Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
- Thread starter TheLoneRedshirt
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Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Thanks, all! To me, Fleet Captain Garth of Izar is one of the most intriguing characters from the TOS era. From hero of the Battle of Axanar to psychotic megalomaniac, he epitomizes the fallen hero. Yet we see hope of redemption at the end of the episode, "Whom Gods Destroy," when he shakes the hand of Jim Kirk.
What became of Garth? I think he was rehabilitated and eventually reinstated in Starfleet. However, the admiralty was skittish (after all, Garth had attempted to wipe out the entire population of Antos IV) and he never rose in rank above commodore. With no more battles to fight, I think he went into a self-imposed exile on Klaamet IV.
Of course, you might have different ideas about Garth and how you might choose to use him in a story! For all I know, he may have gone back and finished off the Antosians!
Thanks, all! To me, Fleet Captain Garth of Izar is one of the most intriguing characters from the TOS era. From hero of the Battle of Axanar to psychotic megalomaniac, he epitomizes the fallen hero. Yet we see hope of redemption at the end of the episode, "Whom Gods Destroy," when he shakes the hand of Jim Kirk.
What became of Garth? I think he was rehabilitated and eventually reinstated in Starfleet. However, the admiralty was skittish (after all, Garth had attempted to wipe out the entire population of Antos IV) and he never rose in rank above commodore. With no more battles to fight, I think he went into a self-imposed exile on Klaamet IV.
Of course, you might have different ideas about Garth and how you might choose to use him in a story! For all I know, he may have gone back and finished off the Antosians!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
I have to admit I had to look up Garth of Izar as I was only remember him very vaguely. I'm suprised Starfleet would take him back after his attempted genocide.
I did like how you are using him here though. Just when I thought I had this thing figured out you add another dimension which is sure to make things just a little bit more difficult for most parties involved.
This will not end in a whimper, I predict. Great stuff!
I have to admit I had to look up Garth of Izar as I was only remember him very vaguely. I'm suprised Starfleet would take him back after his attempted genocide.
I did like how you are using him here though. Just when I thought I had this thing figured out you add another dimension which is sure to make things just a little bit more difficult for most parties involved.
This will not end in a whimper, I predict. Great stuff!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Thanks, CeJay! I think Starfleet would have been in a quandary regarding Garth. In the enlightened 23rd century, people who had been "rehabilitated" would have been mainstreamed back into society. To deny reinstatement to Garth would have been a potential legal and PR problem for the 'Fleet. Yet, they couldn't ignore his behavior from when he went 'round the bend! I imagine they upped him to commodore, than gave him some "safe" assignments until he retired of his own volition. At least, that's what the voices in my head tell me!
Which begs the question - How sane is Garth?
Stay tuned!
Thanks, CeJay! I think Starfleet would have been in a quandary regarding Garth. In the enlightened 23rd century, people who had been "rehabilitated" would have been mainstreamed back into society. To deny reinstatement to Garth would have been a potential legal and PR problem for the 'Fleet. Yet, they couldn't ignore his behavior from when he went 'round the bend! I imagine they upped him to commodore, than gave him some "safe" assignments until he retired of his own volition. At least, that's what the voices in my head tell me!
Which begs the question - How sane is Garth?
Stay tuned!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Chapter Eight
Stardate 54069.8 (26 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
Entering the Molari Badlands
"Secure from warp. Mr. Bralus, ahead full impulse," ordered Captain Akinola.
Commander Strauss eased toward the command chair and whispered in Akinola's ear. "Sir - that is going to seriously stress our shields and navigational deflectors! Not to mention the strain on the inertial dampeners."
Akinola nodded and replied in a subdued voice. "I know, Commander. But we've got a lot of ground to make up. If there is a cloaked Klingon ship after the Backroad, and my gut tells me there is, we may already be too late." He rubbed his chin in thought. "Take over tactical, Inga. This might turn ugly."
As Strauss replaced the ensign seated at tactical, Akinola tapped the intra-ship comm button on his chair.
"This is the Captain. We've entered the Badlands in pursuit of a transport that might be followed by a Klingon vessel. We're now at condition yellow and the ride is going to get very rough over the next few hours. Use caution as you move around - the inertial dampeners won't be able to fully compensate for the gravitic turbulence. Akinola, out." He slapped the switch, closing the channel.
Hardly had the words left his mouth when the cutter seemed to dip and roll violently. The bridge crew held tightly to their consoles so as not to be tossed from their stations.
"Sorry about that!" said Bralus. A thin sheen of perspiration had formed on his blue forehead.
"Maintain course and speed, Mr. Bralus. Ops, begin scanning for ion trails - begin with the last known position of the Backroad."
"Aye, sir," replied Ensign Vashtee, frowning in concentration. She muttered some choice words in her native tongue. "Nothing yet, sir. Sensor range is very limited." She adjusted the gain on the sensors, running the return through the computer filters. A sudden spike on a sensor graph caused her breath to catch in her throat. She swallowed and turned toward the Captain.
"Sir? I'm picking up an ion storm adjacent to our projected course." She continued to adjust the sensor gain. "Force seven and climbing, sir."
Akinola nodded curtly. "Understood." He tapped the intra-ship button again. "All hands, rig for ion storm. Condition, red-alert. All hands man your stations. This is not a drill - repeat - this is not a drill!"
* * *
Stardate 54069.8 (26 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
A loud screeching filled the bridge of the Jhar'toq, followed by blaring klaxons and flashing warning strobes.
"Shut off that accursed noise and report!" yelled Choq over the din.
The helmsman complied, but an ominous rumbling continued to set the Klingon commander's teeth on edge.
"Number two coolant pump has failed! We're venting plasma and losing power." said the helmsman as he hurriedly compensated for the power loss.
"Reroute power from reactor one," Choq said tightly, his mind running through various options. "Engage aft thrusters to increase our speed. I want to close on that ship now!"
"Sir," the helmsman said, carefully. "If we use our thrusters, we will deplete our fuel more rapidly - we may not have enough to return home."
"If we do not retrieve the Req'ti, it won't matter." He stood from his command chair. "Gunner! Bring disruptor cannons on-line! Target their engines when we get in range. Prepare to engage our quarry!"
* * *
Stardate 54069.9 (26 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
The small transport continued to rock and shake violently, the impulse engines howled as they pushed the Backroad through a swarming maelstrom of ion particles.
"Carmine!" Shonda screamed, just as a disruptor bolt hit the engine cluster. The lights flickered and Carmine nearly lost control of the transport as they yawed dangerously through an ionic wave. Master caution lights began to flash and a harsh beeping warned of major trouble.
"Shut down the port engine! I'm going to try and turn inside their line of fire," Carmine gasped through clenched teeth. Already, the gravimetric shear was beginning to twist their vessel - the inertial dampeners already overwhelmed. He grunted with effort as the g-forces built up and he doggedly turned the Backroad into a steep banking turn to starboard, hoping to evade the Klingon's disruptor bolts.
* * *
Stardate 54069.9 (26 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
The cutter plowed valiantly ahead through the strengthening ion storm. Even with uprated shielding and powerful impulse engines, their headway was slow and treacherous.
"Moldering deities, get your hairless asses moving!" Chief Engineer Gralt bellowed as he staggered on the constantly shifting engineering deck. He was shouting orders over the thundering din of the impulse engines while trying to keep the systems running on the battered Bluefin. "Flanders! We've got a master caution light on the port number four EPS coupling - get on it! Loruth! Help Johnson with that spare impeller - we'll need it if we keep running these engines at 110%!"
A pale crewman third class staggered toward Gralt, barely keeping his balance on the pitching deck. He tripped and the crusty Tellarite grabbed him before he fell.
"What is it, Nichols?" Gralt shouted.
Nichols face was nearly white, a sheen of perspiration covered his clammy face. "Sir," he gasped, "Request permission to . . . to . . . "
"Gragnar's Balls! Spit it out boy! Request permission to what?"
"To . . ." Nichols suddenly doubled over, and with a loud "Yuuurrk!," emptied the contents of his stomach on the deck, splattering Gralt's boots and coveralls."
Gralt steadied the youngster, looked up and muttered, "The deities all hate me!" Loudly he called, "Egris! EGRIS! Get your fat ass over here - and bring the frakkin' HOSE!" He looked back down at the sick crewman and patted him absently. "Hang in there, kid - this is going to get a lot worse before it gets better!"
* * *
On the bridge, Lt. Bralus struggled with the helm controls as the cutter moved deeper into the raging ion storm. The viewscreen revealed a miasma of energy that crackled and surged around the ship like St. Elmo's fire.
