Star Trek Challenger - "Underworld"

[Bry_Sinclair]

Chapter 15 (part 2)


Unknown Underground Location
Prairie Colony, DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

Strapped to the table in a madman’s lair, Deacon had expected to be tortured for information. But Kolris hadn’t done any such thing. After asking for technical specifications on the Challenger he had moved off to study one of the computer screens, leaving Deacon alone. He used the time to study move of his surroundings but—as with the smaller control room he’d been in—the language was nearly impossible to read without the use of a tricorder or a trained linguist. A few of the characters he could make out didn’t tell him anything of use. The robots went about their business with wordless efficiency, moving from one console to another in a carefully choreographed dance across the floor.

Whilst he watched what was going on he also flexed and tested his muscles. The effect of the transporter had passed and he had had time to rest and recover some of his strength, although he was thirsty and hadn’t eaten in several hours, he was in good a shape as he was going to get in order to attempt an escape. All he needed was a single opportunity.

As he lay of the raised angled table, studying the room and readying his body, he couldn’t help but think about the Challenger, the danger she faced and why she hadn’t carried out the orders he’d given Shumar.

They must be attempting a rescue, he decided. His new, untried and untested crew weren’t going to let him sacrifice himself without doing all they could to find him first. Despite the dangerous situation he found himself in, Deacon couldn’t help but touched by their effort—mad as help for going against his orders, but proud that they weren’t willing to leave anyone behind. Admiral McKinnon may have questioned my choice of crew, but I knew that they would be up for the job.

“Master, the vessel has established orbit and are initiating scans,” one of the robots stated.

Kolris moved over to the robot and Deacon watched. The grey-skinned alien looked over the displays for a moment and then smiled. He looked back at Deacon. “Your crew are quite resourceful Commander, they are using a tunnelling sensor beam to try and find you. If they had the time their plan might work, but unfortunately they don’t have the time.” He turned away and looked at another robot. “Increase pulses, and prepare an ionic feedback charge.”

“Master, the increased pulses and ionic charge combined with the energy transfer to the troops, may push our generators to the extreme limits. We may suffer overloads and failures in other systems,” the robot in question replied.

“Just do it!”

“Yes Master.”

“What are you doing?” Deacon challenged.

“Merely securing my ship Commander in the fastest means possible,” he then turned away and pulled a device off his belt. “Sergeant, status of the attack?”

“We have encountered heavier resistance than previously calculated. Estimating we have suffered thirty percent losses,” a metallic voice droned from the communicator.

“Target their forcefield generators and we will beam in additional troops.”

“Confirmed.”

Kolris fixed the communicator back onto his belt, folded his arms across his chest and stood studying the various monitors. Deacon looked at the small cylindrical device with interest. From the sounds of things, the colony was under attack as well, and that device was able to punch a signal through the dense rock and heavy metals to the surface. He had to wonder if it could reach into orbit as well.

“Master, pulses increased by seventy percent. Ionic emitters charged and ready.”

“You can’t do this!” Deacon cried out, straining against the metal clamps that held him in place.

The madman just smiled. “You can’t stop genius Commander,” he said in an almost whimsical tone. He looked at the robot that had last spoken. “Match the emitters to the frequency of the sensor beam.”

“Frequency established and verified.”

“Initiate.”

Just as the robot touched a glowing stud, the lights in the chamber cut out, plunging them into darkness. At the same time, Deacon felt the restraints around his wrists, ankles and waist retract, freeing him from the metal table. It was now or never.

“What’s going on?” Kolris demanded.

Deacon slipped off the table and stood on his own two feet, his legs didn’t wobble or shake, his time spent strapped to the bench had done more good than harm. His eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but all he could hear were metallic fingers tapping buttons and control panels. No one was moving, which meant that Kolris would be where he’d stood seconds ago.

With one quick breath to ready himself, Deacon ran towards where Kolris had been, hoping that the man hadn’t moved. Moments later he ploughed into a living being, all muscle and bone, and knocked both of them to the ground. Kolris cried out in surprise when Deacon crashed into him and then in pain when they hit the ground. Using the moment of disorientation, Deacon managed to grab the comm device off of his belt and jump to his feet before Kolris could call out a warning or orders. By the time he was on his feet, his eyes were able to make out vague shapes. He spotted the nearest exit and ran for it.

Fortunately, the doors weren’t on the same power circuit that had overloaded, and he managed to escape the command chamber, just as he heard Kolris shout out a warning to the robots to stop him. Dredging up whatever energy reserves he had left, Deacon ran at full speed down the pitch-black tunnel. His mind reeling, he thought of the Challenger, the colony, and all the people who were in danger.

Fumbling with the communicator, he managed to activate it and by touch alone he switched frequencies, hoping he’d picked one that the Challenger would pick up but one Kolris wouldn’t be monitoring.

“Deacon to Challenger! Come in Challenger!” he called, his voice echoing up and down the tunnel. It was the only sound he could hear over the pounding of his heart.

The device stayed quiet. He switched frequency and tried again. He was just about to try another channel when there was a burst of static.

“Commander Deacon, come in! Challenger to Commander Deacon, can you read me?”

Smiling with relief, he slowed down to try and catch his breath. “N’Qua, you have to target my coordinates and destroy this location now! Do not attempt a rescue. This site has to be taken out. Do you copy?”

There was a momentary pause, before N’Qua replied solemnly, “Understood Commander.”

From behind, he heard heavy footfalls filling the passage. Speeding back up again, Deacon ran for all he was worth.

***

U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

As they had been scanning the cave site, the energy wave had become more frequent, buffeting the shields. But only minutes after they had increased, some kind of energy pulse had travelled along their focused sensor beam and caused havoc across the ship. Their primary sensor array, subspace communications and long-range transporter array had all taken heavy damage, it was only due to a “circuit breaker” that was part of the Yorktown-Class design and wasn’t present on modern ships, that the feedback pulse hadn’t scrambled their shields, power distribution network, or any other critical systems.

Lenelle N’Qua had been in the midst of sorting through damage reports and assigning repair teams when she’d picked up the Commander’s faint signal from the surface. How he’d managed it she didn’t know, but she was relieved to hear his voice, until he’d given his orders. After she had replied he’d cut the channel and she’d lost him again.

“Xahl,” she spoke up, turning towards the centre of the bridge and looking at the navigation officer, as he leaned over the flight control station speaking with Drake and Hoskins. He stopped and looked back at her, a concerned look on his handsome face. “I was just able to make contact with the Commander. He’s ordered his location to be destroyed immediately, and for us not to attempt a rescue.”

The bridge crew fell silent, as they looked from Xahl to N’Qua and back again. She could feel the conflict within him, wanting to save Deacon but also his training to follow the orders of his superior, even if that order meant killing the Commander. N’Qua could feel her eyes moisten. She had worked with Deacon on Earth for several weeks before he’d had her reassigned to the Challenger, her first shipboard posting, and in that relatively short space of time she had come to admire, respect and like the man, and she knew she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Another wave shuddered the Challenger.

For his part, with ten pairs of eyes watching him, Xahl squared his jaw and nodded once. “Understood Lieutenant.” He turned back to Drake and Hoskins. “Chief, I assume that feedback took out our long-range targeting sensors.”

“Yes sir.”

“Very well. I relieve you Chief.”

The non-com looked up at him in bewilderment. “Sir?”

“If someone’s going to kill the Commander it should be me.”

Hoskins didn’t say another word. He merely stood and stepped away from the console. Xahl slipped into the seat and Hoskins took his place back at the weapons and defence console on the upper level of the bridge. Everyone watched, no one spoke. N’Qua knew that there were no words to describe how each of them felt. None of them had ever expected to be given such an order on their first mission, and no one was quite ready to accept that it had been given (twice now) or they now had to carry it out.

Back in his customary place, Xahl looked at Ensign Drake seated next to him. “I’ll plot an attack pattern on the cave site. Take us into the atmosphere Ensign.”

“Aye sir,” the young helmsman replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

N’Qua looked at Xahl from behind, but his broad shoulders were set, his posture rigid. This wasn’t an order he was going to disobey again. He knew that too much was at stake to risk over the life of just one man, even if that man was their Commander. She looked up at the viewscreen as the image of the planet loomed larger, until it filled the monitor. The Challenger shook, a combination of the energy waves and sudden entry into the planets upper atmosphere. The shacking would only get worse as they got closer to the surface. But the closer range would allow them to better target the facility, and mean that their torpedoes would have a greater effect.

N’Qua turned back to her console and shut her eyes tightly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to run down her cheeks. After a few seconds she opened them, set her earpiece in place once again and once again saw to their damage control teams, who would be in great demand as they plummeted towards Prairie.

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

Chapter 16 (part 1)


Prairie Colony
DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

Since the comm had come in telling all the defence force that the township had been breeched, Jeremy Hayne had heard numerous energy blasts, an explosion or two, shouting and screaming. Looking above the stocky buildings he could see smoke rising into the air, and beyond it the shimmering blue hue of the makeshift forcefield. En route to the control console, he’d been forced to take a less direct path when the soldiers began moving through the streets and alleys of the town. On his own, with just a type-two phaser and one additional power cell, he didn’t particularly like his odds if he went up against even one of the soldiers.

As he ducked and crept through the streets, using whatever he could for cover, he couldn’t help but think of Kzelk and Friedman, who he’d left at the controls so as to keep the two inexperienced non-coms from combat. He’d only been working with the two of them for a few weeks, but in that time Kzelk had proved to have a mastery over EPS manifolds like no one else he’d worked with, though her odd sense of humour took some getting used to, whilst Patricia (don’t-call-me-“Pattie”) Friedman was like a sponge, absorbing every bit of information she could and retaining it perfectly. Both of them, despite both being straight out of training, had shown themselves to be hardworking and dedicated. Hayne hated the though that he might have left them alone against the soldiers.

Shaking his head to clear those thoughts, he pressed himself up against the wall of a building. In the next street was the control console, and he would find out whether or not his staff were alright or not. Part of him dreaded what he might find, another part didn’t want to look, but he took a deep breath glanced around the side. The generator stood exactly where it had been set up at, the boxy structure with various lights and controls on each surface, whilst at the top a beam of cobalt blue energy lanced upwards to the sky, where it (and the other two generators) coalesced into the field that surrounded the town. Standing by the console, nervously looking around at the empty street were his crewmembers.

