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Star Trek: Trident - 1.1 - Maelstrom

Bry_Sinclair

Vice Admiral
Admiral
Star Trek: Trident
A proud member of the Shared Universe Project
1.1 - Maelstrom

By Brydon Sinclair​


Motoko Kimura woke with a start the instant the red alert klaxons sounded. They were quickly followed by a jolt that vibrated through the bulkheads and deck plating. A few seconds later there was another. Before the second jolt, she was out of bed, stepped straight into her boots, grabbed her combadge and was halfway to the door. Fixing the Starfleet delta to her pyjamas she tapped the device, as she exited her quarters and was jogging towards the turbolift.

“Kimura to bridge, what’s going on?” No one answered. “Bridge, this is Commander Kimura. Report.” Again no one answered. “Computer, status report.”

“We are sustaining multiple hits from directed energy particles.”

“Someone’s shooting at us?”

“Affirmative.”

“Who?”

“A Cardassian Hideki-Class strike ship, bearing one-eight-nine-mark-zero-two-six.”

Kimura increased her speed. What the hell is going on? she asked herself. They were on standard patrol in the former Cardassian Union, ensuring the safety of the relief convoys that were going between the various supply stations along the border and the numerous planets and moons that had been hit hard by the Dominion ‘occupation’ of Cardassian space.

“Computer is there something wrong with the comm system?”

“Negative.”

“Then why can’t I contact the bridge?”

“Anesthizine gas was released into the deck one ventilation system fourteen minutes fifty-three seconds ago.”

“Released on whose authority?” she asked, rounding a corner and seeing the lift straight ahead.

“Command code authorisation gamma-six-six-echo-nine.”

Kimura almost tripped over her own feet at hearing the very familiar command code. It only belonged to one man; the question she asked herself was why? She reached the turbolift, and fortunately there was a carriage waiting for her. “Bridge.”

“Unable to comply,” the computer droned. “That location has been secured by priority one lockout.”

“Dammit! Deck two then.” The lift chirped and ascended. As it moved she hit her combadge again. “Kimura to security.”

“Security. Go ahead.”

“I want a full security team to deck two, bridge access Jefferies tube. On the double!”

“Aye sir,” was the prompt response.

The lift slowed and stopped. The doors opened and she ran out onto deck two, heading for the same point she had ordered the security team to. She passed several officers and crewmen as they headed for their own duty stations, most were like her, dressed in pyjamas or nightgowns, a few were pulling on uniform jackets and zipping up their trousers as they darted through the ship. All of them look confused and anxious, but remained focused. It wasn’t the last time the crew of the Maelstrom had been in combat—in the Dominion War almost every ship had seen its share of combat, some more than others, and the Steamrunner-Class ship was no exception.

She reached the Jefferies tube hub and stepped inside. Crawl spaces went off in three directions, whilst a ladder was in the middle of the confided space with a hatch on both the floor and ceiling through which it disappeared. She climbed up to get closer to the deck one access. As she suspected, it didn’t open.

“Computer deactivate security lockout at Jefferies tube hatch eighty-four. Authorisation, Kimura-alpha-nine-one-zero.”

“Unable to comply, all command codes have been scrambled.”

She uttered a string of curses in the seven languages she spoke fluently and climbed back onto the deck.

“Sir?” a cautious voice asked from behind.

She spun around to see a four-man security team, each one equipped with type-two phasers. She knew the team leader a junior lieutenant by the name of Baxter, but the others were a mystery to her—which she found annoying, as she prided herself on knowing every member of the ship’s complement, but wasn’t surprising as the Maelstrom had taken on twenty new replacements less than a week ago.

“The bridge is flooded with anesthizine, we’ll need breathers.”

Baxter looked at a young naturally tanned ensign, who looked barely old enough to shave. “Martinez, get to the equipment locker in the adjacent section and get five breathers and a phaser for the Commander.”

“Aye sir,” he replied, and then was off like a shot. The two security crewmen, a Napean and a human looked about, unsure. The ship rocked hard.

“Computer, what hit us.”

“A shockwave caused by a matter/antimatter implosion.”

“The Hideki’s warp core?”

“Affirmative.”

