand pressed against his shoulder. “Easy, now. You’ve suffered some pretty severe internal injuries. You’ll be fine, but take it slow.”
The smudges of shadows and light began to coalesce. He looked around and saw that he was in the Pollux’s Sickbay, lying upon a diagnostic bed. Members of his crew occupied the other beds. Most of them appeared to have suffered only minor wounds. The room echoed with quiet conversation and the melody of diagnostic equipment.
Standing beside him was Ariel Jaysen, the ship’s chief medical officer. “How are you feeling, Captain?,” she asked him.
Tattok eased his way up into a sitting position. “I’ve felt better.”
The doctor grabbed a hypospray from a stand beside his bed and pressed the instrument against his arm. With the hiss of the hypospray, he felt his pain ease away.
Commander Matheson stepped through the doorway to Sickbay and made her way towards the Captain’s bed. She looked bedraggled but uninjured. The cut on her forehead had a sterile patch on it.
“Report, Ms. Matheson.”
The Executive Officer held out a digital tablet for his inspection. “We’re on course to Starbase Twenty-Three, sir, being towed by the Palomino. Repairs are ongoing, but most of the systems will have to wait for a refit. We do have primary life-support functioning and the hull breach has been sealed. We’re being held together, at this point, by spit and prayers, according to Chief Solzhenichenzy. The Pollux took a hell of a lot of punishment, but she made it through it. She’s a good ship.” She smiled faintly at him. “The colonists that we evacuated have all been recovered.”
Tattok nodded. “And Helios?”
“It may not be salvageable. Everyone’s being offloaded.”
“Their casualties?”
“Pretty high. Initial estimates put them at six-hundred dead and two-thousand injured.”
“Six hundred?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tattok felt himself shudder at the death count.
“It could have been more, sir -- much more.”
He swallowed and asked,” Our casualties?”
“Twenty-one dead. Thirty-three seriously wounded. Most of the dead were in the area of the hull breach.”
Bile rose up in his throat. He coughed with his hand pressed against his chest. He shook his head and whispered,” So many gone. My crew.” His captaincy seemed like a tangible weight, pressing against him, stealing his breath. Will the memory of those lost lives haunt me forever?
At times like this, the path of his forefathers didn’t seem as appealing as the Roylan history books made them out to be.
“What about everyone in the Hangar Bay control room? Besides yourself?”
“We all made it through, just fire. We had been knocked to the deck and that protected us to a certain degree. Ensign Cen took a few lumps, but the Palomino’s chief surgeon tells me that he’ll recover nicely.”
“We transferred many of our injured over to the Palomino,” Doctor Jaysen explained, examining the diagnostic display screen above the bed. “They have top-of-the-line facilities there. Our people are getting the best care possible.”
“Sir?,” Matheson said.
“Yes?,” Tattok asked, weakly.
The Commander looked down before she slowly raised it up to meet his gaze. “I don’t think I could have made the decision that you made. I can’t imagine how difficult that might have been.” She brushed idly at a dirty smudge on her uniform jacket. “If it had come to… well, if you hadn’t pulled that rabbit out of your hat at the last moment -- I would have supported the decision. All of us would have.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“It’s a pleasure to serve as your Executive Officer, Captain. Get some rest.”
Tattok leaned back against the bed and watched as Matheson left Sickbay. Jaysen moved away to examine another patient. The Roylan turned onto his side, away from the others.
That’s when he allowed himself the luxury of silent tears.
The End...
Anyways, I wanted to write something about Tattok's first command, the USS Pollux.
Enjoy.
Star Trek: The Untold Era
USS Pollux: ‘Hard Duty’
By Jack Elmlinger
On the main viewscreen, the shattered hulk of a ship drifted through space. Eruptions of fire blossomed from it, only to be extinguished an instant later by the cold vacuum of outer space. Metal fragments from it spun through the darkness like windswept snow.