Checking the street one last time, he ran out from his hiding place and towards them. Kzelk, who stood head and shoulders above most of the crew, noticed him first and a look of relief passing over her dark indigo face. He reached them and Friedman looked up from the controls, a knot of worry on her brow. On the monitor she was looking at most of the indicators were red or orange, only a couple were yellow and none were green. That immediately told him that the system was failing.

As he looked over the readouts himself, Kzelk explained how they had tried to boost power and maximise efficiency on the generators. Hayne knew that with dozens of enemies firing on the field at the same time, the generators needed to work harder to maintain energy output, which was taxing the SIF system well beyond its limits. He had to admit that he was surprised they had held for as long as they had.

“We thought about trying to tap into the colonies power supply,” explained Kzelk, “but their distribution system in this area has been damaged.”

“It’s a good idea in theory Petty Officer, but you’d need to rig a transformer to deal with the energy output from the colonies network, and we don’t have the equipment here to even attempt it,” Hayne stated, though he did like the Betelgeusians creativity. He scrutinised the monitor for a moment longer and shook his head. “There’s no way to stabilise the field or increase power without shorting out the generators. We could—”

“Lieutenant!” Friedman called out panicked.

He looked at her and then in the direction she was staring, eyes wide with fear. Six of the big, bulky soldiers had turned into the street and heading towards them. Hayne pulled the phaser off his belt, and looked from the soldiers, to his engineers and then to the generator. There were no shelters close to their position, and from what he’d heard over the comm the soldiers were going after the civilians.

“Run!” he ordered. “They’re after the generator. Go!” Raising his weapon he targeted the weak spot and fired, as Kzelk ran away from the freestanding piece of technology, moving remarkably quickly for someone so tall. Friedman stood in the street firing her phaser wildly, though rarely hitting any of the approaching troops.

“Friedman, run!” he cried, just as the soldiers raised their left arms. He darted away from the generator, towards the crewman firing as he moved, all of his blasts hitting a target. As he suspected they were ignoring him and aiming at the SIF generator that had been removed from the Challenger. He got to Friedman, grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from the generator. She didn’t resist, forgetting all thoughts of firing, and ran.

She headed for the alley he’d emerged from, and where Kzelk now stood, providing cover fire as they withdrew. Hayne fired off another shot and then followed Friedman. From behind him he heard the soldiers open fire, but didn’t look back. The telltale sound of disruptor energy burning into metal told him all he needed to know, and it wouldn’t be long before they burned through the outer casing and into the components beneath. One hit to the graviton flux regulator and the entire device would be destroyed.

Reaching the alley, he ordered them to fall back. The explosion would be powerful and most likely damage the buildings around the generator, the further away they were the better. Kzelk led the way, with Friedman behind her and Hayne at the rear. They emerged from the alley and into the adjacent street, once there they paused. There were no soldiers, colonists of Challenger crewmembers around.

“We should head for the Admin Building, and regroup there,” he decided, and both women nodded. They headed down the street at a brisk trot, but had only gone less than twenty meters before a loud explosion filled the air, rumbling like thunder. Hayne looked back towards the generator and saw thick black smoke billowing up. But this time, as he looked past the smoke, there was no sign of the forcefield.

The colony was now completely vulnerable.

“Let’s keep moving,” he instructed, increasing the power setting on his phaser, and heading for the Marketplace.

***

U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

Alerts and klaxons filled the bridge, as the deck plating rattled and the ship bucked. The Challenger was descending further and further into the atmosphere of DePaul IV, as the ship was continuously hit by the shockwaves. Xahl looked from the course trajectory, to the shield status display, to the fire control panel on his console. He gripped the console tightly, as his body shook. The ship was taking a pounding far greater than anything she was designed for.

“Shields at forty-three percent,” Drake called out, more for the rest of the bridge crews’ information than Xahl’s own benefit.

“Structural integrity down to thirty-two percent,” added N’Qua.

“Hull temperature approaching maximum tolerance,” Shumar stated.

Come on old girl; hold on just a little longer, Xahl silently prayed. He looked at the navigation readout. They were almost in range for their torpedoes. He activated the targeting sensors and attempted to lock onto the centre of the cave network, but with the long-range sensors down due to the feedback pulse, they would need to be closer.

“Sir,” Drake’s voice was almost drowned out by the rattling and the klaxons, “I’m losing impulse power.”

Xahl hit the intercom panel on the flight control console. “Xahl to engineering. What’s happening to the impulse engines?”

“Wyatt here. The primary impulse reactor is overheating; we have to switch to the secondary. But I’m not sure how long it’ll hold up.”

“Do what you can Lieutenant, we’ll need all the power you can give us to get back into orbit.”

“I’ll give you all she’s got and then some. Wyatt out.”

Another wave hit hard, throwing everyone to port, but the crew managed to hang onto their consoles. Metal groaned and one of the upper bridge stations sparked, causing the operator to let out a panicked cry and stumble backwards. Xahl looked over at the junior officer but he signalled he was alright and returned to his station. He looked back at the targeting sensors; they would be in range in a matter of seconds.

He tapped the intercom once again, “Torpedo control, we’re almost in range. Status.”

“Both tubes are fully loaded, and the warheads have been set to maximum yield. That should take care of pretty much the entire facility,” stated Lieutenant Croix, the ship’s chief ordnance officer.

“Stand ready to launch torpedoes and bring phasers to full power as well. Xahl out.”

He watched the targeting display, as the distance to firing range decreased rapidly. The Challenger’s two tubes could hold a maximum of four torpedoes each before needing to be reloaded, which gave him eight photons to use to destroy the facility. He quickly set the torpedoes to a wide dispersal pattern, but concentrated the first four at the centre of the facility, which was within only a few meters of where Commander Deacon’s signal had originated from, whilst the last four would hit areas that showed anomalous energy readings.

With the torpedo bay ready and the attack pattern set, Xahl looked back at Lieutenant N’Qua. He caught her eye, hoping that she would have something to report. But her eyes were damn as she shook her head. He closed his eyes for a second and turned back to his control board.

This is it then, he told himself just as the Challenger entered weapons range. His eyes on the screen, he announced, “Firing,” and tapped the launch stud. As the viewscreen shook, it showed eight bright balls launch from underneath the Challenger’s saucer and hurtle towards the planets surface. All of the bridge crew watched.

From her console Shumar stated, “Ninety seconds to impact.” She continued to count down at ten-second intervals. But when she reached sixty, all eight torpedoes exploded whilst still hundreds of kilometres from their target. As soon as they detonated she called out, “Incoming shockwave!”

The ship was pounded by another wave, which caused several other alarms to sound. N’Qua called out, “Hull breech on deck eight! Emergency bulkheads have sealed. Structural integrity down to twenty-four percent!”

“Deflector screens at thirty percent!” Drake quickly added.

Xahl looked over all his instruments, none of which was promising. The shockwave had destroyed the torpedoes before they got anywhere near the caves. Which meant that the Challenger would have to get closer for their weapons to be effective. He adjusted their heading, and looked at Drake.

“Ensign, get us in closer.”

***

Prairie Colony
DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

In the Operations Centre, Yates and Becker stood at the central table, whilst Surrin remained at communications and Technician Polson had taken over from Becker at the main sensor console. The skeleton crew in Ops were busy trying to organise the security teams and dispatch them to the shelters, infirmary, the sensor and communications arrays, and the Admin Building. But it was proving more difficult than they’d expected, as the hundred or so soldiers that had beamed in had done a good job of getting the defence teams off balance and divided.

An explosion from outside made them jump, and Yates let out a yelp of shock. They all looked out one of the windows and saw smoke rising into the air.

“No,” Becker gasped. “That was the main generator.”

In the sky the forcefield, that they had all watched being activated, dissipated. Without the field the soldiers outside would be in the township in a matter of minutes, then along with the hundred or so armoured troops already inside town they could easily overpower the teams who were trying to defend the colony.

Less than ten seconds after the field had disappeared from above the colony, the high-pitched whine of a transporter filled the room. Immediately, they looked towards the origin of the sound, a single humanoid figure materialising right in front of the lift, blocking their best means of escape.

“Take cover!” Becker ordered, drawing his weapon from the holster on his hip, and gripping Yates firmly by the arm and moving towards the central table, the sturdiest barricade between the Ops crew and the intruder. Surrin and Polson followed his lead, quickly readying their weapons in the seconds they had before the transport cycle was complete.

Yates, her head reeling from the shock of what had happened in only a few seconds, pulled the phaser from her belt though she barely felt the weight of the weapon. She tried to remember the weapons training she’d gone through on Earth, but it felt so far away. Her time spent learning the basics of phaser operation and maintenance, the little time she’d spent on the target range (enough for the basic certificate, but hardly enough to classify her as any kind of marksman), study of field tactics. She was an administrations specialist, not a security guard. Her time on Earth had been focused on computer operations, data management and starship protocols.

The soldier solidified, raised its left arm and fired. The pulses of energy were continuous and were aimed in their general direction, some hitting the table, others the chairs around the table, or the floor, some went wide and hit the consoles behind them. The single soldier had them pinned down, and by the sound of its heavy footsteps was advancing on them.

“Aim for the weak spot and give it all you’ve got!” stated Becker, looking as terrified as they all felt. He crouched around to the side of the table and fired off a few shots from his EM-33, but the enemies’ fire never halted. Each time it hit the table Yates winced and trembled, the phaser in her hand all but forgotten about.

To her left, Polson suddenly leapt to his feet. He managed to fire off two shots, before the bursts of vibrant green energy tore through his body and threw him across the room, into the secondary sensor console.

“Ethan!” Surrin cried out and moved towards his dead colleague. A beam of energy mere centimetres from his head made him stop and cower back behind the table.

Becker ducked back behind the table and looked at Yates and Surrin. “He’s going to be on us in a few seconds, we have to get out of here.” He gestured to the door opposite the lift and directly in front of them, it led to the Ops level head as well as the observation room and the emergency stairs. “Go, I’ll give you cover fire. Don’t stop for anything.”

“Darren, I—” the Tiburon began.

“That’s an order Surrin!” He moved onto his haunches, flexed his grip around the handle of the EM-33 and took a deep breath. Then in one swift move, he sprung out from behind the table, shoulder rolled and came out into a firing position. “Now!” he yelled as he opened fire.

The soldier moved its aim towards Becker, just as Surrin scurried out from the table and bolted towards the exit. He’d only gone five meters or so before a stray shot caught him in the thigh. He cried out in pain and collapsed on the floor. Becker, continued to fire up until the last possible second, before he took cover behind one of the consoles around the outside of the Operations Centre. The soldier continued to fire on Becker, moving closer. Surrin scrambled towards the exit, using his hands and one good leg.