Martinez returned a moment later, no signs of being out of breath. He handed her a phaser and a breather, which she slipped on as he distributed the others to his team-mates. When she was set, she stepped over to an access panel for the power distribution network. She pried it open, and in less than twelve seconds set it to run a feedback pulse through the system in the Jefferies tube.

They quickly stepped out and pressed themselves against the wall on either side of the door. From inside the hub there was a loud burst of lightning, and a rumble as the noise echoed down the crawlspaces. Afterwards there were soft sparks and hissing. Kimura pushed off the bulkhead and stepped back in. A small smile tugged at her lips when she saw that it had worked, and the forcefield that had been covering the ceiling hatch was no more.

“Come on,” she ordered and led the charge up the ladder.

The hatch opened out on the bridge, between the viewscreen and the Conn and Ops consoles. She was the first one out, and as soon as she was there was a screeching whine of a phaser. Kimura managed to flip out and roll behind Ops, narrowly missing the thin phaser beam—the heat of which she could feel on her skin as she moved.

From her relative cover behind Ops, she peeked out and looked up at Tactical. Standing at the console, breather over his nose and mouth and phaser pointed towards the front of the bridge was Captain Thomas Logan—the man whose security codes had been used to release the gas and lock out the bridge.

“Captain, what are you doing?” she called. He fired off a half dozen more shots, pinning the security team in the Jefferies tube. “Sir!”

“We have to stop them Kimura! They’ll just start all over again. We have to break them. Break them so they can never be fixed! Those murdering bastards deserve no less!”

She glanced at the viewscreen, on which she could see four Cardassian freighters trying desperately to veer away from the Steamrunner-Class ship. The Hideki must have been their escort, carrying either supplies or refugees to the colony in the Vertras System. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Baxter crawl through the hatch and quickly dart behind the Conn. All of Logan’s shots missed the petite security officer, but scorched the carpet. The weapon must’ve been set to kill. She looked back out at Logan.

“Sir, those are minimally armed freighters. They pose a threat to no one. You need to stand down, Captain.”

“No! That’s just what they want you to think. They’re far from weak and harmless! They have to be stopped!” He fired off another blast and from the hatch she heard an agonising, gargled scream.

Kimura looked just in time to see Martinez drop back through the opening, crashing into the two crewmen, and then all three slamming into the deck below with a loud thud. She hadn’t seen where the ensign was hit, didn’t know if he was just wounded or dead. Behind the Conn, she saw Baxter lean out and take a shot. Logan dodged it and returned fire. He missed Baxter, but the beams burned into the back of Ensign Fitzpatrick who was slumped over the console. It was then that she noticed blood on the carpet next to Ops, and looked at Chief Petty Officer Trowg. The Tellarite had been shot in the side. There was no chance he had survived.

Logan had gassed the Gamma Shift crew and then murdered them. She thumbed her phaser to full stun and fired off three shots. Baxter followed her lead. Both of them aimed at Logan, but he dropped down behind Tactical.

“I’d never have thought that you of all people would be in league with them Commander! But your betrayal will be punished! You will die with your friends out there! Computer, command alpha-zero!”

The computer chirped an acknowledgement before another klaxon sounded. “Autodestruct sequence activated. Four minutes to autodestruct.”

“CAPTAIN!” Kimura shouted, standing straight up.

Logan looked out from where he was hiding; looking straight at her she could see his wide frantic eyes. He gripped the phaser tighter. She flicked the power setting to maximum and fired at the console he was hiding behind. It only took a second for the damage to be done and the ODN relay to overload. The explosion was a small one, but very effective. Logan lay sprawled out on the deck.

She stepped around Ops and looked over the displays. None of which were overly promising.

“Autodestruct sequence initiated. Three minutes forty-five seconds to autodestruct.”

“Computer, deactivate autodestruct.”

“Unable to comply. All command codes have been scrambled.”

“Frak!” she cried, smacking the console. She looked up at Baxter, she had moved to Tactical.

The security officer shook her head. “The Captain’s dead.”

Kimura nodded and looked back at the viewscreen. “All hands, this is Commander Kimura. Begin evacuations. This is not a drill. All hands to escape pods!” She quickly tried to open up a commlink to the Cardassian freighters, to tell them to move out the way, but everything had been locked out. She tried a twice more to gain access to communications, but to no avail. She then looked back up at Baxter, who was surveying the dead at the aft consoles.