Captain Tattok stumbled over his feet towards the helm console. “Damage report.”
Around him, the Bridge personnel were beginning to recover from the battle. They doused out the fires, tended to injuries like they were trained to do, and struggled with stubborn controls. A direct hit on the Pollux had penetrated and destroyed the shields, smashing into the Loknar class starship’s hull. It had been an unexpected blow, sent as a petulant, angry quietus when the crew of the Ferasan cruiser managed to fire off a missile even as their ship was crumbling around them.
Some might call it a lucky shot.
Tattok didn’t believe in luck. Only opportunities and Hemra. And mistakes.
He coughed heavily. Smoke surrounded him and the air was thick with the smell of ozone. His nostrils burned and his eyestalks were watery. Why hadn’t the air filters come online? The Bridge was illuminated by murky emergency lights that colored the smoke in shades of crimson.
“Damage report!,” he said again, louder, clenching his hands into fists in an effort to keep himself in check.
Calm.
Control.
He repeated these words to himself like a mantra.
At the Communications console, Lieutenant Casey looked over her shoulder at him. “Reports are coming in from all decks and all stations. We have numerous casualties and a hull breach on Deck Three. Damage control teams are sealing off that deck. They’re also reporting that weapons, maneuvering, primary life-support, artificial gravity on Decks Seven and Nine are out. We have fires out of control on Deck Twelve, and the fire suppression system is -- “
Tattok raised a hand. “Numerous casualties?”
“Yes, sir. The breach on Deck Three…”
A fist of ice clenched his heart and he cleared his throat. “What about the colonists?” The Pollux had been involved with the rescue of nearly sixty settlers from the Federation colony on Brynta. The bulk of them were being housed in a makeshift encampment on the Cargo Deck.
Casey spoke into her microphone and waited a few moments. She nodded her head as the reply came through her earpiece. “Some minor injuries, Captain.”
The Roylan nodded, closing his eyes for an instant. He took comfort in the darkness, overcome by the knowledge that members of his crew were dead or dying. How many? Later, he would have to hear all of the horrible statistics. For now, it was his responsibility to get the ship out of danger. He turned towards his Executive Officer.
“Commander?”
Cheryl Matheson, standing beside the helm console, straightened up at the sound of his voice. She was pressing a compress against a gash on her forehead. Blood streaked through her silver-gray hair.
“Sir?”
Tattok stepped towards her, lowering his voice. “Are you fit?”
“Sir?”
“For duty.”
“Yes, sir. It’s only a small cut.”
“Very well. You know this ship better than I do, Commander. I want you to work with Lieutenant Casey and supervise damage control. Make that your only function until we reach port. Understand?”
“Aye, sir.” Matheson moved briskly towards the communications station.
For once, there was no hesitation in Matheson’s response to his directive. Since the Roylan came aboard as a new captain, three weeks ago, he had noticed the executive officer’s poorly concealed resentment. She was close to retirement and she thought that she would have command before she left Starfleet. Her rancor towards Tattok was an inconvenient barrier to an effective command operation. In a time of crisis, it seemed that she could put her envy aside.
Tattok didn’t always understand jealousy. Some Human emotions were beyond the comprehension of some Roylans.
“Tactical,” he said, returning his gaze to the main viewscreen.
The image flickered for a moment and it was replaced by a schematic of the Pollux and its immediate surroundings.
The crippled Ferasan ship continued to move underneath its own inertia. Beyond it were the battered hulks of several small fighters from the outpost. The outpost itself, Helios Station -- a massive array of spheres and jutting appendages -- appeared to have suffered near fatal damage. They had intended to drop the settlers off at the massive space station but they had arrived instead to find Helios in the midst of a furious battle with Ferasan vessels. A large percentage of the people on Helios were Caitians and the Ferasans had obviously targeted it in their quest to eliminate the Caitian people.