Yates, who sat stiffly with her back pressed up against the base of the table, watched with glazed eyes as the comm technician reached the doors. They parted and he crawled through, leaving behind a long smear of pinkish-red blood. It was only when something big and grey entered her peripheral vision that she looked away, towards the enormous metallic trooper. It paused for a moment, its disruptor falling silent, and turned its head to look at her. With glowing yellow eyes it scrutinised her for a long moment, before its body turned towards her.

Looking up at the soldier, with its thick, seamless armour, menacing eyes and powerful weaponry, Sabrina Yates wept. She was going to die, of that she was certain. Without living any kind of life, she was about to be blasted into nothing. She wasn’t defending anyone, wasn’t sacrificing herself for something great. If there was such a thing as a good death, as Administrator Harris had said, what she faced was as far removed from it as possible.

“Sabrina! Get out of there!” she heard Becker shout. But she couldn’t move. Her body was frozen with terror. Her mind shut down, knowing her death was only a few short seconds away.

Tears running down her cheeks, she looked up at her killer as it pointed its weapon arm at her. But before it could fire, she heard the discharge of Becker’s weapon, as its pulse of energy slammed into the back of the soldier. But it paid little attention to him, until Becker landed on its back, his arms wrapped around the soldier’s eyes. It shook from side to side, trying to dislodge him, reaching up with its right arm to try and grab the senior technician and remove him.

Becker looked straight at her. “Sabrina, get out!” He jammed his weapon into where the soldier’s collar bone would approximately be and squeezed the trigger. Pulse after pulse from the EM-33 slammed into the soldier at point-blank range, and soon was boring through the armour. The soldier stumbled and lurched, a combination of trying to throw Becker off and wounded by his attack. In seconds, the hole Becker was making in its chest smouldered and then began to glow.

Suddenly, it crackled with electricity before its chest exploded. The brief flash was blinding and she had to cover her eyes. With her eyes averted she heard crash as the soldier fell from its feet, and felt the vibrations as it hit the floor. Then Ops went eerily quiet.

Slowly she opened her eyes, and blinked away the glare the explosion had caused. She looked around, but there was no one standing in the room, no new soldiers or security guards. Some of the consoles the soldier had hit were on fire, the smoke filling the air and stinging her eyes.

“Becker?” she whispered and coughed as the smoke hit her lungs. “Becker?” she repeated, louder than before. She got to her feet and saw the soldier on the ground, a mess of metal circuits and wires, its chest was in flames as well, only adding to the acrid taste in the air of the Operations Centre. Lying just beyond the robotic soldier was a prone humanoid figure. She moved closer, tears continuing to run down her cheeks.

There, on his back, his face, neck, chest and arms scorched and blistered was Darren Becker. His dark skin was now charcoal black, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. He had died saving her. Yates fell to her knees beside him and sobbed.

***

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

Chapter 16 (part 2)


Underground Caves
Prairie Colony, DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

Deacon ran for all he was worth down the long dark tunnels. His eyes were used to the darkness, but the walls were rough and the floor was far from even, and he was covered in numerous cuts and grazes as he’d stumbled. From behind he could hear the pounding footsteps of Kolris’ robots, which made him run faster, demanding energy he simply didn’t have any more.

Come on Xahl! Destroy these damn caves already! He had no way of knowing what was happening onboard the Challenger that was delaying her attack, or if his ship was even still in one piece. She had to be, of that he was almost certain. But for all he knew the madman in the facility could have had a swarm of robotic fighters that were attacking the ship. Deacon had no way of knowing what resources Kolris had at his disposal. Obviously enough to escape from a cell, kill all the guards and prisoners and take over the massive prison.

There were so many people relying on him and his instinct, over twenty-one thousand colonists and the two hundred and sixty crewmen aboard the Challenger. He had chosen Xahl (not to mention most of his other senior officers) based on his gut feeling about the Orion, the recommendation for Deacon’s old instructor and seeing his honest during their brief chat, whilst Xahl was still onboard the Kumari, were just the icing on the cake. Not to mention that he’s easy on the eyes. Had he not been running for his life, Deacon would have laughed the stray thought.

Pressing himself onwards, his legs were burning, his chest felt heavy and his lungs were desperately trying to suck in enough air to keep him going. He thought of Seyra and Aeden, and hoped that the Challenger had managed to beam them back before destroying the caves. They both deserved better than dying in a tomb, although he knew that Seyra wouldn’t have blinked at the thought of giving her life for others. She would have done everything possible to save him and face such a fate alone.

Her stubbornness and dedication to duty made the Andorian the biggest pain in the ass imaginable, but also the loyalist friend he’d ever had. That wasn’t to say that Hayne and a few other close acquaintances weren’t loyal, but she would go down to the deepest level of hell and back again without even needing to be asked. He’d miss that about her. The same way he’d miss Jerry’s mischievous streak and playfulness, or his sheer brilliance and imaginative practical jokes.

His next thought was of his family, who he hadn’t spoken to in almost fourteen years. The rift caused by his desire to enter Starfleet against his father’s wishes. Leaving home in the middle of the night, he hadn’t returned. He’d missed a lot in that time, especially Gabriella—his baby sister who was eleven when he’d left, and would now be a young woman. Would he still recognise her after all those years? What had she done with her life? He had sent her a letter every week whilst at the Academy, and then at least once a fortnight after he’d graduated. But not once had she written back. Did she hate him that much for running out on her? He’d never know.

Shaking his head, he glanced at the roof of the cave for a brief second. Do it Xahl. Fire everything we’ve got at this place!

Behind him the robots were getting closer.

***

U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

“Shields at nineteen percent,” Drake yelled over the noise in the bridge.

“Structural integrity down to ten percent,” added N’Qua, her voice almost lost in the din.

Shumar looked at the sensor readouts on her console. The ships hull temperature was just within the design tolerance, but with their SIF and shields almost gone the Challenger was in a poor state. The primary sensor array was still inoperative so she was using every other sensor array the ship had to monitor the attack. Exhaustion was clouding her mind, but she was determined to remain at her post until the mission was over. She had to do everything possible to save the Commander, to prove the faith he had put into her when he’d chosen her to be the Challenger’s science officer.

The shockwaves continued to pound the ship, and the deck constantly vibrated with the air resistance the starship met as it travelled through the atmosphere. Had she eaten recently, the shaking and rattling would have made her quite nauseous.

“Coming into target range,” Xahl called out.

She looked into the sensor hood and noted a build-up of energy on the surface, signalling that another wave was eminent. Looking at the output and running a few quick mental calculations, she looked up and shouted, “Energy wave estimated in twenty-four seconds.”

Xahl nodded and slapped the intercom. “Engine room, divert anything you can to shields.”

“There’s little left to do that Lieutenant,” was assistant chief engineer Wyatt’s reply.

“Shut down life-support and dump that into the deflectors. Xahl out,” he closed the channel before Wyatt could raise any objections.

Shumar went back to the sensor hood. As before, the scanners couldn’t properly identify exactly what kind of energies the waves were comprised of. Even as it charged, some of the readings she got were off every scale the ship had. The scientist in her had to marvel at the sheer power and technical brilliance it would have taken to devise such a weapon.

“Wave release in ten seconds,” she stated, gripping her console tightly and readying herself.

“Deflector screens increased by eleven percent,” said Drake.

“That’s it?” asked Xahl in disbelief. The life-support and environmental systems used a substantial portion of the ships generated power, due to the importance of the systems, they were on the secondary power grid as well, and were the only systems to be kept at close to full power when on emergency batteries.

“Xahl,” N’Qua called out from the aft console, “engineering was already siphoning off power from life-support to keep the impulse engines operational, and environmental has been diverted into tactical systems.”

Shumar’s sensors chirped. “Incoming shockwave! Impact in six seconds.”

Once again, Xahl hit the intercom. “Torpedo control, standby.” At the same time, Lieutenant N’Qua ordered all hands to brace.

The wave hit, throwing the ship hard to port. Metal screamed in protest, two of the bridge consoles erupted in sparks, throwing the officers to the deck, their cries of pain muffled by the klaxons. Shumar had held onto her station, as had most of the other crew. One of the officers flung from their post was seeing to the other, who was groaning and crying in agony. Shumar glanced behind her and saw that the duty engineer was cradling his arms by his chest; his hands were blackened and bloody from electrical burns.

“We’ve lost structural integrity!”

N’Qua’s announcement snapped Shumar’s attention back to her duties. She quickly checked sensors, but there was no other major damage to the ship and the caves were well within optimum firing range. The wave generators were inactive, but that would change in a few seconds.

“Sensors are clear,” she told Xahl, looking into the hood and running another thorough scan, checking out the target sites.

“Locking torpedoes,” he announced. “Targets acquired.” There was the briefest of pauses, before he added, in a much softer tone, “Firing.”

Shumar wanted to look at the viewscreen as the torpedoes sped away from the Challenger towards the caves, to pay her final respects to Commander Tobias Deacon. But part of her couldn’t do it, and so she monitored the attack on the short-range sensors.

Just seconds before the first of the eight torpedoes found their target, in one of the unshielded sections of tunnels, her sensors registered a single blip; a human life-sign. Then the torpedoes hit.

***

Underground Caves
Prairie Colony, DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

All around him, the ground shook, as above Deacon’s head he heard four thundering impacts, closely followed by four others—though further away that the first. He braced himself against the wall of the cave, a faint smile on his grubby face. The Challenger was firing on the caves. Attack pattern theta if I’m not mistaken, he deduced. Kolris would be stopped, and the facility would be destroyed, ending the colony’s nightmare.

From behind, he heard the crashing of rocks and metal, explosions and then the roar of fire. Then he felt a wave of heat pass over him. He looked back down the long straight passage, and in the distance there was a pinprick of brilliant light, a mix of yellows and oranges and reds. But what started as a dot quickly grew. He turned away from the approaching wall of flame and ran. His body screamed in protest, but he did his best to ignore the pain and focused only on staying alive for an extra moment or two.

He had only gone a few meters before his foot caught on a rock and he fell to the ground. He landed heavily on the dusty rock, knocking the wind from his chest. Rolling onto his back he propped himself up on his elbows and looked back down at the fireball that would incinerate him. Though he didn’t welcome death, his body had nothing left to give. He shut his eyes tightly.

Only to open them when he heard the familiar noise of a Starfleet transporter. Seconds later, he was on top of the platform in transporter room one. Senior Chief McCall hurried around the controls and crouched next to him.

