Star Trek: Nelson
‘A Fiery Start’
By Jack Elmlinger
Shokell III
The USS Nelson, NCC-10219, one of the newer Miranda-class light cruisers, orbited the Class-M world. Two of the ship’s shuttlecraft were flying down to the planet on a survey mission. As a nearly-claimed world of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet was responsible for surveying the planet and preparing it for the waves of colonists who would settle here, someday.
Captain Shantherkitt ch’Daahl sat behind the desk in his Ready Room, his hands cupping his sore head. The Andorian chen should be on the Bridge, observing the survey mission to the planet below. Instead, he was nursing a hangover from the night before. He had been invited to the crew lounge by a couple of his senior officers and he had ended up in a damned drinking contest with Rruuri again! Whatever happened after the second or third glass of Saurian brandy, he couldn’t remember. All that he knew was that he could barely force himself to focus upon the stack of data slates on his desktop.
His head felt like it was splitting in two. Even his antennae hurt.
I shouldn’t have tried that… what was it? Kentucky whiskey?
The intercom whistled for attention, causing him more pain than he realized that he had before. He tapped it, speaking with a slightly annoyed tone. “ch’Daahl here. What is it?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain,” a woman said with a British accent, his First Officer,” but we have a situation out here.”
ch’Daahl rolled his eyes, wishing that his headache would go away. He should have reported to Sickbay for some headache pills. Why would he want to give his Chief Medical Officer the satisfaction of saying,” I told you so.” Especially when she had been part of the drinking contest!
“What kind of situation, Commander?”
“Sensors are detecting a series of warp signatures, incoming at seven-one-four, mark eight, on the edge of the system. They’re recording three vessels on approach.”
“What’s their drive signature? Design silhouette?” He lifted his head from his hands, focusing on the problem, instead of his headache. According to Starfleet Intelligence reports, there wasn’t supposed to be anything out here but Nelson. “Could they be Cardassian?”
“Unknown, but possible.”
“Damn,” the Andorian swore. “What’s their distance to us?”
“They’re practically on top of us, Captain! We don’t have much time until -- “
The commander was interrupted by a weapon's impact, striking against the ship since the shields hadn’t been raised in time. Thrown from his desk chair, the blue-skinned captain was sent down to the deck below him. With blue blood bleeding out from the side of his head where his head had struck the deck, there were a few moments of darkness. Memories of his home on Andor, his brother Skar, filled his head. When he regained his wits, Therkitt, as his friends called him, rose up to his knees for a quick breath before continuing up to his feet.
Walking towards the exit, he noticed that the door was already forced ajar from the previous explosion. Then another explosion hit.
The Nelson’s Bridge smelled of smoke and burnt plastic when Therkitt stepped out of his Ready Room. He could already see that there were members of his crew who were either in pain, dying, or dead. Why hasn’t anyone summoned the medics?
“Report!,” he barked over the chaos. The Andorian leaned over an injured crew member hunched over a nearby console. One of the impacts of the weapons had hit the Bridge and an explosion had erupted behind the Master Situation Display, catching anyone near it or the tactical console in the impending destruction.
He recognized her as Satil, the Nelson’s Beta-Shift Tactical Officer. She had been due for a promotion to Alpha-Shift soon, and from the deep pools of emerald-green blood beneath her, it was a positive fact that she was dead. So much for promotion.
“They’ve hit the port nacelle and the forward weapons array,” Commander Jill Bevan told him. She was sitting at the Nav/Ops console with a transceiver in her ear as she coordinated with the damage control teams. They were below decks and deployed to inspect and repair any damage to the ship.
“Warp Drive?”
ch’Daahl moved over to his command chair and sat down, taking over command of the situation. He looked down at the computer console in his chair’s armrest, checking as all decks made their reports to him. The Sickbay Casualty report made by the Chief Medical Officer would have to wait. Just like his head. However, the figures presented to him sent a chill down his spine colder than the northern tundras of Andor.
“This frakking bitch of a warp drive is as temperamental as a pack of wild ritomi!,” Chief Engineer Zantha complained, stomping on her hooves out of a turbolift. Her engineering suit was covered in electrical burns and stained with patches of deuterium.
“Is it working?,” Bevan asked her.
“Or are you getting out to push?,” ch’Daahl asked, completing the commander’s question.
“Again?,” countered the Tellarite before she relieved one of her engineering assistants of their place at the engineering console. “Those bastards haven’t stopped my baby yet! Though I have had to bypass some things. Cut power to things like the food synthesizers, and the sonic showers, but we’ll make it out of here, Cap!”
Before he could continue asking her about the Nelson’s woes, the main viewscreen lit up and showed them the tactical situation. One of the shuttles had been shot down and it was burning up in the atmosphere. One of the three invading vessels already seemed to be targeting the other shuttle while one of its accompanying ships fired down on the survey site on the planet.
