Chapter Eight
Stardate 54245.8 (1 April 2377)
USS Bluefin
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.3
Joseph Akinola gently placed the unfinished wood-carving back on its tray and rubbed his eyes. He had hoped that working on his scale rendition of a Klingon D-7 would provide a brief respite from the monotony and stress of waiting, but it had failed to do so. He glanced at the desk chronometer - two hours until the Sequoia intercepted the Queen Elizabeth VII.
Though he was loathe to second-guess himself, Akinola had real misgivings about sending Captain D'Angelo and the Sequoia ahead. Yet, they desperately needed to catch up with the starliner before it violated Tzen-kethi space and all hell broke loose! Sequoia was the only ship fast enough to catch the QE in time.
The veteran cutter commander brooded as he stared out the viewport at the streaking stars. How would D'Angelo perform? Akinola recalled the young captain's disgraced father, Captain Gavin Cunningham. Cunningham had surrendered the USS Concorde to the Cardassians a quarter century earlier, without firing a shot in defense. Cunningham and his crew spent the next seven years interred in a Cardassian labor camp. More than a third of the Concorde's crew did not survive that awful ordeal. Shortly after their release, a gaunt and broken Cunningham faced the further indignity of a general court martial where he was found guilty of dereliction of duty. He was demoted to lieutenant commander and summarily mustered out of Starfleet. Six months later, Gavin Cunningham put a phaser in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
"Small wonder D'Angelo changed his name," mused Akinola. "I just hope he didn't inherit his father's penchant for freezing up when the shit hits the fan."
* * *
Stardate 54245.9 (1 April 2377)
USS Sequoia
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.9
Captain Tyre D'Angelo walked over to the replicator in his ready room.
"Water - cold," he instructed. A glass tumbler of water shimmered into existence in the device.
Removing the glass of water from the replicator, D'Angelo was dismayed to notice that his hand was trembling. Ice in the glass clinked audibly from the tremor in his hand.
D'Angelo took a calming breath, closed his eyes and willed his hand to become steady. Momentarily, it did. Frowning in consternation, he took a sip of cold water and returned to his desk.
The young Captain played various scenarios and responses over in his mind. He found it frustrating to enter such a potentially explosive situation with so little data. He had an eerie feeling of deja vous, as he recalled the Kobayashi Maru scenario from his Academy days. He had found that particular test disconcerting and frustrating, although he managed to pass it - if having your simulated ship destroyed and your crew killed could really be considered acceptable.
He decided to focus on basic, simple objectives: catch up with the QE VII, attempt to communicate with it, render assistance, and turn it away from the Brez-krill system.
Simple and easily defined objectives.
The problem was, D'Angelo wasn't sure how he could accomplish these objectives. Sure, catching up to the ship was easy enough, but what if they were unable to communicate? Thus far the QE had turned a deaf ear to the hails of the Pamlico. Perhaps their subspace communications were down.
Or, perhaps they were unwilling to respond.
That possibility filled D'Angelo with a sense of deep foreboding. If the Queen Elizabeth was in hostile hands, this whole scenario could go sideways in a heartbeat.
And Captain Tyre D'Angelo was the point man. The green captain in the unproven ship.
The chime of the communicator startled him. His reaction both annoyed and shamed him. He tapped the reply stud.
"Go ahead," he said crisply. The terminal display morphed into the image of the XO.
"Galvani, sir. You asked to be notified when we were in range of the Queen Elizabeth."
"Yes, thank you Commander. I'll be there in a moment."
D'Angelo stood and absently wiped his damp palms on his jumpsuit, before heading to the bridge.
* * *
Stardate 54245.9 (1 April 2377)
SS Queen Elizabeth VII
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.0
"Kenda! I'm picking up a vessel astern that's closing rapidly," announced Warren from the starliner's operations station.
"Can you identify it?" asked the Bajoran, calmly.
Warren frowned in concentration as he ran the sensor contact through the ship's database. "It's reading as a Nova-class ship, but that can't be right - this thing is travelling at warp 9.9!"
Kenda nodded. "That's not a Nova. It's likely one of the new fast-response cutters that the Border Dogs are putting into service. Not to worry, Warren, we knew someone would catch up with us sooner or later. It's all part of the plan."
"Yeah, but we were supposed to be closer to the Brezz-krill system before that happened," replied Warren petulantly.
Kenda smiled. "Come on, Mr. Warren - don't you remember anything from your Academy days? 'A battle plan never survives the first encounter with the enemy.'"
Warren gave the Bajoran a disgusted look. "Don't get all 'Starfleet' with me, Kenda! You discarded the uniform before I did!" A sudden beeping from his console drew Warren's attention back to his station.