“Contact Helios Station,” Tattok ordered,” and notify them that we will assist them as soon as possible and that other Federation vessels are on the way.”
“Aye, sir.”
Tattok furrowed his brow, studying the diagram. Something was troubling here…
He stood up straight. “Navigation?”
“Sir?”
“Compute a course towards that Ferasan cruiser.”
“Aye, sir.”
After a moment, a dotted line appeared and began to angle outward from the nose of the cruiser. The view rotated and zoomed in to follow the line. The line intersected neatly with the center of the station. Letters appeared at the top of the screen painted in red: COLLISION IMMINENT.
“It’ll smash right into Helios,” said the navigation officer.
Tattok grimaced at this news. “Indeed.”
On the screen, a timer appeared and it began counting down from 22:02.
“Unless it changes course,” Casey said.
At the tactical station, Ensign Cen chimed in “That ship couldn’t change a diaper. She’s dead in the water.
Tattok moved besides Cen. He was young, a recent graduate of the Academy, blue-skinned, bald, and Bolian. His appearance was a misrepresentation as he often displayed a cynicism that was well beyond his years. It was a trait that he understood and didn’t object to. His own youth had forced him to grow up too fast.
“I need a torpedo.”
Cen held up his hands in front of him before he checked the readings on his panel. “Systems are down, sir. I have a single torpedo primed, but the firing system is offline. Energy couplers are completely destroyed, according to Engineering. The phasers are red-lined as well -- I can’t spit as much as an atom out of these things.”
Tattok looked at him in the eyes. “One torpedo.”
“But, sir -- “
“Find a way, Mister Cen. Quickly.”
He met his gaze. “Aye, sir.” He hopped up out of his chair to slip underneath his console and open the access panel.
The Roylan directed three other Bridge officers to assist the Bolian in diverting power to the torpedo firing system before he turned back to the viewscreen display. He studied the sensor readings coming from the station. They had no shields and their hull integrity was tenuous. Nearly ten thousand people lived there and it was about to come apart like a shattered pane of glass.
“Suggestions?”
“Tractor beam.”
“It would require too much power,” someone responded with an answer.
“How about remote-piloting a shuttle? Use them like tugs, and try to knock that cruiser off-course.”
“That would be like trying to knock an Earth elephant on its ass with a pebble,” Cen responded from underneath the tactical console, his bead and arms extended into the innards of the equipment. “That thing has too much mass and inertia.”
Tattok waited. The only sound on the Bridge was the chatter of reports at the communications station and the murmur of the Bridge controls.
The screen read 20:04.
Tattok crossed his arms over his chest, pacing back and forth before his command chair. Thousands of lives were only minutes away from destruction and he felt powerless. Frustration burned through him while he sifted through a multitude of options before he dismissed them all.
Then another tactic occurred to him. The logic of it was clear, he thought, but could pure logic be relied upon when so much was at stake?
He remembered words from his past and his father who had spoken them. He could recall his courage and his dignity when he sacrificed his own life for the lives of so many others. The voice of Thassyn echoed clearly through his mind. The people come before one’s self.
He had sung at his memorial service on Royla and he sang at every taped record of his death. Would he have denounced his song? No. He recognized his limitations. His son had always suppressed his emotions but he finally came to need them and depend on them. He also understood the value of wisdom. Certain situations demanded the absence of meddling emotions.
Yes, certain situations required pure, cold, reasoning logic like this situation called for.
Tattok clasped his hands behind his back, mimicking the pose that his last captain had adopted on many occasions. “Helm?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I need functioning impulse drives in five minutes.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Ms. Matheson?”
Matheson looked up from beside Casey at the communications console. Sir?”
“I want you to initiate an evacuation of this vessel.”
Each member of the Bridge crew drew in their breaths sharply.
“The colonists are our first priority,” he continued,” and we will be using every possible conveyance. The escape pods, shuttlecraft, utility vehicles, and even the EVA suits. Make use of every square inch of space upon those vessels. No personal belongings.”