I can fight or die. Or I can warn Starfleet, he thought to himself. From his advantage, the captain could see that his ship was outmatched by three unknown alien vessels. He wanted to come up with a way to drive them away from the planet and rescue his people if they survived. The ache in his head dogged at his mind.
“Commander Bevin,” he asked her, calmly,” do you think that we’re a match for any of those ships?”
“And survive?”
“Yes.”
She took a moment to make a decision. “Maybe,” she finally told him. “But those first shots disabled our shields. It felt like being shot by an old NX-class ship.”
“The shield generators are overloaded,” Zantha piped in,” and I don’t know what I can have them up and running again.”
“They’ve crippled our weapons and our shields,” Therkitt said, rubbing his chin. “They want us to leave.”
“They want the planet themselves. We need to warn Starfleet, sir.”
“Options?” His antennae turned when he heard the turbolift doors open again with a whoosh, and he turned to see Lieutenant Falcone walking out onto the Bridge. He headed towards the unoccupied Tactical station and lay Lieutenant Satil’s body gently down on the deck before assuming the post himself.
“I just work here,” Zantha said,” but I’d stay and fight.”
“So would I,” added a couple more Bridge crew members.
“Starfleet should be warned, sir,” advised the newly arrived Falcone. Therkitt turned in his chair towards him. “Think about it, Captain. This is an incursion by a new race. We don't know anything about these… Cardassians. This would be a First Contact situation, years ago, but they’re here now, trying to expand into Federation territory. The fleet needs to be mobilized.”
“Task Force Hadrian should be in the area.”
“The only way to do that and live is to go back and warn them,” Lieutenant Rallan Coru said, speaking up from his place at the helm console for the first time. The Bolian was a new member of the Nelson crew and ch’Daahl could see that he was an honorable man.
“A series of probes could warn them,” Zantha added again,” if we were to… uh… get our asses baked and served up as dinner.”
ch’Daahl leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to speak. Watching the final pieces of the Nelson’s shuttles burn up in the atmosphere, the thought of seeing the Nelson ending up in the same situation hounded him.
Looking at his officers, he could see that they were looking to himself for answers. For hope.
“We’ll warn the fleet ourselves,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “Mister Coru, prepare to fly. Commander Bevin, set a course for the nearest starbase. Zantha, prime your warp drive.”
A couple of “Aye, sirs” came from his officers but he could feel their resentment in their words. He sighed, his shoulders slumping downward. “Helm, take us out of here. Maximum warp.
“Warp systems are ready.”
“Course set and laid in.”
“Expedite.”
We’ll be back, he promised himself, silently cursing these new enemies.
The End.
‘A Fiery Start’
By Jack Elmlinger
Shokell III
The USS Nelson, NCC-10219, one of the newer Miranda-class light cruisers, orbited the Class-M world. Two of the ship’s shuttlecraft were flying down to the planet on a survey mission. As a nearly-claimed world of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet was responsible for surveying the planet and preparing it for the waves of colonists who would settle here, someday.
Captain Shantherkitt ch’Daahl sat behind the desk in his Ready Room, his hands cupping his sore head. The Andorian chen should be on the Bridge, observing the survey mission to the planet below. Instead, he was nursing a hangover from the night before. He had been invited to the crew lounge by a couple of his senior officers and he had ended up in a damned drinking contest with Rruuri again! Whatever happened after the second or third glass of Saurian brandy, he couldn’t remember. All that he knew was that he could barely force himself to focus upon the stack of data slates on his desktop.
His head felt like it was splitting in two. Even his antennae hurt.
I shouldn’t have tried that… what was it? Kentucky whiskey?
The intercom whistled for attention, causing him more pain than he realized that he had before. He tapped it, speaking with a slightly annoyed tone. “ch’Daahl here. What is it?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Captain,” a woman said with a British accent, his First Officer,” but we have a situation out here.”
ch’Daahl rolled his eyes, wishing that his headache would go away. He should have reported to Sickbay for some headache pills. Why would he want to give his Chief Medical Officer the satisfaction of saying,” I told you so.” Especially when she had been part of the drinking contest!
“What kind of situation, Commander?”
“Sensors are detecting a series of warp signatures, incoming at seven-one-four, mark eight, on the edge of the system. They’re recording three vessels on approach.”
“What’s their drive signature? Design silhouette?” He lifted his head from his hands, focusing on the problem, instead of his headache. According to Starfleet Intelligence reports, there wasn’t supposed to be anything out here but Nelson. “Could they be Cardassian?”
“Unknown, but possible.”
“Damn,” the Andorian swore. “What’s their distance to us?”
“They’re practically on top of us, Captain! We don’t have much time until -- “
The commander was interrupted by a weapon's impact, striking against the ship since the shields hadn’t been raised in time. Thrown from his desk chair, the blue-skinned captain was sent down to the deck below him. With blue blood bleeding out from the side of his head where his head had struck the deck, there were a few moments of darkness. Memories of his home on Andor, his brother Skar, filled his head. When he regained his wits, Therkitt, as his friends called him, rose up to his knees for a quick breath before continuing up to his feet.