"Maya, have you got a fix on the Backroad yet?" queried Akinola. He held on tightly to the arms of the command chair as the cutter seemed to drop suddenly, then pitch up again.
"I'm . . . not sure, Sir. With all the ionic interference I . . . " she paused, frowning, and tapped a control once, twice, a third time, before turning back to the Captain. Her face was tight. "Disruptor fire, sir! Bearing 28 mark 8. I can't get a range, but it has to be close!"
"Helm! Adjust course to that heading. Mr. Strauss - arm the phasers. If you see a Klingon ship, I want their weapons taken out, understood?"
Inga was having difficulty keeping her seat, but she nodded grimly. "Understood, sir." Her fingers hit the master control for the phasers. "Phasers armed . . . " She tapped a second control several times before uttering a Teutonic curse. "Sir! Targeting scanners are off-line!"
Akinola brought his fist down on the arm of his chair. "Damn! I don't want to accidentally destroy a Klingon ship, even if it is on our side of the border." He thought a moment. "Keep weapons hot, Commander. Delta! Get on the targeting scanners - we need them yesterday! Mr. Bralus - when we close in, bring us between the Backroad and whoever's firing on them."
Bralus swallowed, his mouth dry. "Aye sir!"
"Looks like we may take a few dents today," Akinola said grimly.
* * *
Stardate 54070.0 (26 January 2377)
SS Janus
The Molari Badlands
"Commodore? We're getting readings consistent with disruptor fire," announced a young Illyrian woman seated at the Operations station.
Garth's brow furrowed. "Bearing and distance?"
"Difficult to ascertain, sir. It's along a heading that will take us into a Force seven ion storm - approximately two hours away at our current speed."
"Force seven," murmured Captain Forrash. "That will rip our shields to shreds. Not to mention this ship."
Commodore Garth of Izar nodded. "That may be, old friend. But there are people out there carrying out a mission I sent them on. I will not abandon them." He turned to face the Andorian captain. "Are we agreed on this point, Captain?" Garth's voice was soft, but the tone of command was clear.
Forrash looked at the swirling energy through which their old Avenger-class ship moved. A smile played across his features. "If it is our time, what better way to go than in battle in the midst of a raging ion storm, eh?"
Garth smiled, but his eyes were distant. "If it is our time, indeed . . ."
* * *
Chapter Eight
Stardate 54069.8 (26 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
Entering the Molari Badlands
"Secure from warp. Mr. Bralus, ahead full impulse," ordered Captain Akinola.
Commander Strauss eased toward the command chair and whispered in Akinola's ear. "Sir - that is going to seriously stress our shields and navigational deflectors! Not to mention the strain on the inertial dampeners."
Akinola nodded and replied in a subdued voice. "I know, Commander. But we've got a lot of ground to make up. If there is a cloaked Klingon ship after the Backroad, and my gut tells me there is, we may already be too late." He rubbed his chin in thought. "Take over tactical, Inga. This might turn ugly."
As Strauss replaced the ensign seated at tactical, Akinola tapped the intra-ship comm button on his chair.
"This is the Captain. We've entered the Badlands in pursuit of a transport that might be followed by a Klingon vessel. We're now at condition yellow and the ride is going to get very rough over the next few hours. Use caution as you move around - the inertial dampeners won't be able to fully compensate for the gravitic turbulence. Akinola, out." He slapped the switch, closing the channel.
Hardly had the words left his mouth when the cutter seemed to dip and roll violently. The bridge crew held tightly to their consoles so as not to be tossed from their stations.
"Sorry about that!" said Bralus. A thin sheen of perspiration had formed on his blue forehead.
"Maintain course and speed, Mr. Bralus. Ops, begin scanning for ion trails - begin with the last known position of the Backroad."
"Aye, sir," replied Ensign Vashtee, frowning in concentration. She muttered some choice words in her native tongue. "Nothing yet, sir. Sensor range is very limited." She adjusted the gain on the sensors, running the return through the computer filters. A sudden spike on a sensor graph caused her breath to catch in her throat. She swallowed and turned toward the Captain.
"Sir? I'm picking up an ion storm adjacent to our projected course." She continued to adjust the sensor gain. "Force seven and climbing, sir."
Akinola nodded curtly. "Understood." He tapped the intra-ship button again. "All hands, rig for ion storm. Condition, red-alert. All hands man your stations. This is not a drill - repeat - this is not a drill!"
* * *
Stardate 54069.8 (26 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
A loud screeching filled the bridge of the Jhar'toq, followed by blaring klaxons and flashing warning strobes.
"Shut off that accursed noise and report!" yelled Choq over the din.
The helmsman complied, but an ominous rumbling continued to set the Klingon commander's teeth on edge.
"Number two coolant pump has failed! We're venting plasma and losing power." said the helmsman as he hurriedly compensated for the power loss.
"Reroute power from reactor one," Choq said tightly, his mind running through various options. "Engage aft thrusters to increase our speed. I want to close on that ship now!"
"Sir," the helmsman said, carefully. "If we use our thrusters, we will deplete our fuel more rapidly - we may not have enough to return home."
"If we do not retrieve the Req'ti, it won't matter." He stood from his command chair. "Gunner! Bring disruptor cannons on-line! Target their engines when we get in range. Prepare to engage our quarry!"
* * *
Stardate 54069.9 (26 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
The small transport continued to rock and shake violently, the impulse engines howled as they pushed the Backroad through a swarming maelstrom of ion particles.
"Carmine!" Shonda screamed, just as a disruptor bolt hit the engine cluster. The lights flickered and Carmine nearly lost control of the transport as they yawed dangerously through an ionic wave. Master caution lights began to flash and a harsh beeping warned of major trouble.
"Shut down the port engine! I'm going to try and turn inside their line of fire," Carmine gasped through clenched teeth. Already, the gravimetric shear was beginning to twist their vessel - the inertial dampeners already overwhelmed. He grunted with effort as the g-forces built up and he doggedly turned the Backroad into a steep banking turn to starboard, hoping to evade the Klingon's disruptor bolts.
* * *
Stardate 54069.9 (26 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
The cutter plowed valiantly ahead through the strengthening ion storm. Even with uprated shielding and powerful impulse engines, their headway was slow and treacherous.
"Moldering deities, get your hairless asses moving!" Chief Engineer Gralt bellowed as he staggered on the constantly shifting engineering deck. He was shouting orders over the thundering din of the impulse engines while trying to keep the systems running on the battered Bluefin. "Flanders! We've got a master caution light on the port number four EPS coupling - get on it! Loruth! Help Johnson with that spare impeller - we'll need it if we keep running these engines at 110%!"
A pale crewman third class staggered toward Gralt, barely keeping his balance on the pitching deck. He tripped and the crusty Tellarite grabbed him before he fell.
"What is it, Nichols?" Gralt shouted.
Nichols face was nearly white, a sheen of perspiration covered his clammy face. "Sir," he gasped, "Request permission to . . . to . . . "
"Gragnar's Balls! Spit it out boy! Request permission to what?"
"To . . ." Nichols suddenly doubled over, and with a loud "Yuuurrk!," emptied the contents of his stomach on the deck, splattering Gralt's boots and coveralls."
Gralt steadied the youngster, looked up and muttered, "The deities all hate me!" Loudly he called, "Egris! EGRIS! Get your fat ass over here - and bring the frakkin' HOSE!" He looked back down at the sick crewman and patted him absently. "Hang in there, kid - this is going to get a lot worse before it gets better!"
* * *
On the bridge, Lt. Bralus struggled with the helm controls as the cutter moved deeper into the raging ion storm. The viewscreen revealed a miasma of energy that crackled and surged around the ship like St. Elmo's fire.
"Maya, have you got a fix on the Backroad yet?" queried Akinola. He held on tightly to the arms of the command chair as the cutter seemed to drop suddenly, then pitch up again.
"I'm . . . not sure, Sir. With all the ionic interference I . . . " she paused, frowning, and tapped a control once, twice, a third time, before turning back to the Captain. Her face was tight. "Disruptor fire, sir! Bearing 28 mark 8. I can't get a range, but it has to be close!"
"Helm! Adjust course to that heading. Mr. Strauss - arm the phasers. If you see a Klingon ship, I want their weapons taken out, understood?"
Inga was having difficulty keeping her seat, but she nodded grimly. "Understood, sir." Her fingers hit the master control for the phasers. "Phasers armed . . . " She tapped a second control several times before uttering a Teutonic curse. "Sir! Targeting scanners are off-line!"