“Lieutenant, we have to get out of here!” Baxter trotted down to the hatch and Kimura waited for her to go through first. She knew that four minutes barely gave the crew time to evacuate, let alone get to minimum safe distance.

Back on deck two, she found Martinez lying in a pool of blood—little remained of the young man’s neck. The other human had been the last on the ladder, and the weight of his two team-mates had caused him to fall off and land awkwardly against the bulkhead. The Napean sat is shock, looking between the two of them. Baxter grabbed his arm and hauled him back into the corridor.

They headed towards the escape pods, just like every other member of the crew, all of them baffled as to what was going on, but they kept chatter and speculation to themselves, and instead focused on the evacuation. For many of them they had survived the Dominion War onboard the ship, they hadn’t expected the need to evacuate during peacetime—unless there was a serious engineering problem, not the ship’s own self-destruct.

“Autodestruct sequence initiated. Three minutes to autodestruct.”

They reached the deck two escape pods, and she immediately set about getting everyone into a pod and ready to be jettisoned. Throughout the ship other officers would be doing the same, co-ordinating and organising the procedure. Though they went through continual drills for emergency protocols, the real thing was always different.

“Autodestruct sequence initiated. Two minutes to autodestruct.”

“Computer, status of evacuation.”

“Twenty-five percent of escape pods have been launched.”

“Damn,” she muttered to herself. That should have been at least thirty by now. She looked down the corridor and noticed a group of ensigns carrying duffle bags. “Hey! Drop them and evac. NOW!”

The rookies quickly threw their bags to the group and proceeded to a pod that was as far from her as possible. As they moved she scowled at them. What were they teaching at the Academy these days?

As the seconds counted down, the crowd thinned. Her checks with the computer showed that the evacuation had sped up and they were on schedule once again. Hatches closed and the lifeboats were launched with a dull thud.

“Autodestruct sequence initiated. Twenty seconds to autodestruct.”

“Computer, is everyone out.”

“Negative. One lifesign detected on deck two.”

That was her. She stepped into the last escape pod, slipped into the last seat as the crewman at the controls sealed the hatch and activated the launch mechanism. The six occupants were jostled by the g-force as they were hurtled out into space, where the thrusters took control and they manoeuvred away from the Maelstrom.

Kimura looked around at the others in the pod. “Braces yourselves, this is going to be rough.”

Seconds later, there was a bright flash in the tiny viewports. She counted her heartbeats until the shockwave hit. She had just gotten to six when the pod was slammed hard. Metal groaned but held firm. The lights flickered but returned to normal a moment later. After another three heartbeats of eerie stillness she let go of the breath she’d been holding unconsciously.

“Everyone alright?” she asked. There were acknowledgements and nods all round. She looked at the pods designated pilot, a Bolian from astrophysics called Zems. “Signal all pods to form up on us, and begin transmitting the distress signal.”

“Aye sir,” he replied and set to work.

“Commander,” spoke up Lieutenant Pierson, the Senior Computer Management Officer, “what happened?”

Kimura looked at Pierson, and then around at the others—all of who were looking at her expectantly. The look she had seen in Captain Logan’s eyes sprung to the forefront of her mind, and she tried to piece together what he had said, trying to find some hidden meaning she hadn’t pick up on before. But nothing came to her. All she could do was shake her head. “I don’t know Lieutenant. I really don’t know.”


END​
 
Star Trek: Trident - 1.2 - Small Steps

Star Trek: Trident
A proud member of the Shared Universe Project

1.2 - Small Steps

By Brydon Sinclair​


Rachel Milburn would never admit it, but she was nervous. To either side and in front of her were thirteen other newly commissioned ensigns, all chatting amongst themselves, laughing and carrying on. The aft compartment of the large shuttlecraft was buzzing with excitement, just what was to be expected as they headed out to their first assignment.

When her orders came through, she hadn’t believed what she’d seen and had to get them confirmed. Once they were she was left feeling a little numb and unsure. Her roommate had been more excited than she’d been, it just made her stomach clench tighter.