“Commander, are you alright?”

Deacon shook his head, gasping for air. “The…attack…those cave…have to be…destroyed,” he gasped, staggering to his feet with the transporter chief’s help. Once back on his feet (which wasn’t easy given that the ship was rocking and shacking), he thanked the chief and headed out the doors. As quickly as he could, he trotted down the short corridor to the turbolift and ordered it to the bridge.

The doors parted and he stepped out onto the bridge, and felt a surge of relief and happiness at seeing it once again. The feelings were short lived, as he emerged from the alcove and bellowed, “I ordered those caves destroyed!”

All the other bridge crew looked up at him, each one looked relieved at glad to see him, Xahl’s attention remained fixed on his controls, “Almost there Commander.” Deacon looked at the viewscreen, as multiple phaser beams scorched across the surface of the planet. Xahl then hit the intercom on his console. “Torpedo status.”

“Lock and load Lieutenant,” came the prompt response.

Without waiting for an order, the Orion hit the fire control and launched eight more torpedoes towards the caves. Deacon moved from the alcove down to the command well, and stood behind the flight control console watching the screen. Each torpedo hit the surface, and its annihilation of matter and antimatter obliterating the site Deacon had been standing (or rather lying) at only a minute before. Even as the torpedoes hit, the phaser barrage continued, adding their phased energy power.

He looked at Shumar. “Status.”

“Approximately eighty-five percent of the cave complex has been destroyed Commander, including what looked to be the facilities main reactors.”

From behind N’Qua stated, “Hull stress is beyond tolerance level. Engineering reports, if we don’t leave the atmosphere now we never will sir.”

Deacon looked down at Xahl. “Cease fire. Plot escape course.”

“Already locked into the nav-computer sir,” he replied.

“Drake, take us up,” he ordered, moving to his seat and all but collapsing into it.

“Aye sir,” the young helmsman replied, as his fingers danced across the controls. For a brief second it felt as though nothing happened, but then the image on the viewscreen shifted as the ship slowly climbed back into orbit. The ship vibrated and shook, jolting every so often as they were buffeted by a strong air current. Alarms and klaxons continued to sound, as the crew did all they could to keep the ship in one piece.

As they ascended, and the atmosphere became thinner, the turbulence diminished and the Challenger’s journey became smoother, until she was once again in orbit around DePaul IV. As the crew released a collective sigh of relief, Deacon permitted himself a small smile. His gut had been right about Xahl and the others, and he was proud to call them his crew.

He hit the intercom panel on his chair. “All hands, this is the Commander. Stand down from red alert. All sections, report full damage and casualties ASAP.” He looked down at his flight control team. “Well done gentlemen,” he told them, before turning back to N’Qua. “Can you raise Lieutenant Commander Reynolds?”

N’Qua gave him a warm and genuine smile. “Aye-aye sir,” she replied, slipping her earpiece in place and tapping on her control panel.

***

Prairie Colony
DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

Whilst heading for the Admin Building, Reynolds and Myers had been cut off by seven soldiers advancing on their position, and then boxed in as four more cut off their only means of escape. They had taken refuge in a vacant building, but with both groups of soldiers converging on them, firing continuously, they were trapped.

“Any suggestions Senior Chief?” he asked.

“Looks like a Kobayashi Maru Commander,” the retired non-com stated, referring to the infamous no-win scenario all Starfleet cadets and trainees were put through.

Reynolds had come to the same conclusion. He had tried to contact Powell or Ansil for assistance, but both officers—as well as the rest of the security teams—were in similar situations. After the forcefield had come down, dozens more soldiers had been beamed in. Exactly how many, no one had been able to estimate, but more than enough to beat the security teams back and keep them pinned in.

He looked down at his phaser. He was on his last power cell, and that would only be enough to take out three, maybe four of the soldiers with Myers’ help. But he could try setting it to overload and using it like a grenade, it might take out several of the soldiers, but it would leave them with a single weapon against the remaining troops, and there were no guarantees the overloaded phaser would actually work.

They could try to surrender but going by their previous actions, it was clear that the soldiers were ordered to kill the colonists, not take them prisoner.

Whilst trying to think of another option to either take them down or escape, the firing stopped. He and Myers shot each other a suspicious look. Had they planted explosives, or moving to surround them, or withdrawn—deciding that two humans weren’t a good enough target. Using hand signals he ordered Myers to remain where she was, as he peeked out through the shattered window.

Outside, the eleven soldiers remained, but their arms hung limply by their sides and their posture was droopy. Everything had gone quiet. He pulled his communicator off his belt. “Reynolds to Powell. Report.”

“The advancing troops have stopped sir.”

“I’ve got the same here. Lieutenant, have you got a tricorder handy?”

“Yes sir. Standby.” Reynolds waited patiently, never taking his eyes off of the squad in front of the building. It took a few minutes before Powell stated, “We’re not getting anything from them sir. No weapon signatures or energy overloads. Nothing threatening.”

“Understood Lieutenant, proceed with caution. Reynolds out.”

He moved closer to the doorway, which had been blasted in during the attack, he trained his phaser on the closest soldier and moved out of the building, aware that Myers covered him from just inside the doorframe. He moved slowly, his eyes watching each of the soldiers, expected them at any second to aim at him and fire. There was no reaction from any of them, no noise or light or movement.

His communicator chirped. He flipped it open. “Reynolds here.”

“XO, what’s your status?”

“All the soldiers have stopped Commander. There are no signs of a self-destruct or automated defence systems.”

“We’ve destroyed the prison complex. I was hoping that that would shut down those robots as well. How’s the colony?”

Reynolds looked around at the part of the township he was in. The buildings were mostly intact, though smoke rose into the sky from various locations. “Unknown at present Commander, I’ll need to get to Operations to assess the full damage and casualties.”

“Understood XO. Our long-range transporters are down, but we’ll begin sending down relief shuttles. The hanger will also be ready to receive any med-evac shuttles you need to send up. Just let us know what’s needed down there and we’ll get it to you.”

“Thank you Commander. I will begin a full damage and casualty assessment, but the sooner you get teams down here the better.”

“Acknowledged. Deacon out.”

Closing his communicator once again, he looked back at Myers, who slowly stepped out of the building, eyeing the robots warily. The older woman looked around at the colony. A look of sorrow crossed her face, before determined resolve took its place. Her home had been attacked, who knew how many had been killed or injured, but she was clearly ready to rebuild and make it better. Reynolds only hoped that the men and women of Prairie hadn’t lost too much.

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

Chapter 17


U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

Commander’s Log, Stardate 2415.9. It has been two days since the underground complex was destroyed, and DePaul four has stabilised. The colony hasn’t suffered any further power drains or earthquakes. Casualties from Prairie continue to be treated aboard the Challenger, and I have all available engineering personnel assisting with repairs to the colony. Administrator Harris has informed me that they lost fifty-seven colonists due to the quakes and the attack.

We are continuing to monitor the planet for unusual activity, and Ensign Shumar is working with Doctor Tarov to gather more information on the complex, who built it and checking to see if there could be more lurking under the planets surface.

The Challenger sustained minor damage, but repairs are underway and should be completed within the a few days. Fortunately, our own casualties were light. Words cannot express my pride in the crew and how they handled this crisis. With luck, we won’t be tested quite so harshly on our next assignment. In the meantime, we will remain in orbit of Prairie to offer what aid we can.

End log.

***

Seyra hobbled out of her quarters and headed through the corridors on deck four. The ship was quiet, despite being 1130 hours, but with most of the engineers and technical crewmembers on the surface, the scientists analysing the planet and the medical staff working between the colony and the ship, there weren’t many crewmembers free to roam the halls.

The thought of sickbay made her wince. Her injuries were healing, but her body was far from being whole. Doctor Aeden had wanted to keep her in for further observation and treatment, but the civilians needed the Deltans’ expertise currently, and so Seyra had discharged herself but agreed to take it easy for the next week or so. But she wanted to be ready for today, it was the least she could do.

Her journey should have been relatively short, but with hip encased in the ortho-regenerator, which was knitting the fractured bone back together, her movement was laboured. She’d suffered worse injuries during her time in both Starfleet and the Imperial Guard, so she gritted her teeth and bore the pain and discomfort. A little suffering was good for the soul—or so she’d been told once. She arrived at her destination and tapped the enunciator by the door. A moment later a voice told her to enter and she did so.

The lighting was low, but her sharp eyes quickly noticed the shadowy figure standing by the viewport in the lounge area of the cabin.

“It’s almost time Dee,” she said, her voice almost echoing in the silent room.

Deacon nodded and turned to face her, a look of sadness and regret on his face. Like her, he was in his dress uniform though minus the medals that usually adorned the left side of the chest; this was not an occasion for displaying awards.

“We’d better be going then,” he replied, glancing back at the planet slowly revolving beneath them and then heading for the exit.

As he neared her, she put a firm hand on his shoulder. He stopped and looked at her, the mirth and mischief that was usually in his soft brown eyes was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s not your fault Dee. We walked into an unknown situation and could only react to what was happening,” she told him, her voice low but firm. “But we stopped them. There are over twenty-one thousand people alive down there who owe you their lives.”

“But what about the fifty-seven whose lives I didn’t save, or the hundreds of others that are injured?”

She gave him a soft smile. “Bones and skin heal Dee. As for those who died…you remember them. They weren’t in Starfleet but they were greater adventurers than we could ever be. They came out here, into the unknown to tame another corner of the wilderness, to make a home for themselves that they could be proud of. A home they would do anything to keep safe for their friends and family.”

He looked away from her and after a moments contemplation he gave a single soft chuckle, before looking back at her. “When did you become the morale officer?”

“Whenever a friend needs one.”

“Thank you Seyra,” he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We’d better get going.”

They left Deacon’s quarters and headed for the nearest turbolift. He never offered to help her, knowing that she’d refuse. They remained quiet as they headed down to deck five and then on to the transporter room. Inside, Seyra surveyed the assembled crewmembers, all in dress uniforms, excepted for Senior Chief McCall and Crewman Singh at the controls. Assistant Security Chief Powell and Yeoman Yates stood on the dais, whilst Reynolds spoke with McCall. As they entered, Reynolds finished up his conversation and stepped over to them.

“Everything is ready sir,” the XO stated. “We’ll be beaming down to the Marketplace, and will meet with Lieutenant Hayne and Doctor Aeden there.”

“Thank you Lieutenant Commander,” Deacon replied, his voice level and face set impassively. He stepped up onto the platform, followed by Seyra and Reynolds who stood either side. Deacon nodded at McCall. “Energise.”