Akinola brought his fist down on the arm of his chair. "Damn! I don't want to accidentally destroy a Klingon ship, even if it is on our side of the border." He thought a moment. "Keep weapons hot, Commander. Delta! Get on the targeting scanners - we need them yesterday! Mr. Bralus - when we close in, bring us between the Backroad and whoever's firing on them."
Bralus swallowed, his mouth dry. "Aye sir!"
"Looks like we may take a few dents today," Akinola said grimly.
* * *
Stardate 54070.0 (26 January 2377)
SS Janus
The Molari Badlands
"Commodore? We're getting readings consistent with disruptor fire," announced a young Illyrian woman seated at the Operations station.
Garth's brow furrowed. "Bearing and distance?"
"Difficult to ascertain, sir. It's along a heading that will take us into a Force seven ion storm - approximately two hours away at our current speed."
"Force seven," murmured Captain Forrash. "That will rip our shields to shreds. Not to mention this ship."
Commodore Garth of Izar nodded. "That may be, old friend. But there are people out there carrying out a mission I sent them on. I will not abandon them." He turned to face the Andorian captain. "Are we agreed on this point, Captain?" Garth's voice was soft, but the tone of command was clear.
Forrash looked at the swirling energy through which their old Avenger-class ship moved. A smile played across his features. "If it is our time, what better way to go than in battle in the midst of a raging ion storm, eh?"
Garth smiled, but his eyes were distant. "If it is our time, indeed . . ."
* * *
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Looks like everybody thinks its a real good idea to play in the middle of an ion storm. Gralt is probably right, this is going to get a lot worse before it's all over and some of these guys are not going to make it out in one piece, I fear.
Very good, very tense segment and a good build up to something that'll probably be even better and more tense!
Looks like everybody thinks its a real good idea to play in the middle of an ion storm. Gralt is probably right, this is going to get a lot worse before it's all over and some of these guys are not going to make it out in one piece, I fear.
Very good, very tense segment and a good build up to something that'll probably be even better and more tense!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Yeah, the scene of this action defiantly adds a large amount of uncertainty to the situation. Never a good thing. Let's hope 'dents' is the only thing the Bluefin gets.
Looking forward to the upcoming (no doubt) chaos!
Yeah, the scene of this action defiantly adds a large amount of uncertainty to the situation. Never a good thing. Let's hope 'dents' is the only thing the Bluefin gets.
Looking forward to the upcoming (no doubt) chaos!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
I feel sorry for the Klingons, they're gonna get their butts kicked, if the storm doesn't do them in first.
Nice back and forth between the ships as they converge in purgatory.
I feel sorry for the Klingons, they're gonna get their butts kicked, if the storm doesn't do them in first.
Nice back and forth between the ships as they converge in purgatory.
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Full speed ahead into the abyss! Great piece of scene switching between the ships--it added to the feel of being tossed about by a violent storm as it looks like we're going to see the truth behind the old saying about fighting in a burning house.
Full speed ahead into the abyss! Great piece of scene switching between the ships--it added to the feel of being tossed about by a violent storm as it looks like we're going to see the truth behind the old saying about fighting in a burning house.
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Oh, man. This is like the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral… only with ships and in the middle of a freakin’ ion storm in the Molari Badlands. This is going to make the Khan vs. Kirk confrontation in the Mutara Nebula look like a Sunday school picnic!
As McBride might have said, “Hang on ‘ter your hats, boys and girls.”
Oh, man. This is like the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral… only with ships and in the middle of a freakin’ ion storm in the Molari Badlands. This is going to make the Khan vs. Kirk confrontation in the Mutara Nebula look like a Sunday school picnic!
As McBride might have said, “Hang on ‘ter your hats, boys and girls.”
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Chapter Nine
Stardate 54070.1 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
"Give me a boost, Chief!" Delta Simms had a small tool kit and a spare I-L chip in her hand as she prepared to enter the starboard Jeffrey's tube. She had isolated the cause of the targeting scanner's failure - a control module had over-loaded, probably due to a power surge caused by the ion storm.
"Ma'am - Are you sure this is safe? If one of the shields falters while you're in there . . ." As if to punctuate Brundy's point, the ship jerked violently and the lights flickered.
"I know - don't remind me! The quicker you get me up in there, the faster I'll get this done and out of there."
Chief Brundy furrowed his brow, unconvinced. "I'd really rather do this myself, ma'am."
Delta shook her head. "You're too big, Chief. I can get in there and maneuver around more easily. Now quit arguin' and hoist me up!"
With a sigh of resignation, Brundy easily lifted Delta up where she could grab hand-holds and pull herself into the Jeffrey's tube. She moved quickly, sliding on her back until she came to her destination. She attached a small magnetic key and unlocked the selected panel. She picked a small tool from the pouch and held it in her teeth while she searched for the damaged chip. A bead of sweat crept down her nose and into her left eye. She blinked to ease the sting caused by the salty drop and to clear her vision.
A massive ionic wave, nearly force nine in intensity, crashed against the Bluefin. One of the forward ventral shields lost integrity for less than a second, before adjacent shields automatically compensated.
In that brief instant, a heavy bombardment of ionic particles washed over the unprotected portion of the hull. The ship's armor absorbed 90% of the brief exposure, channeling the energy through embedded conduits and heat-sinks that dissipated the charge through the impulse vents.
The remaining 10% of the energy burst coursed through the cutter. Internal surge protectors handled most of this with few problems. One of the new replicators overloaded and began to spark and smoke before failing. The fire suppression system in the wardroom activated, preventing the replicator from bursting into flames. An aft monitoring station on the bridge also sparked heavily, but did not explode. Senior Chief Brin fell out of his chair at the aft station - causing him to strike an elbow against the rail, resulting in a colorful outburst of Orion epithets.
In the starboard Jeffrey's tube, Lt. Commander Delta Simms never saw the sudden energy discharge that erupted through the open access panel. Her body spasmed as the current flowed through her body, then she was still - a small tendril of smoke rose from the heel of her left boot.
Chief Brundy, waiting at the open hatch to the Jeffrey's tube saw the sudden flash and heard a loud "Snap!" He peered up anxiously into the now dark maintenance crawlway.
"Commander Simms? Are you okay? Commander? Commander?"
* * *
Stardate 54070.1 (27 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
The Backroad was a tough little ship. Not surprising, as the Antonov TJ-77 was a well-proven, robust design based on rugged Russian engineering. Its designers would not be surprised at the amount of abuse the ship could take and continue to function. In fact, they took special pride in the TJ series of commercial starcraft. A brochure for the TJ-77 boasted, "Rough enough for asteroid mining, tough enough for the Mutara Nebula."
Yet even the sturdiest of ships have their limits. The Backroad reached its limit on Stardate 54070.1.
There is probably no more blood-chilling sound than the screaming rush of venting atmosphere from a space vessel. The tempestuous noise nearly drowned out the wail of alarms on the ship.
In the cargo hold, Billy "Bug" Crump struggled into a pressure suit, his head already pounding as the atmospheric pressure dropped. He was wide-eyed with terror, his usual cockiness forgotten. As he pulled the helmet visor down, he lost his footing as the gravity coils failed. The bulkheads of the cargo bay began to twist and contort. Suddenly a gap appeared in the hull as an overstressed weld-line finally gave way. Bug found himself moving inexorably toward the hull breach, his arms flailing, his helmet filled with the sound of his own screams.
Something firm yet gentle clamped tightly to his left arm. The sudden reprieve startled Bug and the scream died in his throat. He glanced to his left to see the claw-like metal fingers of Max's segmented arm holding him in place. The cargo 'bot's twin optics glowed a soft blue. Max was still firmly attached to his charging platform. For the moment, Bug was relatively safe.
On the flight deck, Carmine was desperately trying to regain control of the crippled ship. He vaguely heard Shonda screaming something about the cargo bay venting atmosphere, but he had no time to deal with that now. The storm had suddenly increased by at least two levels of magnitude. He had to maneuver the ship out of the storm. He no longer cared whether the Klingons caught him or not. He'd rather take his chances with them than to be crushed by his own ship.
But the SS Backroad was dying. The impulse drive was gone and the hull was literally coming apart at the seams. The ship would not survive the storm.