“Yes, sir, but the Pollux is holding together. She’ll survive. There’s no need to -- “
“If we find ourselves without another option, we will use the Pollux to stop that ship, Ms. Matheson. She will serve as a shield.”
“Sir--” Her voice was very faint.
“As I said, the colonists are our first priority. After each of them has been assigned a departure station, then all non-military personnel will be similarly designated an escape conveyance.” He ran some figures through his head. “According to my estimation, we will have little room left for the crew and the officers.” He was speaking very fast now, aware of the ticking clock while he wasn’t allowing anyone the opportunity to interrupt him. It required a conscious effort to keep the strain from his voice. “I’ll need a handful of volunteers to remain with me on the Bridge. Everyone else, after you have assisted in the evacuation procedures, will be directed to move immediately to the Recreation Deck. Emergency bulkheads will be sealed, surrounding that area.”
Matheson’s eyes widened but she offered him no protests.
“Any questions?,” asked Tattok.
The Executive Officer drew in a breath, held it in, before standing up straight. Resignation was in her expression, but there was something else as well. Pride, perhaps?
“No, sir,” came her answer.
“All evacuees must be off this ship in eight minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Matheson darted for the turbolift.
The other Bridge officers remained silent. Each of them had undoubtedly been searching for other options and examining other scenarios. However, now they understood their duty.
“The people come before one’s self. We will defend the lives of those aboard Helios Station at all costs, but we will also protect this ship. We will use one well-placed photon torpedo to send that cruiser into oblivion.” He turned back towards the tactical station. “Correct, Mister Cen?”
From beneath his console, the Bolian answered,” Aye, sir.” Amazingly, he managed to respond without a hint of sarcasm.
“I will need volunteers to stay on the Bridge. I would prefer to send everyone to the Cargo Deck -- the bulkhead system should protect that area of the ship -- but I want every available option explored. If another course of action presents itself, I'll need a crew to carry it out.”
There was a moment of thick silence before Lieutenant Casey said,” I’d prefer to stay, Captain.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cen said.
Quickly, each of the other Bridge officers responded and Tattok soon found himself among a Bridge crew of volunteers. No one opted to leave.
“Very well,” he said. “What’s our engine status?”
“Routing power now, sir. You’ll have impulse power in about two minutes.”
He looked over his shoulder. “What’s the estimated time of arrival for our calvary, Miss Casey?”
“The Palomino is twenty-nine minutes out, sir.”
The screen’s timer read 17:32.
“Let’s get to work.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Tattok knelt down beside Cen at the tactical station. On the main viewscreen was the image of the Ferasan cruiser, its hull scorched and pierced by jagged hull breaches. There were occasional flares of residual energy dancing along with the twisted metal.
The time ticked away relentlessly. It was now down to 6:15.
The Pollux had moved into an intersecting position between the station and the cruiser. They were located as close as possible to Helios Station while they still ensured that the resultant collision of the two ships wouldn’t destroy the station.
And time was running out.
Several other options had been studied and dismissed. The evacuation of the colonists had been completed on schedule, and the rest of the crew -- with the exception of Bridge personnel -- were in the process of securing the Recreation Deck. Tattok knew that the chances of survival for them would be slim, but it was the only chance that they had.
Cen called out for a probe and he handed it to him.
A sudden flare of sparks and hot-blue energy sent him sliding out of the compartment underneath the tactical console. “Damn,” the Bolian said, frustration flaring in his eyes before he smacked the probe against the panel door. He lowered his voice. “It’s no use. The firing system is nothing but link after link of melted circuitry. There’s no power. Nothing.” His gaze drifted over to the viewscreen and back to the Roylan captain. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Tattok leaned back against the console.
The turbolift door slid open with a whoosh and Commander Matheson stepped out onto the Bridge. She straightened her maroon uniform jacket and said,” I’d like to remain, sir.”