***

Prairie Colony
DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

As they dematerialised, Deacon released a breath. He had been dreading this event, but knew he should attend to pay his respects. Following the destruction of the caves, he had been back to the colony twice, and both times was surprised by just how much progress had been made in clearing up the debris and getting the township into some resemblance of normality. But for now, all work had been stopped as the colonists, and a large number of Starfleet officers and crew assembled in the Marketplace.

He led his small contingent over to stand beside the other officers that were on the relief teams, headed up by Hayne and Aeden. Unlike Deacon and the others who had just beamed down, they were all in their standard uniforms, as once the memorial was finished, they would all be getting back to working on the colony and the colonists.

There were quiet conversations throughout the assembly. Tears were shed for family members that had died defending their homes, and friends who wouldn’t be seen again. The collective grief was like a force of nature, threatening to overwhelm and consume the unprepared.

Deacon set his jaw and kept his eyes level. He felt for these people, but he had to show proper decorum in front of his crew. Taking a moment, he looked at those from the Challenger that had come to the memorial. Reynolds and Seyra stood stiffly, their faces impassive, but he hadn’t come to expect anything less from them. Doctor Aeden had her eyes closed and head bowed out of respect. Hayne looked a little uncomfortable, his purple eyes reflecting his empathy for the men and women he’d been working with closely for days. Deacon then glanced at Yates and saw her eyes were moist, and that she was fighting back tears.

He subtly moved in closer to her, and said quietly so that only she could hear, “Sabrina, you can return to the ship if you’d like.”

She shook her head, quickly dabbing her eyes with the cuff of her tunic. “No thank you sir. I…I need to be here,” she replied, her voice soft. He looked at her again, and noticed again just how young she was, only a few years younger than his sister Gabriela. He made a mental note to speak with her when they got back to the ship.

The soft chattered quietened, and he looked back up. A podium had been set up earlier in front of the Administration Building, and Louisa Harris was now standing behind it. She had obviously gotten little in the way of sleep since the crisis had ended. The grey suit she wore was smart and her dark auburn hair was pulled back into a tight bun, but her eyes were exhausted. She held herself well, and maintained her composure as she looked out over the crowd.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began. “We are here today to pay our respects and remember all those who died in this crisis.” She paused for a long moment, looking down at the data tablet she had taken with her, and then cleared her throat. “Colonial Governor Richard Milburn. Sergeant Fiezel, Law Enforcement Office. Officer Gregory Jenkins, Law Enforcement Office.” Harris continued through the list of the dead, which included seven other of the local police force, a researcher, a doctor and medic, five engineers, three of the operations centre technicians, two pilots, and thirty-four of the colonists. Deacon noticed that some of the names meant something to his crew. The name Darren Becker caused the tears Yates had been holding back to run down her cheeks. Deacon himself closed his eyes when the names of the two pilots, Finn McCaskey and Berin glash Gaz, were mention, remembering their prone bodies strapped into the shuttle they had used to call for help, sacrificing themselves to save the rest of the colonists.

Once all the names were read out, silence descended on the crowd once again. Harris paused. “Every one of them will be remembered, we will make sure of that. We will make this colony a place they would have been proud of. Thank you.”

***

U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

“Too many,” Tarov said solemnly.

Shumar looked up at her old instructor. They stood in geo-science lab one, where the memorial broadcast had been patched in at Tarov’s request. He looked down at her, his Vulcan discipline keeping the emotions off his face, but not from his eyes. Those were men and women he’d lived and worked with for months, on a world he had decided to call his new home, not even a Vulcan was immune to that pain.

“Sometimes Elisabeth, the needs of the many do not outweigh the needs of the few.”

She nodded is silent agreement. It had always been one Vulcan axiom that she didn’t agree with. She knew and understood the logic behind the reasoning, but to her all life was important. However, being a part of Starfleet could mean that one day she would need to sacrifice herself for the good of others, just as Fleet Captain Pike had done barely three months ago aboard the San Francisco, to save the lives of dozens of cadets aboard the training ship. It was a duty every officer knew they may face someday in their careers; she could only hope that that day would never come.

One of the sensor stations chirped, drawing her attention back to the task at hand, learning more about the caves and seeing if there were any more on DePaul four. She went over to the console and entered a command that brought up a full topographic scan of the planet, a programme she had set up had scanned the planet thoroughly, looking for any other sensor black spots like they found at the tunnels.

Looking at the display for a few seconds, she felt her stomach begin to clench and tie itself in knots. Immediately she hit the commpanel on the console. “Shumar to Commander Deacon.”

It took a moment before he replied, no doubt finding somewhere private to answer the comm. “Deacon here. Go ahead.”

“Sir, I think you should return to the Challenger as soon as possible. Our scans have picked something up.”

“Another possible cave site?” he asked, and she could hear the tension in his voice.

“Another four sites, sir.”

***

Louisa Harris wasn’t a fan of transporters, although she had never told anyone about the irrational fear of the device, she had learned how to handle the process without completely freaking out. As soon as she materialised on the dais of the Challenger she quickly checked that she was in once piece and then uttered a silent prayer. Following the memorial service—the single most terrible event of her life—Commander Deacon had received a call for the ship asking him to return, and he had extended the offer to Harris as well.

She had agreed having heard the final statement the woman on the other end had made. Four more prison complexes, she repeated to herself. We only just got through dealing with one!

Deacon led the way from the transporter room to the geology lab, followed by Harris, Reynolds and the hobbling Andorian woman, whose name eluded the colony administrator. They moved with purpose and in silence. She couldn’t help but wonder if the trained Starfleeters were feeling the same dread she was.

They entered the laboratory, and she was pleased to see Doctor Tarov assisting a young human woman in a sciences blue uniform, who didn’t look to be out of her teens. Despite her youth, when Harris and the senior officers entered, she stood ramrod straight and didn’t shrink back from their collective stares.

“Report Ensign,” Deacon said, addressing the kid.

She moved to a large monitor that dominated one of the walls and tapped on a console beside it, bringing up a map of DePaul four with the colony site and the destroyed cave structure highlighted. “We’ve been scanning the planet down to a depth of ten kilometres continuously since we returned to orbit,” she explained, her inflections almost Vulcan-like. “Using the conditions found at the initial site, we programmed the computer to locate similar regions and map the black spots,” she tapped on the controls once again, this time bringing up four other locations across the planet. Three were of similar size to the one they’d already found, but the fourth was twice the size, and located on the far side of the planet.

“My god,” Harris gasped, not realising she’d spoken aloud.

“I have reviewed all the sensor data the Challenger has collected since arriving in orbit,” Tarov began, standing beside the ensign. “None of the surrounding regions have experienced a drop in geothermal output, as the initial site experienced. The other sites may not be active.”

“But you have no way of being certain,” stated Lieutenant Commander Reynolds, as he studied the maps.

“No,” Tarov replied simply.

“Any idea if they’re more cell blocks?” asked Deacon.

“Negative sir. All the other areas are as shielded as the first,” the young science officer replied. “However, we are picking up some anomalous readings from the larger site.”

“A weapon system?” the Andorian asked.

“It does not appear to be,” Tarov again. “It appears to be more akin to a computer processor.”

Deacon scowled at the site for a moment then looked back at the scientists. “A control hub?”

“A possibility Commander,” concluded the Vulcan.

Looking at the location for a moment longer he tapped the intercom panel on the console. “Deacon to N’Qua. Lenelle, get Lieutenants Hayne and Powell back aboard ASAP.”

“Acknowledged Commander.”

He then turned to the Andorian. “Seyra, prep a couple of security teams and have them report to transporter rooms one and two. Powell will be leading them—”

“Commander!” she protested.

“You’re on light duties by medical order Seyra. Sorry, but you’ll have to sit this one out.”

Harris looked at the scowl on the Andorians stunning face, before she nodded, conceding to his decision, though obviously still not happy about it. “I’ll have them outfitted with full tactical gear and loaded with rifles,” she stated, in a way that seemed almost challenging.

But Deacon nodded. “Just what I wanted to hear Lieutenant Commander.” She returned his nod and then headed for the exit, faster than she’d entered and obviously feeling the pain. As she headed out, he turned to Reynolds. “Get up to the bridge and readjust out orbit, put us right above that site. Divert everything you can to shields and run weapons hot.”

“Aye sir,” Reynolds replied simply and quickly exited.

The Commander turned back to the science officer. “Lise, you feel up to another landing party?”

She nodded curtly. “Yes sir,” she replied without hesitation.

“Good. Get geared up and report to transporter room two—”

“Commander,” Tarov interrupted, “I wish to accompany you.”

“Tarov?” Harris asked, unable to believe her ears.

He looked at her with his customary deadpan. “Administrator, I wish to lend whatever assistance is necessary to keep the colony safe. I have experience with the computer systems in the first complex, and hold an A-9 computer rating. My skills may be of use in preventing another attack.”

She looked at Deacon, who had remained quiet. His jaw was set and his expression determined. He was going down there to stop whatever else lay under the surface. And he would need whatever help he could get in order to achieve that goal. Looking back at the man whose advice she’d come to rely on over the last eight months, and someone she considered a friend, she gave him a nod, hoping that she hadn’t just sent him on a suicide mission.

Deacon looked over the civilian scientist. “Ensign Shumar, take the doctor to the quartermaster and get him some appropriate attire and whatever other equipment you might need. We’ll be beaming down shortly.”

“Yes sir,” she replied and led Tarov out of the lab.

Deacon and Harris were alone. There was a moment of silence before Harris let out an unexpected chuckle. “Well I suppose its good he’s going, at least he can show the kid what to do,” she commented.

He gave her a faint smile. “I assure you Administrator; Ensign Shumar is more than capable. She wouldn’t be my chief science officer if she wasn’t.”

“Your chief?” she exclaimed.

“A graduate of both the Vulcan Science Academy and Starfleet, all by the age of twenty-two.”

She shook her head and leaned against the console next to her. “I must be getting old, all you Starfleeters are starting to look very young!”

“It happens to all of us.”

There was a brief pause again. She looked down at the floor and then up at Deacon again. “Commander, please. Whatever is down there…put an end to it. I don’t ever want to have to do another memorial.”

“You have my word,” he replied, and she believed him. “Administrator, you’re more than welcome to remain aboard and observe from the bridge.”

“Thank you,” she replied. They stepped out of the laboratory and Deacon stopped a passing security guard, and instructed him to escort Harris to the bridge. They parted company, and she followed the crewman towards the turbolift, whilst Deacon headed off to lead his team into yet another unknown danger.