In the last two days, she had downloaded all the information on the U.S.S. Trident—mission logs, historical milestones, and her full specifications—and begun committing it to memory. The Excelsior-Class ship had an impressive record since being launched in 2345, with eighteen first contacts in that time, independently charted twelve completed sectors of space, service in the Cardassian Wars, Tzenkethi War and most recently the Dominion War. It was during the Second Battle of Chin’toka that the ship had been severely damaged, but salvageable. Back in dry-dock she had been put forward for a complete overhaul of her systems, similar to the refit pioneered by the Lakota in 2372. With all that work completed, she was due to be launched back into active duty in less than three days, and Milburn was going to be her Chief Science Officer.

Even the thought of it was weird. Just out of the Academy, graduating eighth in her class (out of three hundred and fifty-six cadets) after the accelerated three-year programme, and she was expected to be in charge of the entire science department on a starship. She looked around at her classmates again. Near the back of the compartment was Anthony Dane (who had been five places above her in the class rankings), who had also been assigned to the Senior Staff as Ops Manager, but he seemed to be taking it all in his stride with his usual cocky swagger. At the opposite end of the shuttle, farthest from the door, where despite being pinned in the corner he somehow managed to look completely alone, was Ty-Kaan. She only knew the Orion by reputation, and not a very good one. Whilst she and Dane had been in the top ten graduates, Ty-Kaan was much lower on the list (only five places from the bottom), but he had found himself assigned as Chief Flight Control Officer—which had stunned the campus when word had spread though he gave no hint as to whether he was nervous or excited or surprised.

When she had heard who else had been assigned to the ship (especially her peers on the senior staff), she had begun reading up on the service jacket for her new captain, Motoko Kimura. Her promotion to the rank had happened in January, after what was being called the Maelstrom Incident, during which Captain Logan had apparently suffered some kind of breakdown and begun attacking a convoy of refugees. All the public reports and records on the incident, said that it highlighted then-Commander Kimura’s focus and determination, her strong belief in the ideals of the Federation and Starfleet, and her willingness to do what was necessary to ensure the safety of both innocent civilians and her own crew. Everything else Milburn read in the Captain’s file said the same thing. Kimura had graduated first in her class in 2357, served six years in Engineering, making it to Assistant Chief Engineering Officer of the Nautilus before being signed off on medical leave for almost a year (exactly why was restricted to medical personnel). When she returned to active duty she transferred into Operations and assigned to the Camelot. It was in 2371, that she was promoted to Commander and made First Officer of the U.S.S. Thunderchild. She survived the second Borg invasion as well as eighteen months of the war, before she’d been transferred to the Maelstrom. Kimura definitely wasn’t a woman to be crossed, but many reports included notes on her patience and the close bonds she formed with her crew. She was definitely a woman that Milburn could learn a lot from. She only hoped that she didn’t screw up.

Just take it one step at a time, kiddo, the soothing voice of her father echoed from her memory. Part of her wished that she’d had more time to spend on Earth with him, but that wasn’t to be. They both had to ship out; she onboard the Trident and Chief Petty Officer Franklin Milburn on the Tecumseh. She felt her eyes moisten when she remembered the look of pride and love on his face during the graduation ceremony—her mother was a security guard at the Federation Embassy on Qon’oS and hadn’t been able to get away. She had always said that she would be the first Milburn to become an officer, and he had been her biggest supporter.

“Aft compartment, we will be landing in two minutes,” the shuttle pilot said through the intercom.

Milburn quickly blinked away the tears and lifted the duffle bag at her feet onto her knees. Most of her other possessions would be beamed over to the ship, along with all those of the other new officers. They would then have a few days to get to know the ship and their duty stations better, before they headed out. One step at a time, she repeated to herself, as the shuttle passed through the environmental forcefield and set down on the deck of the shuttlebay. The level of tense excitement went up another notch as the small ship set down, and another as the aft ramp slowly descended. They all stood up and organised their luggage so it was comfortable to carry, the chat and laughter of before diminished to whispers. Rachel Milburn took a deep slow breath.

One step at a time.


END​
 
Star Trek: Trident - 1.3 - Nowhere And Back Again

Star Trek: Trident
A proud member of the Shared Universe Project

1.3 - Nowhere And Back Again

By Brydon Sinclair​


There was a buzz of excitement throughout the Bridge, officers and non-coms alike were eager to get underway. Motoko Kimura knew exactly how they felt. After three months of sitting on her hands overseeing the final aspects of the Trident’s refit, she wanted to get back out into space—now onboard her own ship, with her own crew.