"We're being hailed," said Warren. "Shall I ignore them?"
Kenda walked to the command chair and roughly removed Captain Lumford. "Have a seat by Mr. Warren, Captain. Rest assured, if you try anything precipitous, I won't grieve long after I kill you." The terrorist gestured meaningfully with his disruptor to emphasize his point.
With an icy look, Lumford reluctantly complied and took a seat near Warren. The Bajoran seated himself in the command chair.
"Put their transmission on-screen, Mr. Warren. Let's see who we're dealing with before we respond."
* * *
Stardate 54245.9 (1 April 2377)
USS Sequoia
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.9
"No reply yet, sir," announced Lt. Lamonica.
Commander Galvani walked over to the Ops station and leaned over Lamonica, peering at the data stream. "Phil, bring up the specs on the Queen Elizabeth. Might as well know what we can about that liner," ordered the XO.
"Tactical - what are you getting?" queried D'Angelo.
A female Bolian ensign turned to face the Captain. "They've got more than navigational deflectors up. I'm picking up level eight defensive shields."
"What?" said Galvani, straightening in surprise. "That's the same level shielding as on a Galaxy - class!"
D'Angelo nodded morosely. "They probably upgraded them when these liners were pressed into troop transport service during the war. Any weapons capabilities, Ensign?"
"No sir, no offensive weapons, anyway. They do have a counter-measures system of rapid fire laser banks. Good for close-in defense against low-yield torpedoes or missiles, but no threat to us."
"Sir!" interrupted Lamonica, "The QE is responding to our hail!"
D'Angelo straightened in his command chair. "On screen, Lieutenant."
The streaming field of stars shifted to the image of a Bajoran male with dark hair. Rather than a uniform, the Bajoran wore dark clothes with a tactical vest. Cradled in his lap was a Klingon disruptor pistol. The man had an amused expression on his face.
"I'm Captain Tyre D'Angelo of the Border Service Cutter Sequoia. Please identify yourself!"
"Certainly, Captain. I am Kenda Byress of the Neo-Maquis. We currently are in control of this vessel."
A pall came over the bridge of the Sequoia. D'Angelo's mouth went dry as he realized the enormity of the situation.
"What is the status of the crew and passengers?" he demanded.
"They are safe - for the moment. However, we have the means to change that status very quickly, were we to be . . . provoked."
"I'd like to speak to the Captain of the ship," continued D'Angelo.
"Would you? Certainly! He's right over here." Kenda gestured to his right. Someone on the liner's bridge made an adjustment, widening the image. Two men sat on the starboard side of the bridge. One, an older man with snow-white hair and a neatly trimmed beard, wore a dark blue coat with brass buttons and four gold stripes on his shoulder epaulets. The white-haired man looked both angry and afraid.
"Go on," prodded Kenda, "Say hello to Captain D'Angelo."
Captain Lumford's eyes shifted back and forth from Kenda to the viewscreen. He licked dry lips before speaking. "I'm Wallace Lumford, ship's Captain. These . . . people apparently have complete control of the ship! But I don't think there are more than . . ."
Lumford stopped in mid-sentence as Kenda's disruptor suddenly appeared mere inches from his face.
"That's enough for now, Captain Lumford," said Kenda. The Bajoran returned to the command chair and casually crossed his legs. He shrugged and smiled in an almost apologetic gesture.
D'Angelo stood up. "The Queen Elizabeth is on a direct course with a restricted star system. Why don't you alter course, then we can discuss the situation."
Kenda chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, to be sure we're headed toward a restricted system. What - did you think that was a mistake on our part?"
Captain D'Angelo's jaw clenched imperceptibly. "Then you know that we can't possibly allow you to enter Tzen-kethi space."
The Bajoran's smile grew even wider. "Of course I know that, you arrogant drek'ma! I'm counting on that!" Kenda suddenly rose from the command chair and approached the viewscreen, his image became proportionally larger on the main screen of the Sequoia and his smile turned to a grimace.
"You have no idea where this is leading, do you, Captain? Welcome to the real no-win scenario!"
Kenda's image suddenly disappeared, replaced once more by a flowing field of stars.
D'Angelo swallowed and turned toward Lt. Lamonica. "Try and reestablish a channel, Lieutenant," he said, tightly.
Lamonica made several attempts and shook his head. "Sorry, sir. They refuse to answer our hails."
The Captain nodded curtly. "Helm, time until they reach the boundary of the Brez-krill system?"
"At warp 9, they will cross the boundary in twenty two hours, sixteen minutes."
"Frak," muttered Maria Galvani, softly. D'Angleo overheard but did not reprimand her. In fact, he agreed completely with her succinct assesment.