* * *
Stardate 54070.1 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
The old Bird of Prey was literally coming apart. A glowing tendril of plasma trailed behind the crippled ship. The secondary reactor stopped functioning when its over-stressed coolant pump failed. Super-heated coolant exploded from the containment vessel, killing or seriously injuring the five engineering crewmen. The shields faltered momentarily as back-up power came on-line. But in those few moments, the sudden blast of charged particles ripped through the hull like hungry Pirhanna. The port side disruptor cannon was sheared away, spinning in the ionic eddies like a twig in a hurricane. Power couplings throughout the ship were quickly overloaded. Some failed, some began to spark, others exploded, killing or maiming more of the Klingon crew.
On the bridge, emergency bulkheads had sealed in the atmosphere, granting a temporary reprieve to the surviving crew. But even here, there was death. The one-eyed helmsman lay sprawled on the deck. The remains of his face a charred, smoking ruin adorned with bits of glass, ceramics and metal alloys. Likewise, the gunner was slumped over the tactical station, a long shard of metal protruding from his chest, his open eyes fixed and staring at some unseen point.
Commander Choq tried to get off the deck but found his legs would not cooperate. He felt cold and his vision was fading. He sensed someone squatting over him. He squinted, struggling to focus.
"Largon," he croaked. "Status . . ."
Largon stared at him with cold contempt. "Status? Our ship is wrecked, we have lost the Req'ti, and we are going to die without honor, you miserable P'taQ!" The ship lurched and Largon caught his balance by grabbing Choq by the throat, his dagger raised in his right hand. "I should have killed you when I first had the chance!" Largon growled.
A brilliant green burst of light erupted between Choq and Largon, accompanied by a sharp burst of sound. Largon was thrown backwards, his body hit the deck and slid, leaving a trail of bright, pink blood. The dagger tumbled across the metal grating with a metallic rattle.
Choq held the disruptor shakily. He ran his tongue over dry lips. "For once . . . I agree with you . . . Lieutenant. You should have . . . killed me first."
With slow, painful effort, Choq drug himself to the tactical station, willing himself to stay conscious. He knew his time was short, but he had a final duty to perform. Just above him, just out of reach was a switch hidden by a protective cover . . .
* * *
Stardate 54070.2 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
Chief Brundy moved with impressive speed for a man his size. He jumped up and caught the handholds leading into the Jeffrey's tube. He muscled his way in, crawling forward on his elbows and knees into the dark space.
"Commander! Answer me! Are you hurt?" He moved forward until he bumped against her still form. In the tight space, he checked for a pulse, placing his hand along her neck. Nothing.
With a curse and surge of adrenaline, he moved backwards quickly, pulling the unconscious woman out of the Jeffrey's tube. He slid out, landing on the deck with Simms landing on top of him. He quickly placed her on the deck and slapped his combadge.
"Brundy to sickbay! Medical emergency, deck four, starboard." He again checked for a pulse and listened to her chest. Nothing.
Tilting the young woman's head back, he cleared her airway, pinched her nostrils and administered three quick breaths. Then, he moved to her side and began CPR.
* * *
"I've got them, sir!" shouted Ensign Vashtee over the increasing noise level of the struggling impulse engines. "On screen."
Even with the distorting interference, the scene that appeared on the main viewer caused Akinola to shake his head sadly. The small freighter was slowly tumbling, frozen gases trailed from obvious breaches in the hull. Nearby, a Klingon Bird of Prey also drifted - it's hull ravaged and scarred. Plasma and frozen atmosphere surrounded the ship like a wreath.
"Scan for life signs, Ensign. Mr. Bralus, move us in as close as you can. Let's try to extend our shields around the Backroad. Vashtee, try to hail both ships. Let's see if anyone is still alive to help." Akinola felt a sick feeling in his gut. It appeared that they were too late.
* * *
Corpsman Rice and Dr. Castille skidded to a stop by Chief Brundy and the prone form of Delta Simms. Rice none too gently pushed Brundy back and Castille moved a scanner over Simms. Checking the reading, he uttered a curse and pulled a hypo-spray from his med-kit. He dialed in a dose and pressed the hypo spray against Delta's neck. He glanced at the scanner and shook his head.
"Corticle stimulator," he said, tersely. Rice took a small, flat device and placed it on Delta's forehead. She pressed a stud on her own scanner.
Delta's body spasmed again and she drew in a sharp breath. Her body began to tremble and spasm.
"V-tach!" said Castille who administered a second hypo-spray to Delta's neck.
"Come on, Delta! Breathe, goddammit!" Castille uttered through clenched teeth.
After a moment, the spasms eased and she seemed to relax, this time her chest rose and fell with normal respiration. Castille seemed to relax slightly and nodded.
"Her pulse is still thready, but I think we can move her to sickbay now," announced Castille. "Can't risk beaming her there in her condition with this damned storm. Chief - give us a hand with the stretcher."
* * *
Stardate 54070.2 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
His arms shaking with effort, Commander Choq managed to drag the dead gunner from his chair. Now, he pulled with his remaining strength, trying to hoist himself up to reach the tactical station and one particular control switch.
The ship rocked violently as a gravimetric wave gripped the derelict vessel. Choq lost his grip on the chair, sliding on the blood slicked seat cover. With a snarl of frustration, he once again reached up and grabbed the top of the chair.
"Get up . . .get up, you weak . . . son of a targ," he hissed at himself, furious to be so close to his goal, yet unable to reach it. With a scream of pain and effort, he managed to get himself to a precarious perch on the chair. He waited a moment as his vision dimmed, "Can't fall now . . . must stay awake . . ." he thought. His breath was raspy and shallow. Choq new that his injuries would catch up with him soon. He didn't have much time.
Blinking hard to stay alert, he scanned the tactical station. There seemed to be two of everything - his blurred vision now doubled. Over there - to his left. Yes, there was the cover. He reached a trembling hand, hands? toward the cover. He tried closing one eye - yes! that helped. He flipped up the cover. Inside was a D-shaped handle. He managed to grab it and pull it straight up. It ratcheted up several centimeters, then clicked into a final stop.
A deep, monotone computer voice spoke. Self-destruct sequence is armed. To engage, enter command authorization code.
Keeping one eye closed, Choq punched in his personal code on the console's keypad. A blue light flickered to life, dimmed, then steadied.
Authorization code accepted. Depress activation switch to detonate.
Choq coughed. His breath was becoming more labored and his vision was constricting. He took a hitching breath. "It is . . . a good day . . . to die."
With the last of his strength, he plunged the handle down.
* * *
Chapter Nine
Stardate 54070.1 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
"Give me a boost, Chief!" Delta Simms had a small tool kit and a spare I-L chip in her hand as she prepared to enter the starboard Jeffrey's tube. She had isolated the cause of the targeting scanner's failure - a control module had over-loaded, probably due to a power surge caused by the ion storm.
"Ma'am - Are you sure this is safe? If one of the shields falters while you're in there . . ." As if to punctuate Brundy's point, the ship jerked violently and the lights flickered.
"I know - don't remind me! The quicker you get me up in there, the faster I'll get this done and out of there."
Chief Brundy furrowed his brow, unconvinced. "I'd really rather do this myself, ma'am."
Delta shook her head. "You're too big, Chief. I can get in there and maneuver around more easily. Now quit arguin' and hoist me up!"
With a sigh of resignation, Brundy easily lifted Delta up where she could grab hand-holds and pull herself into the Jeffrey's tube. She moved quickly, sliding on her back until she came to her destination. She attached a small magnetic key and unlocked the selected panel. She picked a small tool from the pouch and held it in her teeth while she searched for the damaged chip. A bead of sweat crept down her nose and into her left eye. She blinked to ease the sting caused by the salty drop and to clear her vision.
A massive ionic wave, nearly force nine in intensity, crashed against the Bluefin. One of the forward ventral shields lost integrity for less than a second, before adjacent shields automatically compensated.
In that brief instant, a heavy bombardment of ionic particles washed over the unprotected portion of the hull. The ship's armor absorbed 90% of the brief exposure, channeling the energy through embedded conduits and heat-sinks that dissipated the charge through the impulse vents.
The remaining 10% of the energy burst coursed through the cutter. Internal surge protectors handled most of this with few problems. One of the new replicators overloaded and began to spark and smoke before failing. The fire suppression system in the wardroom activated, preventing the replicator from bursting into flames. An aft monitoring station on the bridge also sparked heavily, but did not explode. Senior Chief Brin fell out of his chair at the aft station - causing him to strike an elbow against the rail, resulting in a colorful outburst of Orion epithets.
In the starboard Jeffrey's tube, Lt. Commander Delta Simms never saw the sudden energy discharge that erupted through the open access panel. Her body spasmed as the current flowed through her body, then she was still - a small tendril of smoke rose from the heel of her left boot.