They were still a few minutes away from departure, so she took the time to look around at the senior staff that were present on the Bridge—the men and women she would need to rely upon in order to ensure the ship’s mission into Cardassian space was a success.

Ahead of her at Conn and Ops were Ensigns Ty-Kaan and Anthony Dane respectively. Both fresh from the Academy, they couldn’t be more different. Dane had proven to excel academically, been on eight separate sports teams (captained two of them), and received glowing reports, recommendations and awards from his instructors. Ty-Kaan on the other hand had scraped through—had Starfleet not been suffering a severe shortage of personnel, she doubted he would have made the grade—had several reprimands to his name, and only managed to get through due to his practical assessments, where he had proven to be an intuitive pilot. Many had asked her why she’d chosen him as her helmsman. She had told them all that she saw something promising in the Orion, and left it at that. At the Science console, on the port side of the Bridge, was their classmate Ensign Rachel Milburn. She was intelligent and capable, but seemed overwhelmed at her first posting—not surprising given they were all out of the Academy a year early. Kimura had served with Milburn’s father when she’d been Operations Manager on the Camelot, and there wasn’t a prouder father to be found. Behind her, at Tactical console was her Security Chief Lieutenant JG Nhylas. He was a young and focused Enayan, born and raised on his people’s only free colony in the Zeta Sector. He had served with distinction during the war, and quickly proven to be a dedicated officer, who had gained a reputation for his skills and talents despite his youth. The seat on her right was empty, as they would be collecting the ship’s XO once they got to Starbase Sanctuary. On her left sat Lieutenant Talan Ha’naye, the ship’s El-Aurian Counsellor (who was acting up as First Officer). He had been serving in Starfleet for the last twelve years, and was a fully certified psychologist as well as proving to be a wise negotiator and representative. Aside from that, Kimura didn’t know much else about the tall and muscular man.

”Engineering to Bridge,” came the confident but preppy voice of Lieutenant Jia Yraxis, the ship’s Chief Engineer.

“Go ahead.”

“Captain, all final pre-flight checks have been completed. We are good to go.”

“Understood Lieutenant. Bring the impulse drive online and standby on warp power. Kimura out.”

From beside her Ha’naye spoke up, in his usual deep, soothing tone, “All decks and sections report ready, sir.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” she stated and looked down at Ops. “Mr Dane, secure all airlocks and connectors. Clear our departure with the Dockmaster.”

“Aye sir,” he replied. A few moments later he looked over his shoulder at her. “The ship is secure and we have been cleared for departure.”

“Release all moorings.”

“Done,” replied Ty-Kaan.

She looked down at the Orion, whose posture was far more relaxed than that of Dane’s. “Ensign Ty-Kaan, I would appreciate if you followed standard protocol during this manoeuvre.”

“Aye sir,” he replied, before looking back at her. “All moorings decoupled. We are clear and free to navigate.”

“Aft thrusters at one quarter, port and starboard at station keeping.”

“Engaging thrusters.”

On the viewscreen, the Trident began to move forward. The insect-like legs of the dry-dock facility slowly moving past them, open space lay dead ahead. It took them a few minutes, but soon there was no sign of the repair facility, only the curved blue-green-white marble that was earth.

“We have cleared dry-dock, sir,” stated Ty-Kaan, just as the regs said to do.

“Set course one-one-nine-mark-zero-two-five. One-fifth impulse until we clear Earth’s gravity well, then increase to full impulse.”

“Course set. Engaging impulse engines.”

Earth began to recede as the Trident turned to port and increased speed. Kimura had spent more than enough time onboard starships to know when they left the gravity field of Earth. She noticed Ty-Kaan’s hand moving to the impulse control panel. With the brush of a finger the ship would accelerate to a quarter the speed of light until they cleared the Sol System, only then would they go to warp.

Instead however, as soon as the Conn Officer tapped the button, all the lights went out.

“Report?” she called out.

“We’ve just lost all power,” stated Ensign Dane. “Main computer is offline.”

She slapped the companel on her chair’s armrest. “Bridge to Engineering. What the hell happened to us?”

“Comm is out—both internal and external.”