* * *
Stardate 54245.8 (1 April 2377)
USS Bluefin
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.3
Joseph Akinola gently placed the unfinished wood-carving back on its tray and rubbed his eyes. He had hoped that working on his scale rendition of a Klingon D-7 would provide a brief respite from the monotony and stress of waiting, but it had failed to do so. He glanced at the desk chronometer - two hours until the Sequoia intercepted the Queen Elizabeth VII.
Though he was loathe to second-guess himself, Akinola had real misgivings about sending Captain D'Angelo and the Sequoia ahead. Yet, they desperately needed to catch up with the starliner before it violated Tzen-kethi space and all hell broke loose! Sequoia was the only ship fast enough to catch the QE in time.
The veteran cutter commander brooded as he stared out the viewport at the streaking stars. How would D'Angelo perform? Akinola recalled the young captain's disgraced father, Captain Gavin Cunningham. Cunningham had surrendered the USS Concorde to the Cardassians a quarter century earlier, without firing a shot in defense. Cunningham and his crew spent the next seven years interred in a Cardassian labor camp. More than a third of the Concorde's crew did not survive that awful ordeal. Shortly after their release, a gaunt and broken Cunningham faced the further indignity of a general court martial where he was found guilty of dereliction of duty. He was demoted to lieutenant commander and summarily mustered out of Starfleet. Six months later, Gavin Cunningham put a phaser in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
"Small wonder D'Angelo changed his name," mused Akinola. "I just hope he didn't inherit his father's penchant for freezing up when the shit hits the fan."
* * *
Stardate 54245.9 (1 April 2377)
USS Sequoia
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.9
Captain Tyre D'Angelo walked over to the replicator in his ready room.
"Water - cold," he instructed. A glass tumbler of water shimmered into existence in the device.
Removing the glass of water from the replicator, D'Angelo was dismayed to notice that his hand was trembling. Ice in the glass clinked audibly from the tremor in his hand.
D'Angelo took a calming breath, closed his eyes and willed his hand to become steady. Momentarily, it did. Frowning in consternation, he took a sip of cold water and returned to his desk.
The young Captain played various scenarios and responses over in his mind. He found it frustrating to enter such a potentially explosive situation with so little data. He had an eerie feeling of deja vous, as he recalled the Kobayashi Maru scenario from his Academy days. He had found that particular test disconcerting and frustrating, although he managed to pass it - if having your simulated ship destroyed and your crew killed could really be considered acceptable.
He decided to focus on basic, simple objectives: catch up with the QE VII, attempt to communicate with it, render assistance, and turn it away from the Brez-krill system.
Simple and easily defined objectives.
The problem was, D'Angelo wasn't sure how he could accomplish these objectives. Sure, catching up to the ship was easy enough, but what if they were unable to communicate? Thus far the QE had turned a deaf ear to the hails of the Pamlico. Perhaps their subspace communications were down.
Or, perhaps they were unwilling to respond.
That possibility filled D'Angelo with a sense of deep foreboding. If the Queen Elizabeth was in hostile hands, this whole scenario could go sideways in a heartbeat.
And Captain Tyre D'Angelo was the point man. The green captain in the unproven ship.
The chime of the communicator startled him. His reaction both annoyed and shamed him. He tapped the reply stud.
"Go ahead," he said crisply. The terminal display morphed into the image of the XO.
"Galvani, sir. You asked to be notified when we were in range of the Queen Elizabeth."
"Yes, thank you Commander. I'll be there in a moment."
D'Angelo stood and absently wiped his damp palms on his jumpsuit, before heading to the bridge.
* * *
Stardate 54245.9 (1 April 2377)
SS Queen Elizabeth VII
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.0
"Kenda! I'm picking up a vessel astern that's closing rapidly," announced Warren from the starliner's operations station.
"Can you identify it?" asked the Bajoran, calmly.
Warren frowned in concentration as he ran the sensor contact through the ship's database. "It's reading as a Nova-class ship, but that can't be right - this thing is travelling at warp 9.9!"
Kenda nodded. "That's not a Nova. It's likely one of the new fast-response cutters that the Border Dogs are putting into service. Not to worry, Warren, we knew someone would catch up with us sooner or later. It's all part of the plan."
"Yeah, but we were supposed to be closer to the Brezz-krill system before that happened," replied Warren petulantly.
Kenda smiled. "Come on, Mr. Warren - don't you remember anything from your Academy days? 'A battle plan never survives the first encounter with the enemy.'"
Warren gave the Bajoran a disgusted look. "Don't get all 'Starfleet' with me, Kenda! You discarded the uniform before I did!" A sudden beeping from his console drew Warren's attention back to his station.