Chief Brundy, waiting at the open hatch to the Jeffrey's tube saw the sudden flash and heard a loud "Snap!" He peered up anxiously into the now dark maintenance crawlway.
"Commander Simms? Are you okay? Commander? Commander?"
* * *
Stardate 54070.1 (27 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
The Backroad was a tough little ship. Not surprising, as the Antonov TJ-77 was a well-proven, robust design based on rugged Russian engineering. Its designers would not be surprised at the amount of abuse the ship could take and continue to function. In fact, they took special pride in the TJ series of commercial starcraft. A brochure for the TJ-77 boasted, "Rough enough for asteroid mining, tough enough for the Mutara Nebula."
Yet even the sturdiest of ships have their limits. The Backroad reached its limit on Stardate 54070.1.
There is probably no more blood-chilling sound than the screaming rush of venting atmosphere from a space vessel. The tempestuous noise nearly drowned out the wail of alarms on the ship.
In the cargo hold, Billy "Bug" Crump struggled into a pressure suit, his head already pounding as the atmospheric pressure dropped. He was wide-eyed with terror, his usual cockiness forgotten. As he pulled the helmet visor down, he lost his footing as the gravity coils failed. The bulkheads of the cargo bay began to twist and contort. Suddenly a gap appeared in the hull as an overstressed weld-line finally gave way. Bug found himself moving inexorably toward the hull breach, his arms flailing, his helmet filled with the sound of his own screams.
Something firm yet gentle clamped tightly to his left arm. The sudden reprieve startled Bug and the scream died in his throat. He glanced to his left to see the claw-like metal fingers of Max's segmented arm holding him in place. The cargo 'bot's twin optics glowed a soft blue. Max was still firmly attached to his charging platform. For the moment, Bug was relatively safe.
On the flight deck, Carmine was desperately trying to regain control of the crippled ship. He vaguely heard Shonda screaming something about the cargo bay venting atmosphere, but he had no time to deal with that now. The storm had suddenly increased by at least two levels of magnitude. He had to maneuver the ship out of the storm. He no longer cared whether the Klingons caught him or not. He'd rather take his chances with them than to be crushed by his own ship.
But the SS Backroad was dying. The impulse drive was gone and the hull was literally coming apart at the seams. The ship would not survive the storm.
* * *
Stardate 54070.1 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
The old Bird of Prey was literally coming apart. A glowing tendril of plasma trailed behind the crippled ship. The secondary reactor stopped functioning when its over-stressed coolant pump failed. Super-heated coolant exploded from the containment vessel, killing or seriously injuring the five engineering crewmen. The shields faltered momentarily as back-up power came on-line. But in those few moments, the sudden blast of charged particles ripped through the hull like hungry Pirhanna. The port side disruptor cannon was sheared away, spinning in the ionic eddies like a twig in a hurricane. Power couplings throughout the ship were quickly overloaded. Some failed, some began to spark, others exploded, killing or maiming more of the Klingon crew.
On the bridge, emergency bulkheads had sealed in the atmosphere, granting a temporary reprieve to the surviving crew. But even here, there was death. The one-eyed helmsman lay sprawled on the deck. The remains of his face a charred, smoking ruin adorned with bits of glass, ceramics and metal alloys. Likewise, the gunner was slumped over the tactical station, a long shard of metal protruding from his chest, his open eyes fixed and staring at some unseen point.
Commander Choq tried to get off the deck but found his legs would not cooperate. He felt cold and his vision was fading. He sensed someone squatting over him. He squinted, struggling to focus.
"Largon," he croaked. "Status . . ."
Largon stared at him with cold contempt. "Status? Our ship is wrecked, we have lost the Req'ti, and we are going to die without honor, you miserable P'taQ!" The ship lurched and Largon caught his balance by grabbing Choq by the throat, his dagger raised in his right hand. "I should have killed you when I first had the chance!" Largon growled.
A brilliant green burst of light erupted between Choq and Largon, accompanied by a sharp burst of sound. Largon was thrown backwards, his body hit the deck and slid, leaving a trail of bright, pink blood. The dagger tumbled across the metal grating with a metallic rattle.
Choq held the disruptor shakily. He ran his tongue over dry lips. "For once . . . I agree with you . . . Lieutenant. You should have . . . killed me first."
With slow, painful effort, Choq drug himself to the tactical station, willing himself to stay conscious. He knew his time was short, but he had a final duty to perform. Just above him, just out of reach was a switch hidden by a protective cover . . .
* * *
Stardate 54070.2 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
Chief Brundy moved with impressive speed for a man his size. He jumped up and caught the handholds leading into the Jeffrey's tube. He muscled his way in, crawling forward on his elbows and knees into the dark space.
"Commander! Answer me! Are you hurt?" He moved forward until he bumped against her still form. In the tight space, he checked for a pulse, placing his hand along her neck. Nothing.
With a curse and surge of adrenaline, he moved backwards quickly, pulling the unconscious woman out of the Jeffrey's tube. He slid out, landing on the deck with Simms landing on top of him. He quickly placed her on the deck and slapped his combadge.
"Brundy to sickbay! Medical emergency, deck four, starboard." He again checked for a pulse and listened to her chest. Nothing.
Tilting the young woman's head back, he cleared her airway, pinched her nostrils and administered three quick breaths. Then, he moved to her side and began CPR.
* * *
"I've got them, sir!" shouted Ensign Vashtee over the increasing noise level of the struggling impulse engines. "On screen."
Even with the distorting interference, the scene that appeared on the main viewer caused Akinola to shake his head sadly. The small freighter was slowly tumbling, frozen gases trailed from obvious breaches in the hull. Nearby, a Klingon Bird of Prey also drifted - it's hull ravaged and scarred. Plasma and frozen atmosphere surrounded the ship like a wreath.
"Scan for life signs, Ensign. Mr. Bralus, move us in as close as you can. Let's try to extend our shields around the Backroad. Vashtee, try to hail both ships. Let's see if anyone is still alive to help." Akinola felt a sick feeling in his gut. It appeared that they were too late.
* * *
Corpsman Rice and Dr. Castille skidded to a stop by Chief Brundy and the prone form of Delta Simms. Rice none too gently pushed Brundy back and Castille moved a scanner over Simms. Checking the reading, he uttered a curse and pulled a hypo-spray from his med-kit. He dialed in a dose and pressed the hypo spray against Delta's neck. He glanced at the scanner and shook his head.
"Corticle stimulator," he said, tersely. Rice took a small, flat device and placed it on Delta's forehead. She pressed a stud on her own scanner.
Delta's body spasmed again and she drew in a sharp breath. Her body began to tremble and spasm.
"V-tach!" said Castille who administered a second hypo-spray to Delta's neck.
"Come on, Delta! Breathe, goddammit!" Castille uttered through clenched teeth.
After a moment, the spasms eased and she seemed to relax, this time her chest rose and fell with normal respiration. Castille seemed to relax slightly and nodded.
"Her pulse is still thready, but I think we can move her to sickbay now," announced Castille. "Can't risk beaming her there in her condition with this damned storm. Chief - give us a hand with the stretcher."
* * *
Stardate 54070.2 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
His arms shaking with effort, Commander Choq managed to drag the dead gunner from his chair. Now, he pulled with his remaining strength, trying to hoist himself up to reach the tactical station and one particular control switch.
The ship rocked violently as a gravimetric wave gripped the derelict vessel. Choq lost his grip on the chair, sliding on the blood slicked seat cover. With a snarl of frustration, he once again reached up and grabbed the top of the chair.
"Get up . . .get up, you weak . . . son of a targ," he hissed at himself, furious to be so close to his goal, yet unable to reach it. With a scream of pain and effort, he managed to get himself to a precarious perch on the chair. He waited a moment as his vision dimmed, "Can't fall now . . . must stay awake . . ." he thought. His breath was raspy and shallow. Choq new that his injuries would catch up with him soon. He didn't have much time.
Blinking hard to stay alert, he scanned the tactical station. There seemed to be two of everything - his blurred vision now doubled. Over there - to his left. Yes, there was the cover. He reached a trembling hand, hands? toward the cover. He tried closing one eye - yes! that helped. He flipped up the cover. Inside was a D-shaped handle. He managed to grab it and pull it straight up. It ratcheted up several centimeters, then clicked into a final stop.
A deep, monotone computer voice spoke. Self-destruct sequence is armed. To engage, enter command authorization code.