Tattok nodded at her and turned to face the others. Was this it? Was there nothing more that could be done but wait?
The timer continued its relentless countdown: 5:01.
No. There must be something. Tattok remembered the no-win scenario that he had been tested against in the Academy simulators. Even that, he found, could be thwarted. The no-win situation didn’t exist.
Losing is not an option, his father had said to him, many years before.
Neither did he.
His mind spun its wheels, with ideas stampeding through his thoughts. He narrowed his eyestalks, concentrating. What are our options? They had no phasers and only a single primed photon torpedo that couldn’t be fired from the launch tubes. They didn’t have enough power to divert to the tractor beam to alter the course of the --
The tractor beam!
There wasn’t enough power to use it against the cruiser, but what about something smaller?, he asked himself. He felt a smile lift the corners of his mouth. Cen stared at him as if he had gone insane.
He stood up and moved towards the turbolift. “Mister Cen, Ms. Matheson, you’re with me. I’ll need four others to help ups carry a photon torpedo.”
Other officers scrambled out of their chairs, joining him at the lift.
“Carry a torpedo?,” Cen asked him.
“Yes,” I intend to knock this particular elephant on its -- what was the expression?”
“Ass, Captain.”
“Indeed.”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Hangar Bay was empty. All of the ship’s shuttles had been sent into space, jammed tight with colonists. They carried the torpedo to the center of the deck and set it down. Its black, chitinous shell gleamed dully in the crimson glow of the emergency lighting panels.
“Mister Cen,” Tattok said, turning to the tactical officer,” I need the torpedo timed to arm itself in fifty-five seconds.”
“Aye, sir.” He bent down, removed the casing, and he got to work on the electronics inside the torpedo.
“Everyone else with me.” The Captain led them into a service lift which deposited them quickly inside of the Hangar Bay’s control room. He went over to the main console, activated it, and charged up the tractor beam. It was normally used for guiding the shuttles in and out of the bay, but he had a different purpose in mind.
Through the observation windows, he watched as Ensign Cen sealed the torpedo’s casing and backed away from it. He signally to him before running to climb into the lift.
“Collision Imminent,” the ship’s computer announced over the intercom in a monotone feminine voice. “All hands, brace for collision. Collision in twenty-five seconds.”
Tattok’s hands flew across the controls. The Hangar Bay doors split apart, revealing the cruiser looming nearby against a backdrop of stars. It looked like a deformed moon. “Commander?”
Matheson stepped up beside him. “Sir?”
“Scan that vessel. We need to find its Achilles heel.”
“Yes, sir.” Matheson brought up a scanner display on an adjacent console and studied it intently. She gestured at a point along one engine nacelle. “There’s a critical buildup at the final stage intercoolers.”
Tattok nodded to her. The energy from that section of the ship hadn’t vented as it should have. Hitting that portion of the ship would be like tossing a grenade into an armory. He used the tractor beam to lift the torpedo off of the deck and send it over the fantail.
“Fifteen seconds.”
The cruiser looked like it was close enough to touch the Pollux’s hull. The torpedo flew towards it, aiming itself suddenly and transforming itself into an incandescent sphere of achromatic flame. It moved with slow, deliberate purpose.
Tattok jammed his thumb into the intercom button. “Bridge, bring us around to ten-three-one, mark-twelve. Full impulse, now!”
The Pollux swung around hard, sending all of them careening to the deck. Tattok fell down, rolled over, and got up to his knees before he scrambled back up towards the console. The artificial gravity -- attempting to compensate for the ship’s violet maneuver -- pressed at him. He could see the Ferasan cruiser and the torpedo gliding towards it. The Loknar class starship turned away and put distance between it and the enemy vessel, but not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough.
He reached up and pressed the button to seal the Hangar Bay doors. They began closing…
… and then, the torpedo struck.
He was aware of an intense white light. Closing his eyes against it, he opened them again and saw the doors buckling inward against a wave of concussive force.