I never knew any of these people existed a week ago, and now here they are, putting themselves into danger to keep me and my people safe. For the second time since she’d come aboard the U.S.S. Challenger, she prayed, but this time it was to keep all those in the landing party safe, and for them to return home.

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

Chapter 18


Underground Complex
DePaul IV, Sector 172-Delta

As soon as they had materialised in the caves, Hayne did a sweep of their immediate vicinity with his phaser, as did the rest of the team, before Lieutenant Powell instructed the other four security guards to search the various passages that branched off. Each one of the security guards carried a heavy phaser rifle, and wore high-density body armour. Hayne flipped open his tricorder and immediately began scanning, as Deacon remained close by, keeping a firm grip of his own rifle.

Hayne’s scans didn’t reveal anything dangerous within the fifteen meter scanning radius he had. He looked over to Deacon. “Scans are clear,” he stated, and received a single nod. A few moments later, Powell and the other security guards returned, each one reporting in the all clear.

Deacon flipped open his communicator. “Deacon to McCall. Beam the second team in.”

“Acknowledged,” the transporter chief promptly replied. “Energising.”

The first team stepped back as the whine of the transporter filled the tunnel, and six figures took shape. Seconds later, four other security guards, Ensign Shumar and Doctor Tarov stood in the tunnel, taking in the bleak grey rock and dusty ground.

“Alright, we are as close to the centre of these tunnels as the transporter can get us,” Deacon said, repeating the point he’d made minutes ago in the transporter room. “We will be heading north-east to get to middle of the complex, as far as our scans can tell, this facility has no other habitable levels aside from this one and no bio-signs. That doesn’t mean that there aren’t more of those robotic sentries. Keep on your guard. Let’s move out.”

Shumar already had her tricorder open and scanning, before she pointed down one of the tunnels. “That way sir.”

“Crewmen Daya and Jheros, remain here and keep the beam in site secure,” Deacon ordered the Canopian and Tiburon guards, who confirmed his order and took up a defensive posture to cover all of the entry ways.

Hayne watched as his friend for the last fourteen years calmly and confidently took charge of the situation. Deacon had always been a natural leader, that much had been obvious from their first days at the Academy together, but Hayne had to admit that he was impressed with his grace under pressure, given all they had been through in the last few days; Deacon was still as steady as a rock.

Powell quickly took the lead—no doubt under orders from Seyra not to let Deacon do anything reckless—and the others quickly lined up behind the security officer as they headed further into the caves, where their communicators wouldn’t work and the transporter wouldn’t be able to lock onto them. They moved quietly, the soft hum of the tricorders the only sound in the cool dark caves. Hayne kept a tight grip on his phaser pistol and a close eye on the scanners display, but with range continually decreasing as they moved deeper into the sensor black spot he began to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

***

They had been in the tunnels for almost forty minutes, their progress slow and steady. Every intersection they came to, they stopped and Powell dispatched two guards to check them out for a few meters. Each time the guards returned with nothing to report.

Deacon understood the need for caution and patience, but a part of him just wanted to run to their destination. Just to get some answers and put an end to whatever else lurked under the surface of DePaul four.

The tunnel they were in curved off to the left, and as they followed it, the team came across another intersection. Powell approached softly, his rifle raised and ready. Ensign R’Kohr joined him, and together they swept into the tunnel, their beacons cutting through the darkness and revealing nothing. The assistant security chief motioned for Petty Officer Carter and R’Kohr to check the tunnel out.

As the two guards left, Deacon let his rifle hang from his shoulder and moved over to three non-security personnel on the team. Each one had their tricorders open and actively scanning, speaking in hushed tones. But they looked up as he approached.

“How we doing?” he asked, his near whisper echoed up and down the tunnel, reminding him of just how isolated they were.

“Scanner range is dropping off at about seven meters Toby,” stated Hayne. “There’s nothing we can do to improve on that.”

“It would appear Commander, that the heavy metals are four times denser here than at the original site,” Tarov added. “I doubt that even one of your photon torpedoes could be much damage to this region.”

“We could try to get some samples back to the ship; they may be able to find a way to improve the tricorders effect—” Shumar began, but the high pitched whine of an alien transporter filled the tunnel. The tone was shrill and deafening, and Deacon quickly felt the effect of the beam engulf him. He just had the time to raise his rifle before he dematerialised.

A heartbeat later, the lights and noise faded and could feel the transporter release him. The second it did, he swung his rifle around him, relieved to see the landing party were together, although also joined by the two guards they had left back at the beam in site. Everyone else had their weapons raised, their faces showing a mixture of concern, panic and trepidation, but none of them looked injured. Reassured to see that his people were alright, he then took in their surroundings. They were now in the middle of a domed structure about three times the size of the Challenger’s bridge, illuminated by low level lights, he could see that the room was a white metallic material, from the floor to the walls to the dome twenty meters above their heads. Various coloured lights were on the walls, as well as monitors which showed different angles of the landing party. Deacon looked for surveillance cameras but couldn’t see any. One thing he did notice; they were alone.

“Everyone okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low. They all replied in the affirmative. “Where were we beamed to?”

“I don’t know sir,” replied Shumar, who had strapped her phaser back on her hip and was focused intently on her tricorder. “I’m not picking up anything beyond this room.” Tarov nodded in agreement, studying his own device.

Slowly, they each began to move out from the centre of the room, assessing the chamber they found themselves in. Powell put his team to work looking for an exit, as Hayne, Shumar and Tarov began looking over the monitors and control panels. Deacon kept watching both groups, waiting for either of them to give him some good news.

The latter got there first. “Toby, over here!” Hayne called.

He moved quickly over to where his friend and the scientists stood. The monitor they were studying was the only one without an image of a team member on it, but rather what appeared to be a diagram of the room. It showed no entrances, but did highlight the movements of the team, as well as various coloured lines.

Hayne pointed at a series of red lines that run all around the room layout. “If I’m reading this right, this likes to be a power distribution network. The plate in the centre of the room and this console are both drawing a lot of energy.”

“Could this control their transporters?” he asked.

The engineer shrugged his shoulders. “Seems like a good deduction to me.”

“Not necessarily Lieutenant,” Shumar cut in. She pointed to a yellow line that also ran around the entire diagram, significantly thicker behind the console they stood around. “This may be some kind of computer network connection, and it doesn’t show any connection between this console and the transporter plate.”

“We don’t know that’s a computer network Ensign.”

“Neither do we know that that is a power conduit, sir.”

“This is all guess work,” Deacon interjected. “But both of your reasoning is sound. The other lines look to be an environmental system, and what I can only guess is the connections between the other monitors and whatever cameras they have in here.” He looked between his officers. “Does any of this help us in any way?”

“Whatever they are precisely, it would appear that this console plays a considerable role in the operations of this facility,” stated Tarov. He gestured to the control panel, which was completely dark except for one glowing stud. “Accessing more data may prove beneficial Commander.”

“Couldn’t that be risky, seeing as how we’re still not entirely sure what they do?”

Tarov raised an eyebrow. “We have few alternatives.”

Deacon couldn’t argue with the scientists’ logic—he’d once made that mistake with a Vulcan classmate at the Academy and had lived to regret it. He looked at Hayne and Shumar, both of whom nodded in agreement. He looked over to Powell. “Lieutenant, stand ready,” he ordered, wanting to be prepared for whatever might happen. The security guards raised their rifles and prepared themselves.

Taking a deep breath, Deacon tapped the key.

For a moment nothing happened, but then the console emitted a beam of light, which shot right past them and coalesced in the centre of the room. Immediately, every rifle was targeting the form. But after a few moments, a humanoid figure took form, though with an aura of brilliant light surrounding it. Hayne, Shumar and Tarov were taking scans, but stayed back, as did the guards.

A couple of minutes after the beam of light was emitted, a bipedal humanoid stood before them, its hairless head was narrow and long, tapering to a dull point at the back of its skull and chin, two large black eyes sat where a humans forehead would have been, with two vertical slits for nostrils and a thin mouth. It was dress in a long white robe which had no decoration or ornamentation.

“It’s some kind of hologram,” whispered Hayne. “Far more complex than anything I’ve ever read about, let alone seen.”

Deacon absorbed the information, and then let his phaser rifle hang by his side, before taking a step forward. The holographic being tilted its head to one side, studying him. “I am Commander—”

“Tobias Deacon, of the U.S.S. Challenger, representing the United Federation of Planets,” the being spoke, its voice was moderate and calm. “I have been monitoring your communications.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am the controller of this facility.”

“Could we meet face to face to speak?”

“This is my face Commander Deacon. I am an isomorphic projection used by this facilities central computer processor.”

“This place is automated?” asked Hayne, his curiosity obviously peaked. Deacon glanced back at his friend, who looked sheepish.

“That is correct Lieutenant Jeremy Hayne. I was programmed to provide information.”

“What can you tell me about these facilities?”

“This is the control centre for the penal complexes on the planet. My sensor records indicate that you were in cell block three, just prior to its destruction by a matter-antimatter explosion.”

“We destroyed the prison, because they had launched an attack on a colony we have on the surface. Did you have something to do with that?”

The hologram looked apologetic. “No Commander Deacon. The cellblocks were constructed to house the most dangerous criminals against the Virosh Conglomeration, all of whom had been awarded life sentences. I was installed to monitor and maintain the cellblocks, ensure that all prisoners were treated humanely and kept under strict guard. This facility was designed to be fully automated. Over time, the prisoners completed their sentences—”

“How were they released?”

“They were not released. They completed their sentences,” it repeated.

Deacon looked around at the others, confused. He was about to ask the hologram to clarify, when Shumar gasped behind him. Looking around at the young woman, he saw a look of realisation and disbelief on her face, her dark eyes wide. “They died of old age.”

“They completed their sentences.”

Hayne whistled softly. “Life means life for these people.”

“That doesn’t explain what happened in cell block three,” Deacon stated.

“Not all the prisoners here were Virosh. All other prisoners completed their sentences, except for one. Prisoner K-2918-1009-Gamma. Name, Kolris. Species, unknown.”

“How long since the last prisoner…completed their sentence?” asked Shumar, stepping up to beside Deacon.

“Prisoner T-7738-8931-Beta. Name, Zerth. Species, Virosh. Sentence completed, nine hundred and thirty-two years ago.”

Deacon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The twisted madman he’d been confronted by in cellblock three had been on his own for almost a millennium, after watching who knew how many others wither and die of old age. This prison was a death sentence, only one that wasn’t quick.