Keeping one eye closed, Choq punched in his personal code on the console's keypad. A blue light flickered to life, dimmed, then steadied.
Authorization code accepted. Depress activation switch to detonate.
Choq coughed. His breath was becoming more labored and his vision was constricting. He took a hitching breath. "It is . . . a good day . . . to die."
With the last of his strength, he plunged the handle down.
* * *
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Good lord! That Klingon is Choq full of badness!
A Bird-of-Prey with a core-breach is not exactly what the Bluefin or the Backroad need at the moment.
A close call with Simms. I guess you shouldn't argue with the non-coms after all. Thanks to you my fingernails are nubbins; keep it coming!
Good lord! That Klingon is Choq full of badness!
A Bird-of-Prey with a core-breach is not exactly what the Bluefin or the Backroad need at the moment. A close call with Simms. I guess you shouldn't argue with the non-coms after all. Thanks to you my fingernails are nubbins; keep it coming!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
I thought Delta had bought it for sure just then! This is turning into a very bad day for all concerned and Garth is on his way! I'd like to echo Mistral's praise for you scene switching--the way you're doing it does very much add to the imagery and tension of the ships and people on them being tossed by the storm.
Very nicely done!
I thought Delta had bought it for sure just then! This is turning into a very bad day for all concerned and Garth is on his way! I'd like to echo Mistral's praise for you scene switching--the way you're doing it does very much add to the imagery and tension of the ships and people on them being tossed by the storm.
Very nicely done!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
This was a very well written chapter. Not to imply that the previous stuff wasn't any good, on the contrary, but this one just stood out for me.
As for Simms, I was already thinking of the memorial service. I'm glad they got her back.
Excellent, riveting chapter!
This was a very well written chapter. Not to imply that the previous stuff wasn't any good, on the contrary, but this one just stood out for me.
As for Simms, I was already thinking of the memorial service. I'm glad they got her back.
Excellent, riveting chapter!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Chapter Ten
Stardate 54070.3 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
Fate has a twisted sense of humor.
The same destructive energies that had heavily damaged the Jhar'toq had conspired to delay its destruction. The old B'Rel-class scout utilized a mechanical linkage to open the magnetic hatch which separated the matter from the anti-matter in the warp core. The linkage was damaged from the heavy battering of the ion storm. When Choq engaged the self destruct sequence, the mechanical arm that should have opened wide the magnetic hatch jammed after moving mere millimeters. Thus, rather than the sudden, catastrophic explosion which should have occured, the magnetic seal only allowed a tiny stream of anti-deuterium to enter the inter-mix chamber.
Still, in a short time, perhaps five to ten minutes, the resulting imbalance would ultimately lead to a warp-core breach and explosion.
* * *
Stardate 54070.3 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
"Oh, Hell no!" exclaimed Ensign Vashtee.
"What is it Maya?" asked Akinola, sharply.
She turned to face the Captain, her face pale, her eyes wide. "I'm reading an imminent warp-core breach on the Bird of Prey!"
Her pronouncement caught the attention of everyone on the bridge. "Any life-signs on the Klingon vessel?" demanded Akinola.
"No - No, sir," Vashtee replied, a slight tremor in her voice. "I am reading three life forms on the Backroad." She swallowed. "I estimate we have anywhere from five to ten minutes before that warp core explodes."
"Okay, we've got to do this fast," said Akinola. He spoke quickly but in a calm, reassuring manner. "Mr. Bralus, bring us in as close as you can to that 'Thunder-jug.' I don't care if you scratch the paint. Inga - as soon as possible, extend our shields around that ship!"
Akinola tapped his combadge. "Akinola to Lt. Bane."
"Bane, go ahead Captain," the Australian Lieutenant replied from his station in Auxiliary Control.
"I need you and Chief Deryx to transport over to the Backroad. There are three souls on board. And Nigel . . ."
"Sir?"
"That Bird of Prey is about to blow its warp-core. Get this done fast! If you can't get them over here in five minutes, well . . ." Akinola left the rest unsaid.
"No worries, sir! We'll get 'em quick enough."
Akinola smiled, "I know you will. Good luck, son."
The Captain could not see the haunted expression on Commander Strauss' face.
* * *
Stardate 54070.3 (27 January 2377)
SS Janus
The Molari Badlands
The old Avenger-class ship was taking a severe beating as it pushed ahead into the raging ion storm.
"Damage reports coming in from all decks," announced the Ops officer. "Forward shields are beginning to fluctuate."
"Boost with auxiliary power," ordered Captain Forrash. His antennae twitched in agitation. "Transfer power from life-support if you have to, but maintain those shields!"
"Multiple contacts, bearing dead ahead!" announced the helmsman.
"Identify!" ordered Commodore Garth.
"One moment, sir, I'm trying to clean up these returns," said the Ops officer. She frowned in concentration. "Albacore-class cutter . . . it appears to be very close to another ship . . . " she looked up suddenly. "It's the Backroad."
Garth relaxed slightly. Maybe his people would be rescued after all.
"One additional contact! . . . Klingon Bird of Prey - B'Rel-class!"
"Location of the Klingon ship!" barked Garth, his senses now heightened. He was in full-command mode.
"3000 kilometers from the cutter and the Backroad. It appears to be drifting . . . wait . . ." She turned quickly from the sensor panel. "I'm reading a warp-core breach in progress!"
In the blink of an eye a dozen possible scenarios raced through Garth's sharp mind. Eleven ended with disastrous outcomes. One scenario had a slim chance.
"Helm, I need every bit of speed you can give me. Bring us in to rendezvous with the cutter and the Backroad."
Forrash gave his mentor a questioning look. "You have a plan?"
"If I were that cutter commander, I would extend my shields around the Backroad so I could beam over a rescue party. But by doing so, they're straining their shields to the limit. With the pounding they've taken from the ion storm, I doubt they can survive a warp-core explosion." He fixed the Andorian captain with a piercing look. "But if we extend our shields around both ships, they might survive!"
"And what of us, Commodore? Do we sacrifice ourselves?" The question was not accusatory. Forrash simply wanted to know. He was willing to give his life at the order of Garth.
Garth smiled. "I have no intention of sacrificing the good people on this ship, Captain. Once we have our shields extended, I'll request permission to beam our people over to the cutter. I'm sure they can squeeze us in with little trouble."
"But we'll still lose the Janus," Forrash pointed out.
Garth shrugged. "It's about time to get a new ship, anyway. Lieutenant, hail that cutter!"
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
"Captain, the away team had transported to the Backroad," reported Vashtee.
Akinola nodded. "Thank you Maya. Any updates on that Klingon vessel?"
"No sir. Energy readings are still climbing. At their current rate of increase, we have seven minutes, twelve seconds before detonation."
Akinola did some quick mental calculations. With two minutes at full impulse, they could open up considerable distance between them and the Bird of Prey. But would it be enough? Akinola didn't think so.
"Sir? Another vessel is approaching - we're being hailed."
Now what? thought Akinola, surprised. "On screen, Ensign."
The image that appeared on the screen suffered from ionic interference, but it was clear enough. A bridge of obvious Federation design came into view. An Andorian wearing a tan uniform stood by a man seated in the command chair. Akinola was surprised to see that he was wearing a white, linen suit and sandles. His hair was long and white. But even with the interference, his steel-gray eyes were piercing. Akinola thought he looked somehow familiar. The man spoke.
"Federation Border Cutter, this is the SS Janus out of Klaamet IV. We wish to offer our assistance."
Even the voice had a familiar ring. Akinola frowned. "Janus, I'm Captain Joseph Akinola in command of the USS Bluefin. I appreciate the offer, but we are conducting SAR-OPs under very hazardous conditions. There's a Klingon vessel nearby that's about to blow it's warp core. I advise that you clear out of the area at best speed."
The man stood from the chair. "We're aware of the situation, Captain. The ship you are assisting is in my hire so we are willing to face the risk. I propose that we extend our shields around both your ship and our transport. With two layers of shielding, we all may survive the blast."
"I doubt your ship would, Captain . . . ?"
The man smiled and gestured to the Andorian. "Forrash, here is the captain. I own both vessels and am responsible for the safety of both crews. Please, Captain - allow us to help! I assure you, our shields combined with yours will provide the protection we all need. I would request that you allow our crew to beam to your vessel once we've extended our shields."
Akinola could not find fault in the plan and he had no better options. "Very well - but make it fast! We're down to the wire, here." He checked the ship's chronometer. "That Bird of Prey is going to blow in less than six minutes!"