“We’ve lost sensors,” said Milburn, her voice tight.

“Propulsion and navigation aren’t responding,” Ty-Kaan added.

“Dane, get me a comline to Engineering. Ty-Kaan, switch to manual controls. Make sure we don’t hit anyone.”

“Manual controls aren’t responding.”

Just then she became aware of someone standing next to her in the darkness. A moment later a flashlight clicked on, and she saw Ha’naye by her side a wrist light cutting through the total darkness. He handed her one as well.

“It looks like all emergency systems are out as well. Somehow we’ve still got gravity though,” he told her.

“Be thankful for small mercies Counsellor,” she said, strapping the light to her wrist and activating it.

With her path illuminated she went over to the Engineering console and began looking at the dark monitors. She tried to enter commands, her access codes, even gibberish—just to get a rise out of the computer—but nothing happened.

“Captain, I can’t find an active circuit in order to route the comm through. We’re completely cut off,” said Dane, sounding a little exasperated.

Before she could say anything more there was a faint rock followed by the whine of a transporter. Three shafts of twinkling blue light appeared in front of the viewscreen. All the wrist lights were directed at the three humanoids that took shape. In seconds, three Starfleet officers stood at the front of the Bridge, one in red and two in gold.

“I’m Commander Hilliard of the starship Poseidon. We saw you lose power and start listing. We’ve got you in a tractor beam. What happened?”

She stepped forward. “Captain Kimura,” she said by way of introduction. “I wish we knew Commander. We’ve lost power, computers and communications.”

“Do you want a tow back to a berth?” Hilliard asked.

“Given the circumstances, that would be greatly appreciated.”

* * * * *

Captain’s log, supplemental.

We’re back in dry-dock, and after sixteen hours of crawling through the guts of the
Trident Lieutenant Yraxis has found what the problem is. We’ve gone through a massive refit that only one other ship has been put through to date. Improved sensors, propulsion, and tactical systems, as well as tweaks to every other piece of hardware onboard—including the central processors. But it looks like the computer can’t handle the increased demands of the new systems.

Jia has told me there are two options available to us. We could either gut all the new systems out of the ship, reverting her to her pre-war specifications, or replace a third of our isolinear data processors with bioneural gel packs to handle the increased demands on the computer. The gel pack route is likely to take three months of work, but I have no intention of being on the sidelines for that long. I have assured Starfleet Command that we will be ready to launch on June first, and I will make damn sure that this ship is ready to go by then!



END​
 
Re: Star Trek: Trident - 1.3 - Nowhere And Back Again

An appropriate title. So where's part 4? you have me wondering-I've enjoyed what I've read so far...
 
Star Trek: Trident - 1.4 - Encounters

This installment includes the setting and some of the characters from Star Trek: Sanctuary. Due to the interaction between the crews of both in some stories, I have gained permission from Sanctuary's writer to post a couple here as well--just so you all can get the full picture.​

*****​

Star Trek: Trident & Star Trek: Sanctuary
Proud members of the Shared Universe Project

1.04 - Encounters​

By Brydon Sinclair​


Lieutenant Commander Rogan Enek found the long stretches of dimly lit and weirdly designed corridors to be a little intimidating—and he wasn’t a man made easily nervous. The Cardassian architecture with its curves and arches, numerous nooks and alcoves was so unlike the crisp clean line onboard the Claymore that he found the whole place unsettling. The fact that the environmental controls in the habitat ring were still stuck at a level comfortable for Cardassians, but which most other species found stuffy, didn’t help matters.​

Unfortunately, due to technical issues, this dilapidated bicycle wheel was to be his accommodation for the next month. He’d been contacted by his new Captain, Motoko Kimura of the U.S.S. Trident, who told him that the ship needed another few weeks of refit work before she could launch. He had suggested that he could travel to Earth and join the ship there, but she had told him that she wanted his impressions of the Federation-Cardassian alliance on the station, and to keep on top of all the reports that came in about the situation in the former Union. These tasks wouldn’t keep him occupied for a full month, and so he had decided to offer his services to the station’s commander. All he had to do was find her.​