"We're being hailed," said Warren. "Shall I ignore them?"
Kenda walked to the command chair and roughly removed Captain Lumford. "Have a seat by Mr. Warren, Captain. Rest assured, if you try anything precipitous, I won't grieve long after I kill you." The terrorist gestured meaningfully with his disruptor to emphasize his point.
With an icy look, Lumford reluctantly complied and took a seat near Warren. The Bajoran seated himself in the command chair.
"Put their transmission on-screen, Mr. Warren. Let's see who we're dealing with before we respond."
* * *
Stardate 54245.9 (1 April 2377)
USS Sequoia
Sector 04340 - Warp 9.9
"No reply yet, sir," announced Lt. Lamonica.
Commander Galvani walked over to the Ops station and leaned over Lamonica, peering at the data stream. "Phil, bring up the specs on the Queen Elizabeth. Might as well know what we can about that liner," ordered the XO.
"Tactical - what are you getting?" queried D'Angelo.
A female Bolian ensign turned to face the Captain. "They've got more than navigational deflectors up. I'm picking up level eight defensive shields."
"What?" said Galvani, straightening in surprise. "That's the same level shielding as on a Galaxy - class!"
D'Angelo nodded morosely. "They probably upgraded them when these liners were pressed into troop transport service during the war. Any weapons capabilities, Ensign?"
"No sir, no offensive weapons, anyway. They do have a counter-measures system of rapid fire laser banks. Good for close-in defense against low-yield torpedoes or missiles, but no threat to us."
"Sir!" interrupted Lamonica, "The QE is responding to our hail!"
D'Angelo straightened in his command chair. "On screen, Lieutenant."
The streaming field of stars shifted to the image of a Bajoran male with dark hair. Rather than a uniform, the Bajoran wore dark clothes with a tactical vest. Cradled in his lap was a Klingon disruptor pistol. The man had an amused expression on his face.
"I'm Captain Tyre D'Angelo of the Border Service Cutter Sequoia. Please identify yourself!"
"Certainly, Captain. I am Kenda Byress of the Neo-Maquis. We currently are in control of this vessel."
A pall came over the bridge of the Sequoia. D'Angelo's mouth went dry as he realized the enormity of the situation.
"What is the status of the crew and passengers?" he demanded.
"They are safe - for the moment. However, we have the means to change that status very quickly, were we to be . . . provoked."
"I'd like to speak to the Captain of the ship," continued D'Angelo.
"Would you? Certainly! He's right over here." Kenda gestured to his right. Someone on the liner's bridge made an adjustment, widening the image. Two men sat on the starboard side of the bridge. One, an older man with snow-white hair and a neatly trimmed beard, wore a dark blue coat with brass buttons and four gold stripes on his shoulder epaulets. The white-haired man looked both angry and afraid.
"Go on," prodded Kenda, "Say hello to Captain D'Angelo."
Captain Lumford's eyes shifted back and forth from Kenda to the viewscreen. He licked dry lips before speaking. "I'm Wallace Lumford, ship's Captain. These . . . people apparently have complete control of the ship! But I don't think there are more than . . ."
Lumford stopped in mid-sentence as Kenda's disruptor suddenly appeared mere inches from his face.
"That's enough for now, Captain Lumford," said Kenda. The Bajoran returned to the command chair and casually crossed his legs. He shrugged and smiled in an almost apologetic gesture.
D'Angelo stood up. "The Queen Elizabeth is on a direct course with a restricted star system. Why don't you alter course, then we can discuss the situation."
Kenda chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, to be sure we're headed toward a restricted system. What - did you think that was a mistake on our part?"
Captain D'Angelo's jaw clenched imperceptibly. "Then you know that we can't possibly allow you to enter Tzen-kethi space."
The Bajoran's smile grew even wider. "Of course I know that, you arrogant drek'ma! I'm counting on that!" Kenda suddenly rose from the command chair and approached the viewscreen, his image became proportionally larger on the main screen of the Sequoia and his smile turned to a grimace.
"You have no idea where this is leading, do you, Captain? Welcome to the real no-win scenario!"
Kenda's image suddenly disappeared, replaced once more by a flowing field of stars.
D'Angelo swallowed and turned toward Lt. Lamonica. "Try and reestablish a channel, Lieutenant," he said, tightly.
Lamonica made several attempts and shook his head. "Sorry, sir. They refuse to answer our hails."
The Captain nodded curtly. "Helm, time until they reach the boundary of the Brez-krill system?"
"At warp 9, they will cross the boundary in twenty two hours, sixteen minutes."
"Frak," muttered Maria Galvani, softly. D'Angleo overheard but did not reprimand her. In fact, he agreed completely with her succinct assesment.
* * *