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
Lt. Bane and Chief Deryx found themselves weightless and floating as they materialized in the Backroad. The ship was dark, save for the pale, yellow emergency lanterns. Both men switched on their helmet lights.
"Chief, I'll head topside. I'm reading two lifeforms up there. See if you can find the one here in the cargo bay."
"Yeah - Frakkin' storm is playing hell with my tri-corder. I guess we'll have to eye-ball it."
"Four minutes, thirty seconds, Chief. Then we head back - with or without 'em. Captain's orders."
Deryx grunted. "Understood." The Denobulan CPO began to pull himself along by grabbing the hull braces. Bane moved forward until he found a ladder. In the zero-g conditions, he easily pulled his way up until he found a sealed hatch. He saw with satisfaction that it was an air-lock. Unfortunately, the ship lacked power so he would have to open it manually - which would take time.
He pulled a hyper-jack off his belt, inserted it in the slot by the hatch, and began to pump it quickly. The sweat that trickled down his face was not entirely due to exertion.
* * *
The Janus moved into position slightly above the Bluefin and Backroad. It slowly settled until it's dorsal section was mere meters from the Bluefin's saucer section.
On the bridge of the Bluefin Akinola nodded to himself as he watched the Janus move into position. Obviously, they had a very capable helmsman. He again briefly wondered about the man in the command chair of the Janus. Akinola knew him somehow, but from where? And why had he avoided giving his name?
His reverie was interrupted by Commander Strauss. "The Janus has extended their shields around us and the Backroad. We've opened a window in our shields and they're beginning to beam over their personnel," she reported.
"Good. How many in their crew?"
"Fifty seven sir. I've got a team setting up space for them on the hangar deck."
"Fine." He glanced again at the chronometer and frowned. He tapped his combadge. "Akinola to Lt. Bane - what's your status?"
* * *
His arm burning with exertion, Lt. Bane continued to rapidly pump the hyper-jack. Finally, the hatch slid open and a small remnant of atmosphere swirled past him, carrying small bits of debris. Motes of dust reflected in his helmet lights. As he pulled the tool out of the door slot, his helmet speakers crackled.
"Akinola to Lt. Bane - what's your status?"
"Just getting through the air-lock to the flight deck, sir."
"Shake a leg, Nigel. We're beaming you off that wreck in two minutes."
"Understood." Bane floated up into the air-lock chamber and pulled the hatch closed. Thankfully, re-pressurizing the chamber only required turning a valve. As pressure replaced vacuum, he began to hear the hiss of pressurization. He checked the tri-corder strapped to his fore-arm. It indicated point eight atmospheres. Good enough, then.
He checked a bulkhead mounted gauge and was relieved to see that the flight deck still had pressure. He pulled the lever and opened the hatch.
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
SS Janus
The Molari Badlands
"That's everyone except for you and me, sir," reported Captain Forrash. "It's time for us to go."
Garth of Izar smiled at his long-time friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. "One of us needs to stay and monitor the shields. If we lose one, we'll have to make manual adjustments to compensate."
"I'll do it," said Forrash. "As Captain, that's my responsibility."
Garth squeezed the nerve bundle at the base of Forrash's neck. The Andorian's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the deck.
"I never thanked Slevok for teaching me that trick," muttered Garth as he drug the unconscious Andorian onto the transporter platform.
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
A blue glow caught the attention of Chief Deryx. He turned his helmet lights toward the source. Against the far bulkhead loomed a large, yellow cargo robot. Curled in the outstretched arms of the machine was a space-suited figure.
Deryx kicked against a structural beam and flew toward the robot. He noted with consternation that a sizable hole gaped across the port side of this section. He averted his gaze from the opening, concentrating on finding a handhold on the robot.
To his surprise. The 'bot extended an arm and gently caught Deryx. The Chief moved toward the still crewman and looked into the faceplate.
A young man - not more than a boy, really, peered back at him with wide eyes through the fogged faceplate. Deryx looked over the boy's pressure suit, noting that his air supply was okay but that it lacked a communicator. He placed his visor directly against the boy's visor, hoping that the contact would allow them to communicate.
"I'm Chief Deryx of the Border Service. We need to beam you off of here, right now!"
The boy was scared and confused. He shook his head, gesturing toward the robot. " . . . leave without Max,"
Deryx frowned. "Who's Max?"
Bug pointed again. "The robot - he's got to go, too!"
Deryx sighed. "We'll see what we can do, kid." He nudged the transmit key with his chin. "Deryx to Bluefin. Two to beam over. And have the cargo transporter on standby."
* * *
Lt. Bain found two occupants on the cramped flight deck. Both were unconscious, but appeared to be alive. He unstrapped them from their seats and activated his communicator.
"Bane to Bluefin - I've located two survivors. Lock onto my signal and beam us over." In a moment, the transporter effect engulfed them and they vanished from the Backroad."
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
A gravimetric wave engulfed the IKS Jhar'toq, twisting the derelict. The impact jarred the linkage of the anti-matter containment hatch, allowing it to slide open. The remaining anti-deuterium dumped into the intermix chamber, creating a final, cataclysmic reaction.
The Jhar'toq disappeared in an expanding corona of light and released energy.
* * *
Chapter Ten
Stardate 54070.3 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
Fate has a twisted sense of humor.
The same destructive energies that had heavily damaged the Jhar'toq had conspired to delay its destruction. The old B'Rel-class scout utilized a mechanical linkage to open the magnetic hatch which separated the matter from the anti-matter in the warp core. The linkage was damaged from the heavy battering of the ion storm. When Choq engaged the self destruct sequence, the mechanical arm that should have opened wide the magnetic hatch jammed after moving mere millimeters. Thus, rather than the sudden, catastrophic explosion which should have occured, the magnetic seal only allowed a tiny stream of anti-deuterium to enter the inter-mix chamber.
Still, in a short time, perhaps five to ten minutes, the resulting imbalance would ultimately lead to a warp-core breach and explosion.
* * *
Stardate 54070.3 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
"Oh, Hell no!" exclaimed Ensign Vashtee.
"What is it Maya?" asked Akinola, sharply.
She turned to face the Captain, her face pale, her eyes wide. "I'm reading an imminent warp-core breach on the Bird of Prey!"
Her pronouncement caught the attention of everyone on the bridge. "Any life-signs on the Klingon vessel?" demanded Akinola.
"No - No, sir," Vashtee replied, a slight tremor in her voice. "I am reading three life forms on the Backroad." She swallowed. "I estimate we have anywhere from five to ten minutes before that warp core explodes."
"Okay, we've got to do this fast," said Akinola. He spoke quickly but in a calm, reassuring manner. "Mr. Bralus, bring us in as close as you can to that 'Thunder-jug.' I don't care if you scratch the paint. Inga - as soon as possible, extend our shields around that ship!"
Akinola tapped his combadge. "Akinola to Lt. Bane."
"Bane, go ahead Captain," the Australian Lieutenant replied from his station in Auxiliary Control.
"I need you and Chief Deryx to transport over to the Backroad. There are three souls on board. And Nigel . . ."
"Sir?"
"That Bird of Prey is about to blow its warp-core. Get this done fast! If you can't get them over here in five minutes, well . . ." Akinola left the rest unsaid.
"No worries, sir! We'll get 'em quick enough."
Akinola smiled, "I know you will. Good luck, son."
The Captain could not see the haunted expression on Commander Strauss' face.
* * *
Stardate 54070.3 (27 January 2377)
SS Janus
The Molari Badlands
The old Avenger-class ship was taking a severe beating as it pushed ahead into the raging ion storm.
"Damage reports coming in from all decks," announced the Ops officer. "Forward shields are beginning to fluctuate."
"Boost with auxiliary power," ordered Captain Forrash. His antennae twitched in agitation. "Transfer power from life-support if you have to, but maintain those shields!"
"Multiple contacts, bearing dead ahead!" announced the helmsman.
"Identify!" ordered Commodore Garth.
"One moment, sir, I'm trying to clean up these returns," said the Ops officer. She frowned in concentration. "Albacore-class cutter . . . it appears to be very close to another ship . . . " she looked up suddenly. "It's the Backroad."
Garth relaxed slightly. Maybe his people would be rescued after all.
"One additional contact! . . . Klingon Bird of Prey - B'Rel-class!"
"Location of the Klingon ship!" barked Garth, his senses now heightened. He was in full-command mode.
"3000 kilometers from the cutter and the Backroad. It appears to be drifting . . . wait . . ." She turned quickly from the sensor panel. "I'm reading a warp-core breach in progress!"