Walking towards the exit, he noticed that the door was already forced ajar from the previous explosion. Then another explosion hit.
The Nelson’s Bridge smelled of smoke and burnt plastic when Therkitt stepped out of his Ready Room. He could already see that there were members of his crew who were either in pain, dying, or dead. Why hasn’t anyone summoned the medics?
“Report!,” he barked over the chaos. The Andorian leaned over an injured crew member hunched over a nearby console. One of the impacts of the weapons had hit the Bridge and an explosion had erupted behind the Master Situation Display, catching anyone near it or the tactical console in the impending destruction.
He recognized her as Satil, the Nelson’s Beta-Shift Tactical Officer. She had been due for a promotion to Alpha-Shift soon, and from the deep pools of emerald-green blood beneath her, it was a positive fact that she was dead. So much for promotion.
“They’ve hit the port nacelle and the forward weapons array,” Commander Jill Bevan told him. She was sitting at the Nav/Ops console with a transceiver in her ear as she coordinated with the damage control teams. They were below decks and deployed to inspect and repair any damage to the ship.
“Warp Drive?”
ch’Daahl moved over to his command chair and sat down, taking over command of the situation. He looked down at the computer console in his chair’s armrest, checking as all decks made their reports to him. The Sickbay Casualty report made by the Chief Medical Officer would have to wait. Just like his head. However, the figures presented to him sent a chill down his spine colder than the northern tundras of Andor.
“This frakking bitch of a warp drive is as temperamental as a pack of wild ritomi!,” Chief Engineer Zantha complained, stomping on her hooves out of a turbolift. Her engineering suit was covered in electrical burns and stained with patches of deuterium.
“Is it working?,” Bevan asked her.
“Or are you getting out to push?,” ch’Daahl asked, completing the commander’s question.
“Again?,” countered the Tellarite before she relieved one of her engineering assistants of their place at the engineering console. “Those bastards haven’t stopped my baby yet! Though I have had to bypass some things. Cut power to things like the food synthesizers, and the sonic showers, but we’ll make it out of here, Cap!”
Before he could continue asking her about the Nelson’s woes, the main viewscreen lit up and showed them the tactical situation. One of the shuttles had been shot down and it was burning up in the atmosphere. One of the three invading vessels already seemed to be targeting the other shuttle while one of its accompanying ships fired down on the survey site on the planet.
I can fight or die. Or I can warn Starfleet, he thought to himself. From his advantage, the captain could see that his ship was outmatched by three unknown alien vessels. He wanted to come up with a way to drive them away from the planet and rescue his people if they survived. The ache in his head dogged at his mind.
“Commander Bevin,” he asked her, calmly,” do you think that we’re a match for any of those ships?”
“And survive?”
“Yes.”
She took a moment to make a decision. “Maybe,” she finally told him. “But those first shots disabled our shields. It felt like being shot by an old NX-class ship.”
“The shield generators are overloaded,” Zantha piped in,” and I don’t know what I can have them up and running again.”
“They’ve crippled our weapons and our shields,” Therkitt said, rubbing his chin. “They want us to leave.”
“They want the planet themselves. We need to warn Starfleet, sir.”
“Options?” His antennae turned when he heard the turbolift doors open again with a whoosh, and he turned to see Lieutenant Falcone walking out onto the Bridge. He headed towards the unoccupied Tactical station and lay Lieutenant Satil’s body gently down on the deck before assuming the post himself.
“I just work here,” Zantha said,” but I’d stay and fight.”
“So would I,” added a couple more Bridge crew members.
“Starfleet should be warned, sir,” advised the newly arrived Falcone. Therkitt turned in his chair towards him. “Think about it, Captain. This is an incursion by a new race. We don't know anything about these… Cardassians. This would be a First Contact situation, years ago, but they’re here now, trying to expand into Federation territory. The fleet needs to be mobilized.”
“Task Force Hadrian should be in the area.”
“The only way to do that and live is to go back and warn them,” Lieutenant Rallan Coru said, speaking up from his place at the helm console for the first time. The Bolian was a new member of the Nelson crew and ch’Daahl could see that he was an honorable man.
“A series of probes could warn them,” Zantha added again,” if we were to… uh… get our asses baked and served up as dinner.”
ch’Daahl leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to speak. Watching the final pieces of the Nelson’s shuttles burn up in the atmosphere, the thought of seeing the Nelson ending up in the same situation hounded him.
Looking at his officers, he could see that they were looking to himself for answers. For hope.
“We’ll warn the fleet ourselves,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. “Mister Coru, prepare to fly. Commander Bevin, set a course for the nearest starbase. Zantha, prime your warp drive.”
A couple of “Aye, sirs” came from his officers but he could feel their resentment in their words. He sighed, his shoulders slumping downward. “Helm, take us out of here. Maximum warp.
“Warp systems are ready.”
“Course set and laid in.”
“Expedite.”
We’ll be back, he promised himself, silently cursing these new enemies.
The End.