“Damn.”
There was a moment of all-encompassing pain, and then darkness.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Captain Tattok woke up slowly, like a diver who was struggling upward from a great depth. He opened his eyes, and squinted his eyestalks in an attempt to resolve the strange, and indistinct forms around him.
“Captain?,” someone said.
He sat up, wincing as pain lanced its way through his chest.
A hand pressed against his shoulder. “Easy, now. You’ve suffered some pretty severe internal injuries. You’ll be fine, but take it slow.”
The smudges of shadows and light began to coalesce. He looked around and saw that he was in the Pollux’s Sickbay, lying upon a diagnostic bed. Members of his crew occupied the other beds. Most of them appeared to have suffered only minor wounds. The room echoed with quiet conversation and the melody of diagnostic equipment.
Standing beside him was Ariel Jaysen, the ship’s chief medical officer. “How are you feeling, Captain?,” she asked him.
Tattok eased his way up into a sitting position. “I’ve felt better.”
The doctor grabbed a hypospray from a stand beside his bed and pressed the instrument against his arm. With the hiss of the hypospray, he felt his pain ease away.
Commander Matheson stepped through the doorway to Sickbay and made her way towards the Captain’s bed. She looked bedraggled but uninjured. The cut on her forehead had a sterile patch on it.
“Report, Ms. Matheson.”
The Executive Officer held out a digital tablet for his inspection. “We’re on course to Starbase Twenty-Three, sir, being towed by the Palomino. Repairs are ongoing, but most of the systems will have to wait for a refit. We do have primary life-support functioning and the hull breach has been sealed. We’re being held together, at this point, by spit and prayers, according to Chief Solzhenichenzy. The Pollux took a hell of a lot of punishment, but she made it through it. She’s a good ship.” She smiled faintly at him. “The colonists that we evacuated have all been recovered.”
Tattok nodded. “And Helios?”
“It may not be salvageable. Everyone’s being offloaded.”
“Their casualties?”
“Pretty high. Initial estimates put them at six-hundred dead and two-thousand injured.”
“Six hundred?”
“Yes, sir.”
Tattok felt himself shudder at the death count.
“It could have been more, sir -- much more.”
He swallowed and asked,” Our casualties?”
“Twenty-one dead. Thirty-three seriously wounded. Most of the dead were in the area of the hull breach.”
Bile rose up in his throat. He coughed with his hand pressed against his chest. He shook his head and whispered,” So many gone. My crew.” His captaincy seemed like a tangible weight, pressing against him, stealing his breath. Will the memory of those lost lives haunt me forever?
At times like this, the path of his forefathers didn’t seem as appealing as the Roylan history books made them out to be.
“What about everyone in the Hangar Bay control room? Besides yourself?”
“We all made it through, just fire. We had been knocked to the deck and that protected us to a certain degree. Ensign Cen took a few lumps, but the Palomino’s chief surgeon tells me that he’ll recover nicely.”
“We transferred many of our injured over to the Palomino,” Doctor Jaysen explained, examining the diagnostic display screen above the bed. “They have top-of-the-line facilities there. Our people are getting the best care possible.”
“Sir?,” Matheson said.
“Yes?,” Tattok asked, weakly.
The Commander looked down before she slowly raised it up to meet his gaze. “I don’t think I could have made the decision that you made. I can’t imagine how difficult that might have been.” She brushed idly at a dirty smudge on her uniform jacket. “If it had come to… well, if you hadn’t pulled that rabbit out of your hat at the last moment -- I would have supported the decision. All of us would have.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“It’s a pleasure to serve as your Executive Officer, Captain. Get some rest.”
Tattok leaned back against the bed and watched as Matheson left Sickbay. Jaysen moved away to examine another patient. The Roylan turned onto his side, away from the others.
That’s when he allowed himself the luxury of silent tears.
The End...