Rogan eventually found a turbolift—Seriously, who designed this place? he asked himself—and ordered it to the Operations Centre, it was as good a place to start looking for her. As the lift climbed upwards he thought over what he would say to her, how he could lend a hand with security or in repairing their weapons—after all it was what he’d trained to do. He fidgeted with his new red collar, which seemed itchy compared to the gold one he’d worn on the Claymore even after his field promotion to First Officer (seeing as how the ship was so short-staffed he had continued to serve as Security Chief).​

The lift slowed and then stopped at the top of the central core. No doors? That’s unsettling. Stepping into Ops, he looked around the oddly shaped facility, the way the harsh grey metal and black plastics tried to look almost organic as the consoles blended together, with their curved lines and decorative arches. His boots clanged on the metallic grill on the deck. The place was busy, engineers and techs moved around from consoles to open panels and back again, each one held tools, a PADD or a tricorder—an enormous brute of an alien, a species Rogan had never seen before, had all three in one of his four hands.​

He moved further into Ops, looking for the red-skinned Rylek commander. He was just about to stop the nearest tech to ask about her when a voice sneered at him from behind.​

“What do you want?”​

Rogan spun around, feeling his body coil, ready to react. He found himself face to face with a grey-scaled Cardassian dressed in full military uniform. Rogan fought down the nearly instinctive urge to shove him away.​

“I am looking for Captain Natale,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice level.​

The Cardassian looked him up and down, his face filled with disdain and revulsion. “And who are you?”​

“Lieutenant Commander Rogan Enek, First Officer of the starship Trident. And you are?”​

“Busy.”​

“Is the Captain in her office?”​

The Cardassian stepped closer, squaring his shoulders, puffing out his chest and flaring his neck ridges—like a cobra, ready to strike. Rogan stood his ground. “Do I look like her yeoman?” he hissed, his voice low.​

“No. They’re generally supposed to be young and pretty.”​

There was a flash of anger in the Cardassians eyes, but before he could do or say anything more, a deep voice interrupted, “Something wrong Dal?”​

After staring at Rogan for a moment longer, the Dal glanced at the human officer who had approached from command table in the centre of the room. “Deal with him,” he stated, then stalked off to the other side of Ops.​

Rogan looked at the strapping human, he had closely cropped brown hair and wore the same uniform and rank he did. Rogan put his age at mid-30s.​

“Lieutenant Commander Kelley, Tactical Defence Officer,” he said, offering a hand.​

“Rogan Enek, the Trident’s new XO,” he said gripping the other man’s hand. They shook briefly, and he was surprised at Kelley’s firm grip.​

“I heard you’re stuck here for a few weeks, whilst they workout the last of the bugs.”​

“Which is why I was here, I though I would offer my services to Captain Natale. You look like you could use all the help you can get.”​

“She’s in a conference call with HQ, Intelligence and the Diplomatic Corps, so she’ll be busy for a few hours. What’s your speciality?”​

“Security and tactical.”​

Kelley seemed to get very interested for a second. “How good are you at realigning pre-fire chamber phase variance?”​

“Onboard the Claymore I had the variance at less than point-zero-zero-three percent.”​

The human grinned at him. “You’re hired! Grab a toolkit and let’s get going.”​

Kelley grabbed a kit from a trolley and headed towards the lift. Rogan quickly picked up one himself, as well as a tricorder. He looked across Ops and saw the Dal scowling at him, as the enormous four-armed alien tried to speak to the Cardassian. Rogan turned away and followed Kelley into the lift.​


END​
 
Star Trek: Trident - 1.6 - Heal Thyself

Star Trek: Trident
A proud member of the Shared Universe Project

1.6 - Heal Thyself

By Brydon Sinclair​


For the first time since Lieutenant Commander T’Liann had come onboard, there were more gold-shirted crewmembers in sickbay than blue. Following their less than graceful departure from dry-dock, a third of the ship’s computers and computer-based systems were being upgraded to the new bioneural gel packs—an original feature on the Intrepid-Class starship. One such system that was included in the overhaul was the Emergency Medical Hologram. Gone was their original Mark-IV template, now they would be getting the newest programme, the Mark-V.

The technology had been a logical addition to medical facilities, in T’Liann’s opinion at least. Especially during the war, when she had served onboard the hospital ship Blackwell, which was outfitted with three different models of EMH—and a separate computer core to handle them.

One of the dry-dock technicians stepped into her office, a smudge of some kind across the bridge of his nose. He looked tired and unkempt.