“Why was Kolris locked up?”

“Genocide.”

The one word made Deacon feel cold inside. To be locked up underground on a remote planet had to be the result of some pretty serious crimes, but he just couldn’t grasp what kind of person could be responsible for the mass murder of innocents.

“How…how many people did he kill?”

“Two hundred and seventeen thousand, six hundred and twelve on the first charge. An estimated one point four million on the second charge. Seven hundred thousand—”

“How many charges were against him?” Deacon interrupted.

“Five,” the hologram replied emotionlessly. “Estimated total number of dead, five point seven million.”

“And you just left him here!” he called out, anger clouding his mind and filling his voice.

“Rehabilitation was determined to have less than a point zero zero two percent chance of correcting prisoner Kolris. Sentence has now been completed.”

“What about the people he killed on the surface?”

“Apologies for the incident. All sentences have been completed. Initiating code fifteen.”

With that the hologram vanished, all the monitors suddenly went out, as did the low level lighting, plunging them into total darkness. Immediately, their flashlights were turned on and they all looked around the room.

“Everyone alright?” Deacon asked. The nine members of the team sounded off. He could feel the muscles in his jaw and neck tighten with frustration. He’d wanted more information and answers, to contact the people who’d built the prison and hold them accountable for the fifty-seven Federation citizens who had been killed by their prisoner.

“It would appear that code fifteen is a shutdown routine, now that the facility now has no prisoners,” stated Tarov.

Deacon wasn’t much in the mood for theorising about the computer or its programmes. They were still trapped in the chamber, with no clean means of getting out. Just then his communicator chirped. The noise startled him, seeing as how they were under meters of metal-rich rock that should have blocked all signals.

Flipping open the device, cautiously he said, “Deacon here.”

“Lieutenant Commander Reynolds, sir. Is everything alright?”

“We’re okay XO. How were you able to get a signal through?”

“A few moments ago the rocks structure went through some kind of metamorphosis, and all the heavy metals have somehow dispersed,” Reynolds replied, sounding both confused and suspicious. “We have transporter lock on you as well sir.”

“Standby,” he ordered and looked over to the two scientists on the landing party. “How is that possible?”

Shumar and Tarov looked at one another, before she looked back at Deacon and shook her head. “It shouldn’t be sir. I’d need to get back to the Challenger and go over all the sensor readings, before I could even hazard a guess.”

“XO,” he said back into the communicator. “Prepare to transport twelve back to the ship.”

“Understood Commander. Standing by.”

Deacon took one final look around the chamber, his eyes lingering where the hologram had stood. He had more questions than answers. He only hoped that they could find some.

“Challenger, energise.”

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

Chapter 19 (part 1)


Commander’s Ready Room, U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

“This all sounds a little too fantastic Commander,” Rear Admiral Alicia Thomson said over his desktop monitor in his ready room. She looked unconvinced but still open, after hearing his full after action report. But that was one thing that he had always respected about her, even if she didn’t fully agree with someone under her command, she would hear them out and let them fight their corner.

“I know sir,” he replied, feeling the exhaustion and tension of the last week catching up with him. “We’re still going over our sensor readings and Ensign Shumar is running ever test and analysis she can think of. So far, we’re still as clueless as you are.”

Thomson sat back in her chair, fingers steepled in front of her, with her two extended fingers resting on her lips as she mulled over his report and all the data he’d included in the transmission. Behind her, the sun was high in the clear azure sky of San Francisco, no fog for a change.

“I’ve forwarded all your data onto Starfleet Science and the Federation Science Council, but they’ve yet to get back to me with any theories. However, both are keen to get a survey ship with a full research staff out there ASAP,” she told him. Thomson sat forward and took a sip from the steaming mug of coffee on her desk, the memory of the real coffee was so fresh in his mind he could almost smell the rich aroma over the subspace link.

“When are they likely to arrive sir?”

“It’ll take a few weeks to get a ship prepped and all the necessary specialists together, especially seeing as how ever science section here wants to get out there and take a look for themselves.”

“What about relief ships?”

She smiled warmly at him. “Don’t worry Tobias. I dispatched a full contingent from the S.C.E., a medical ship and two freighters packed to the gunnels with foodstuffs and supplies yesterday. They should be with you in less than a week. Will the Challenger be alright until then?”

He returned the smile, relieved to see that she was as concerned about the colonists as he was. “We can remain on station until they arrive. Though I may be lynched by my science department when I give the order to leave orbit, they seem very keen to remain here and crack the planets secrets before anyone else.”

She laughed. “Please try to avoid that. I’d hate to have to find someone else to fill that chair.”

“I wouldn’t think it would be too difficult Admiral,” he replied, looking around his small office. “The Challenger is a damn fine ship. And she has a very capable crew.”

Thomson warm smile returned. “I’m glad to hear you say that Commander. A ship is only as good as those who serve aboard her, and the crew is only as good as they are if they have the right person leading them.”

Deacon could feel his cheeks burn at the complement. Though he’d never admit it aloud, Alicia Thomson was a hero to him, someone he wanted to emulate in her style and confidence, and someone he wanted to make proud. She’d given him a huge opportunity in assigning the Challenger to him, and one hell of a risk as well, but he would do anything to make sure that her trust and faith in him wasn’t misplaced.

“Thank you sir,” he replied, his voice coming out quieter than he would have liked.

“You are very welcome Mr Deacon. Keep me posted on any further developments. Thomson out.”

***

Mess Hall, U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

At 1715 hours the mess hall was always pinned. Normally Drake avoided it until later, but he hadn’t had much to eat all day and was starving, so necessity had driven him to seek sustenance during the rush hour. He’d queued up and opted for the vegetable stir-fry with black bean sauce and noodles, helped himself to a mixed fruit juice from the dispenser, and stood looking for a free table.

All of them were occupied. He had wanted to find a nook where to could sit and eat in peace before heading back to his quarters. The levels of talk and laughter varied from table to table, as the still relatively new shipmates ate together, getting to know their colleagues and acquaintances. Drake hadn’t gotten to know anyone aboard the Challenger, not even his own small staff, as he hadn’t intended to be onboard for very long. But during the communiqué from his father the night before, he’d gotten the distinct impression that what he wanted wasn’t going to be a factor in how long he was aboard for.

He suddenly saw a jade green hand waving at him. “Drake, over here,” Lieutenant Xahl called, motioning to an empty seat at the table he shared with Lieutenant N’Qua.

Not seeing any other overly familiar faces, Drake let out a sigh and approached the table. Xahl pushed out a chair for him. Sitting slowly, he looked between the Orion and the Napean officers, and offered the briefest of smiles. “Thank you lieutenants.”

“We’re off duty Drake, Xahl is fine with me,” the navigator told him.

“Lenelle, please,” the comm officer added.

There was a pause for a moment, as Drake picked up his chopsticks, he then realised he hadn’t reciprocated. “Eh, Sky is fine with me.” As he picked up a combination of carrots, water chestnut and bean sprouts, he realised he’d never had much interaction with his fellow bridge officers off of the bridge. Both had proven to be very capable, calm and quick thinking during the crisis. Xahl had especially surprised him being both a decisive tactician and levelheaded officer-in-charge.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in here at this time of day Sky,” N’Qua said, sipping on a mug of mint tea.

“I prefer to hit the gymnasium after my shift before getting something to eat,” he told her.

Xahl flashed a mischievous smile. “And here was me thinking that you didn’t like us.”

Drake almost choked on a mouthful of stir-fry and quickly took a drink. “What would give you that impression sir?”

“The fact that your name has been on most of the comm-packages sent back to Earth, all address to HQ,” the Orion replied. He shared a look with N’Qua. “Some people never seem to realise that the comm-package protocol is open to the entire crew before its transmitted.”

“What must they be teaching at the Academy?” added N’Qua. They both chuckled softly.

Drake could feel his anger rising. He’d been invited over innocently, and then ambushed by two of his superiors about a private matter. “You’ve been spying on me?” He looked from Xahl to N’Qua and back. The pair had stopped laughing and were looking at him evenly, although the corner of Xahl’s mouth continued to tug upwards in a sly smirk.

“Sky, I like to know who I’m working with at flight control. I’ve heard the rumours about you—an admiral’s kid who should have been posted to the Defiant, but who been assigned to the Challenger by his father’s own hand. From the moment we first met I could tell you wanted off this ship. I just wanted to see how badly you wanted out. After all, there’s no point in me wasting time and energy training with someone who’ll manage to get himself transferred off in few weeks time.”

Drake scoffed at that. “Yeah, well thanks to dear old dad, it looks like I’m here for a while to help build some ‘character’. Whatever the hell that means!”

“Good.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said ‘good’,” Xahl replied.

“Care to elaborate?”

Xahl leaned forward on the table. “You’re good Ensign. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it—your performance a few days ago proves it, I’ve not known many helmsmen confident to plunge a starship to within a few kilometres of a planets surface and not bat an eyelash. But you could be better. You did take a while to patch the secondary stabilisers into the mains, and you’re ascent was a little sluggish—”

“‘Sluggish’? I was trying to pull off a manoeuvre few have ever pulled off successfully, in a ship that should be in a museum!”

“The Challenger may have a few light-years on the clock, but she’s a tried and tested ship,” retorted Xahl. “And together we could make her a force to be reckoned with, if you’re up for it.”

N’Qua leaned forward as well. “I believe that what Xahl is trying to get at, is that you’d be a welcome addition to the ship, if you were to just give her a chance.”

Drake looked at N’Qua, the genuine open and friendly expression on her delicate features, and at Xahl, whose confidence and comfort in himself could have filled the room. If he was going to be stuck aboard the Challenger for the foreseeable future, he was going to make damn sure that the old ship would be ready for whatever else the galaxy had to throw at her.

“Alright Xahl,” he said after a long pause. “I’ll work with you. But one thing…my manoeuvres aren’t ‘sluggish’.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, that drew a few looks from those close to their table, Xahl stuck out his hand, which Drake gripped firmly. “Welcome to the Challenger Sky.”

***

Executive Officer’s Quarters, U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

With everything he had gone through in the last week, Spencer Reynolds was bone tired. Even after the crisis had been abated, he had spent a considerable amount of time on the colony helping them to recover after the quakes and the attack. He had to admit he was impressed at how quickly the colonists had managed to repair the facility, and the cleanup was well and truly underway. Administrator Harris was a formidable woman who knew how to get the job done—a trait he respected.

But he had one final duty to attend to before he was allowed some sleep. “Computer, open up comm protocol epsilon-zero-one-green.”