In the blink of an eye a dozen possible scenarios raced through Garth's sharp mind. Eleven ended with disastrous outcomes. One scenario had a slim chance.
"Helm, I need every bit of speed you can give me. Bring us in to rendezvous with the cutter and the Backroad."
Forrash gave his mentor a questioning look. "You have a plan?"
"If I were that cutter commander, I would extend my shields around the Backroad so I could beam over a rescue party. But by doing so, they're straining their shields to the limit. With the pounding they've taken from the ion storm, I doubt they can survive a warp-core explosion." He fixed the Andorian captain with a piercing look. "But if we extend our shields around both ships, they might survive!"
"And what of us, Commodore? Do we sacrifice ourselves?" The question was not accusatory. Forrash simply wanted to know. He was willing to give his life at the order of Garth.
Garth smiled. "I have no intention of sacrificing the good people on this ship, Captain. Once we have our shields extended, I'll request permission to beam our people over to the cutter. I'm sure they can squeeze us in with little trouble."
"But we'll still lose the Janus," Forrash pointed out.
Garth shrugged. "It's about time to get a new ship, anyway. Lieutenant, hail that cutter!"
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
The Molari Badlands
"Captain, the away team had transported to the Backroad," reported Vashtee.
Akinola nodded. "Thank you Maya. Any updates on that Klingon vessel?"
"No sir. Energy readings are still climbing. At their current rate of increase, we have seven minutes, twelve seconds before detonation."
Akinola did some quick mental calculations. With two minutes at full impulse, they could open up considerable distance between them and the Bird of Prey. But would it be enough? Akinola didn't think so.
"Sir? Another vessel is approaching - we're being hailed."
Now what? thought Akinola, surprised. "On screen, Ensign."
The image that appeared on the screen suffered from ionic interference, but it was clear enough. A bridge of obvious Federation design came into view. An Andorian wearing a tan uniform stood by a man seated in the command chair. Akinola was surprised to see that he was wearing a white, linen suit and sandles. His hair was long and white. But even with the interference, his steel-gray eyes were piercing. Akinola thought he looked somehow familiar. The man spoke.
"Federation Border Cutter, this is the SS Janus out of Klaamet IV. We wish to offer our assistance."
Even the voice had a familiar ring. Akinola frowned. "Janus, I'm Captain Joseph Akinola in command of the USS Bluefin. I appreciate the offer, but we are conducting SAR-OPs under very hazardous conditions. There's a Klingon vessel nearby that's about to blow it's warp core. I advise that you clear out of the area at best speed."
The man stood from the chair. "We're aware of the situation, Captain. The ship you are assisting is in my hire so we are willing to face the risk. I propose that we extend our shields around both your ship and our transport. With two layers of shielding, we all may survive the blast."
"I doubt your ship would, Captain . . . ?"
The man smiled and gestured to the Andorian. "Forrash, here is the captain. I own both vessels and am responsible for the safety of both crews. Please, Captain - allow us to help! I assure you, our shields combined with yours will provide the protection we all need. I would request that you allow our crew to beam to your vessel once we've extended our shields."
Akinola could not find fault in the plan and he had no better options. "Very well - but make it fast! We're down to the wire, here." He checked the ship's chronometer. "That Bird of Prey is going to blow in less than six minutes!"
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
Lt. Bane and Chief Deryx found themselves weightless and floating as they materialized in the Backroad. The ship was dark, save for the pale, yellow emergency lanterns. Both men switched on their helmet lights.
"Chief, I'll head topside. I'm reading two lifeforms up there. See if you can find the one here in the cargo bay."
"Yeah - Frakkin' storm is playing hell with my tri-corder. I guess we'll have to eye-ball it."
"Four minutes, thirty seconds, Chief. Then we head back - with or without 'em. Captain's orders."
Deryx grunted. "Understood." The Denobulan CPO began to pull himself along by grabbing the hull braces. Bane moved forward until he found a ladder. In the zero-g conditions, he easily pulled his way up until he found a sealed hatch. He saw with satisfaction that it was an air-lock. Unfortunately, the ship lacked power so he would have to open it manually - which would take time.
He pulled a hyper-jack off his belt, inserted it in the slot by the hatch, and began to pump it quickly. The sweat that trickled down his face was not entirely due to exertion.
* * *
The Janus moved into position slightly above the Bluefin and Backroad. It slowly settled until it's dorsal section was mere meters from the Bluefin's saucer section.
On the bridge of the Bluefin Akinola nodded to himself as he watched the Janus move into position. Obviously, they had a very capable helmsman. He again briefly wondered about the man in the command chair of the Janus. Akinola knew him somehow, but from where? And why had he avoided giving his name?
His reverie was interrupted by Commander Strauss. "The Janus has extended their shields around us and the Backroad. We've opened a window in our shields and they're beginning to beam over their personnel," she reported.
"Good. How many in their crew?"
"Fifty seven sir. I've got a team setting up space for them on the hangar deck."
"Fine." He glanced again at the chronometer and frowned. He tapped his combadge. "Akinola to Lt. Bane - what's your status?"
* * *
His arm burning with exertion, Lt. Bane continued to rapidly pump the hyper-jack. Finally, the hatch slid open and a small remnant of atmosphere swirled past him, carrying small bits of debris. Motes of dust reflected in his helmet lights. As he pulled the tool out of the door slot, his helmet speakers crackled.
"Akinola to Lt. Bane - what's your status?"
"Just getting through the air-lock to the flight deck, sir."
"Shake a leg, Nigel. We're beaming you off that wreck in two minutes."
"Understood." Bane floated up into the air-lock chamber and pulled the hatch closed. Thankfully, re-pressurizing the chamber only required turning a valve. As pressure replaced vacuum, he began to hear the hiss of pressurization. He checked the tri-corder strapped to his fore-arm. It indicated point eight atmospheres. Good enough, then.
He checked a bulkhead mounted gauge and was relieved to see that the flight deck still had pressure. He pulled the lever and opened the hatch.
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
SS Janus
The Molari Badlands
"That's everyone except for you and me, sir," reported Captain Forrash. "It's time for us to go."
Garth of Izar smiled at his long-time friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. "One of us needs to stay and monitor the shields. If we lose one, we'll have to make manual adjustments to compensate."
"I'll do it," said Forrash. "As Captain, that's my responsibility."
Garth squeezed the nerve bundle at the base of Forrash's neck. The Andorian's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the deck.
"I never thanked Slevok for teaching me that trick," muttered Garth as he drug the unconscious Andorian onto the transporter platform.
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
SS Backroad
The Molari Badlands
A blue glow caught the attention of Chief Deryx. He turned his helmet lights toward the source. Against the far bulkhead loomed a large, yellow cargo robot. Curled in the outstretched arms of the machine was a space-suited figure.
Deryx kicked against a structural beam and flew toward the robot. He noted with consternation that a sizable hole gaped across the port side of this section. He averted his gaze from the opening, concentrating on finding a handhold on the robot.
To his surprise. The 'bot extended an arm and gently caught Deryx. The Chief moved toward the still crewman and looked into the faceplate.
A young man - not more than a boy, really, peered back at him with wide eyes through the fogged faceplate. Deryx looked over the boy's pressure suit, noting that his air supply was okay but that it lacked a communicator. He placed his visor directly against the boy's visor, hoping that the contact would allow them to communicate.
"I'm Chief Deryx of the Border Service. We need to beam you off of here, right now!"
The boy was scared and confused. He shook his head, gesturing toward the robot. " . . . leave without Max,"
Deryx frowned. "Who's Max?"
Bug pointed again. "The robot - he's got to go, too!"
Deryx sighed. "We'll see what we can do, kid." He nudged the transmit key with his chin. "Deryx to Bluefin. Two to beam over. And have the cargo transporter on standby."
* * *
Lt. Bain found two occupants on the cramped flight deck. Both were unconscious, but appeared to be alive. He unstrapped them from their seats and activated his communicator.
"Bane to Bluefin - I've located two survivors. Lock onto my signal and beam us over." In a moment, the transporter effect engulfed them and they vanished from the Backroad."
* * *
Stardate 54070.4 (27 January 2377)
IKS Jhar'toq
Molari Badlands
A gravimetric wave engulfed the IKS Jhar'toq, twisting the derelict. The impact jarred the linkage of the anti-matter containment hatch, allowing it to slide open. The remaining anti-deuterium dumped into the intermix chamber, creating a final, cataclysmic reaction.
The Jhar'toq disappeared in an expanding corona of light and released energy.
* * *
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