She looked up from her desktop monitor. “Yes?” she asked, the faintest hint of a French accent in her voice—something she had developed from growing up in Paris, whilst her parents were attached to the Federation Council.

“Just wanted to tell you that your new EMH is installed and ready to go, if you want to take him for a spin.”

She raised an eyebrow at the comment. “I require the EMH to be trained in surgery techniques, medical diagnostics and emergency trauma procedures, not dance.”

The tech blushed and scratched the back of his neck. “Eh…sorry ma’am. What I meant, is that he is ready for your inspection.”

“Thank you crewman.” She deactivated her monitor, then followed him back out into the main ward. The installation crew were still there, running a few final checks, as was Medtech Farnsworth—part of whose duties would be to look after the hologram’s systems—and Nurse Chergo-Rhas. As the crewman went over to the main console, she moved to the Grazerite, whose horns were tightly bound in a traditional headscarf—for to bare one’s horns in public was seen as a severe social taboo.

“I trust that they haven’t been too much of an inconvenience?” she asked the junior lieutenant.

“No more than one can expect Doctor,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “But at least this was seen too relatively early in the refit—it means we can get everything back in order well in advance of our departure time.”

“A most logical assessment nurse.”

“That should do it,” the tech said aloud. A moment later, the EMH Mark-V appeared in the middle of the floor. The template was that of a pale-skinned human male, approximately twenty-eight to thirty years old, with brown eyes and dark hair. He had a kindly expression on his face.

The hologram looked at her. “Greetings Doctor T’Liann, how may I assist you?”

She looked at the crewman. “Is that his standard greeting?”

“During non-emergencies. If the ship were at red alert, it would be the customary ‘please state the nature of the medical emergency’. The Mark-V has been designed as a longer-term member of the medical team, for use at any time during the ship’s mission. His new recognition technology allows him to access the duty roster and address every member of the crew. It gives him a more personal touch, allows for better interaction and integration with the crew.”

T’Liann raised an eyebrow again, the only outward sign that she was impressed. “Doctor, what is your source material?”

“I have been designed to fully interact with the ship’s medical database. I have immediate access to all information within the Trident’s computer pertaining to medicine and biomedical research. My own database also includes the personal records, works, personalities and logs of three hundred and fifty medical officers since the foundation of Starfleet.”

“Thank you, that is sufficient.”

“Very well Doctor. To conserve power, please remember to deactivate my programme.”

“Computer, deactivate EMH.”

With a chirp from the computer, the hologram vanished as quickly as it appeared. She looked at the technician and saw him smile with obvious pride. Though she did not like to encourage such emotional displays, she had to admit, that he and the others that had worked on the new programme had done a thorough job.

“He’s a helpful sort,” said Chergo-Rhas. “Though seems a little young to be a doctor, wouldn’t you say?”

“The Mark-V is modelled after a promising young physician who graduated first in his class from Starfleet Medical Academy two years ago, and is currently CMO on the U.S.S. Othello,” the technician stated, becoming a little defensive.

”I am aware of Doctor Parker’s work,” T’Liann said in an off-hand manner, which drew a look of surprise from the young technician. “He is more than adequate. Thank you for your work, but we should not keep you from your other duties.”

“You’re welcome Doctor. If there’s anything else you need, let us know.” With that, the technician led his team out of sickbay and on to their next assignment.

She looked at Chergo-Rhas. “Have all the biobeds in recovery been calibrated?”

“I was just about to go and do that now. Should I call someone in to cover the ward?”

“That won’t be necessary, I have completed updated the crews medical records. And with no research projects underway, I can cover sickbay myself, thank you nurse.”

Chergo-Rhas bowed his head slightly and headed for the exit, calling Farnsworth to come and help with the time-consuming but necessary task. After they left, T’Liann was alone in the ward. She began to go over the equipment trays, and ensure they were laid out to her preference, as well as ensure that all the array of scanners and instruments were all fully functioning. With no patients to attend to, no paperwork to complete and no research to monitor for the time being, all that was really left to do were all the little things that were kept for the quiet periods. The things that everyone seemed to put off doing, but the simplicity of which, T’Liann always found calming—as though it were almost a way of meditating.


END​
 
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Brydon
 
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