“Working,” the computer chirped. “Communications protocol epsilon-zero-one-green on-line.”

“Establish a link with Starfleet Headquarters, office of Admiral Frederick McKinnon.”

“Working. Link established.”

A moment later McKinnon’s wrinkled face appeared onscreen, he had a wolfish smile on his face, no doubt he’d already read Commander Deacon’s reports. “Lieutenant Commander report.”

Reynolds had worked with McKinnon long enough to know that that was as polite as he got; the Admiral wasn’t one for pleasantries. Taking a breath, Reynolds began to outline the situation on Prairie as he saw it, everything from their arrival in the system, to the attack on the colony, to Deacon’s rescue—McKinnon didn’t particularly like the information that Xahl had commanded the ship and risked it to save one officer. When he was finished Reynolds was ready to terminate the link and get into bed.

“What about Deacon? What’s your assessment of him during this situation?”

The question brought Reynolds up short. When he’d first accepted the assignment to the Challenger he knew that he would be monitoring Deacon, and back on Earth that thought hadn’t been a problem for him. He’d expected his new CO to have gotten his posting by being lucky and charming, but given the situation on Prairie he had proven to be decisive, adaptable and intensely focused. Tobias Deacon was not all he appeared to be, and truth be told, Reynolds could understand why he’d got a command of his own—although there were a few rough spots that needed to be worked on.

“The Commander was very professional sir.”

McKinnon scowled. “Are you sure about that Lieutenant Commander?”

Setting his jaw he nodded. “With regards to the Prairie crisis, I couldn’t find any serious fault with his actions.”

“Hmm. Keep a closer eye on him Mr Reynolds. I’ll expect your next report to be somewhat…fuller. McKinnon out.”

The commlink abruptly cut, leaving Reynolds looking at the Starfleet Headquarters insignia, and feeling uncomfortable.

***

Briefing Room 3, U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

Senior Chief Harrison McCall took a sip from the too hot coffee as he looked over the data tablet. He was heading for briefing room three, where he had scheduled a meeting with his staff, and was getting in early to have some time to himself. The Challenger wasn’t a small ship, but finding a time and place to oneself could be difficult, what with over two hundred and seventy other officers and crew who would be looking for the same thing every once in a while.

As he entered the dark briefing room, he saw a silhouette by the window jump at his sudden entrance. He stopped short and looked at the petite figure, as it wiped at its face. McCall tapped the lighting controls by the side of the door, and as the room illuminated he was surprised to see Yeoman Yates standing at one of the viewports. Her eyes were rimmed red and her face was wet.

Setting down his coffee and PADD, he rounded the table. “Yeoman, are you alright?” he asked, the concern clear in his tone.

She gave him a very weak smile. “Yes Senior Chief. Thank you. Is there something I can do for you?”

Coming to a stop just in front of the young administrations assistant, he looked her straight in the eye. It was then he realised just how much she reminded him of Karen—

Stop that! He snapped at himself. Now wasn’t the time to linger in the past for once.

“I had this room booked for a meeting with my staff,” he explained, the fact she’d been crying was obvious. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again.

She gave him a nod, but as she did, tears once again rolled down her face. Her hands covered her face as she quietly howled, her body shaking. Instinctively, like a father comforts his child, he wrapped his arms around her slim frame and she wept into his chest. They stood there for a time. He didn’t say a word, and her sobs slowly eased.

When he felt her hands on his chest, pushing back, he released her. Gesturing to the chairs that surrounded the table, they both sat. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“What is it?”

Wiping her face again, she looked back up at him. “I…I don’t know if I can do this!”

“What do you mean?”

“Down there,” she motioned to the viewport and the planet below, “I saw a man, only a few years older than I am, murdered as he tried to save me. I know at training they say you may be called upon to give your life for the safety of others, but I never really thought about it.” She paused, looking back out the window, but this time to the inky blackness of space, and the billions of stars they could see just in that small corner of the cosmos. “I got into Starfleet to get away from a mediocre existence back home. I didn’t really think about it. The recruitment adverts show it to be wondrous and exciting, and I guess I just fell in love with the romanticised version.”

McCall was touched that the kid, a relative stranger, would pour out her heart to him. “Sabrina, you’re only what? Nineteen?”

“Eighteen,” she corrected.

“You’ve only been through a year and a half of training, and are now at the beginning of your career. What your feeling is normal for everyone in the fleet,” he told her. “Everyone asks themselves why they’re a part of Starfleet after they have an experience of mortality, though most usually don’t have it happen on their very first mission.”

“But how do you forget it and carry on?”

“You don’t, not completely anyway. Over time you learn how to accept that this life we’ve all chosen is dangerous. But it is also everything you saw on those recruitment adverts. I’ve witness things out here I’d never have imagined. The people I’ve worked beside have become like family to me, and though I have had to bury a few of them, you help one another through it.

“Don’t make a snap decision when you’re in pain,” he continued, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Give it some time. If you still decide that this isn’t for you, just make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

She nodded slowly. “Thank you Senior Chief.”

“Sure thing. Anytime you want to talk, I’m available to listen,” he told her, a faint smile on his bearded face. He glanced at the chronometer in the room. “I could postpone my meeting, if you wanted to stay here for a little while.”

“No, that’s not necessary Senior Chief,” she said, rising. He got to his feet too. “I should be getting back to my quarters. It’s getting late, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“The offer is always open. And please, call me Harry.”

She gave him a faint smile. “Thank you Harry.” With that she headed for the exit, and he watched her go. No longer was she the wide-eyed kid he’d met only a few weeks earlier. But she was made of sterner stuff than she appeared. He could only hope that she’d stick with it.

The doors opened and as she passed through them. “Karen,” he uttered quietly, so softly he didn’t even hear or realise he’d said anything.

***

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

Chapter 19 (part 2)


Commanding Officer’s Quarters, U.S.S. Challenger NCC-1451
In orbit of Prairie Colony, DePaul System, Sector 172-Delta

Sleep had evaded Deacon, and there was only so long he could stand staring at the ceiling. The Challenger was still in orbit of Prairie colony, as the archaeology and geology specialists onboard assessed the Virosh prison complex, and for the medical and repair teams to finish their work on the planets surface. They had three days until the relief convoy arrived in orbit to take control of the situation. But considering their tough first mission together, the crew were welcome of the break.

It had just gone one in the morning, when he pulled on his old Academy track-and-field shorts and t-shirt and headed for the gymnasium. Gamma shift had just going on, and so the officers and crewmen that worked out before starting their watch would be gone, Beta shift was coming off and wouldn’t be in the gym for some time, and most of Alpha shift would be sleeping. So he would be relatively alone, which he was pleased about.

From his quarters on deck four down to deck seven, he met several of the crew and nodded at them as he passed and they acknowledged him. Many of the faces he could put names to, but not all. I’ll need to work on that, he decided. The corridor leading to the gym was empty, and he approached the wide double doors. Entering the facility, Deacon headed for the training room, which was a large square room with a padded floor used for sparring sessions and martial arts training, and also for the gymnasts on the crew. He planned a little one-on-one with the punching bag to help tire himself out.

The doors whispered open and he paused in the doorway. In the centre of the floor, bare-chested, and going through a series of slow, precise movements was Xahl. The Orion made blocks and strikes with his hands, arms, legs and feet, with a deadly grace. Deacon watched as he switched between slow and quick moves effortlessly, never repeating the same pattern, his expression detached, letting away no hint as to his next strike. With the ease and stature of a dancer, he finished off the routine and came to a stop, his back to the door, his breathing steady despite working up a sweat.

“Like what you see Commander?” he asked, his voice echoing in the sparsely furnished, cavernous room. He looked over his bare shoulder with a sly grin.

Deacon could feel his cheeks burn at the realisation he’d been gawping at the navigator. He tried to look nonchalant as he stepped further into the room. “Interesting technique Lieutenant. I’ve never seen it before.”

Xahl turned to face him, hands on hips. “It’s called Seh’lynah,” he explained, his eyes never leaving Deacon as he folded his towel onto the rack and began to stretch out his arms and chest.

“‘Seh’lynah’?” Deacon repeated slowly to get the pronunciation right, stopping his stretches for a moment. “If my memory serves, that’s a Vulcan phrase.”

The Orion’s smile widened. “Yes it is. It translates roughly as ‘without end’. One of my instructors at the Academy showed it to me. The idea behind it is that you continually train and learn, building on the teachings. It apparently takes decades to become a master in the discipline, so I’ve got a long way to go,” he explained, moving over to the rack and taking the other towel that hung next to Deacon’s.

He began to pat the sweat off his face and neck. In close proximity, Deacon caught the faint scent of the Orion, a strong but not unpleasant smell, slightly like freshly cut grass and lavender. Aware of just how close Xahl was to him, Deacon finished his stretching and slipped on the padded fingerless gloves he used for training. It had grown quiet in the room, and he felt the need to fill the silence.

“You handled yourself well Lieutenant,” he said, looking back up at Xahl, the Orion’s dark eyes on him. “It’s good to know that the ship is in capable hands.”

Xahl stepped up closer to him, a sly smile curving his lips. “You’re very welcome sir,” he all but purred. “I appreciate the chances you’ve given me.”

“So no more thoughts about quitting?”

“Not at all.”

Deacon smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

Xahl looked about to say something more, but stopped himself. “I’d better try and get some sleep.” He stayed where he was, almost toe-to-toe with Deacon, for a moment longer before he turned and headed for the exit. Deacon found himself looking after the handsome Orion as he walked away. He managed to tear his eyes away and look at the punching bag, but looked back when Xahl said from the open doorway, “Anytime you want me to handle something more Commander, I’d be more than happy to.”

With that, he stepped through the doors and they closed quietly behind him, leaving Deacon staring after the enticing Orion, his mouth open slightly. Just what’s that supposed to mean? he asked himself. Shaking his head he turned back to the bag hanging from the ceiling. But as he started thumping the heavy bag, which swayed and shook under his strikes, he couldn’t quite get Xahl out of his head.

 

[Bry_Sinclair]

Ok, I know that I have posted Chapters 16-19 rather quickly, but I've had 17-19 written for a while and have just been needing to get all the others finished in order to get them posted.

This does mean however I have actually finished my first ever fanfic!!!! WOO-HOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Big accomplishment for me. I hope that all of you have have read "Underworld" have enjoyed it. As always, any and all feedback is very welcome.

The next outing for the crew of the Challenger will be shorter (hopefully).

-Bry