Chapter 11 – The Clock Ticks
Stardate 54657.7
Star Stallion 02
Sector 7432
The strobe lights from the Star Stallion cast staccato shadows inside the alien ship’s landing bay. The small craft settled with a gentle thump onto a wide, featureless deck as the impulse engines spooled down.
“Engines in standby mode,” announced Lt. Sarnek. “Gravity reading of point 825 standard.”
“Atmosphere?” asked Strauss.
The Vulcan shook his head, though the gesture was obscured by his helmet. “No pressure reading at all, it seems that . . .”
As he spoke, a monitor on the control panel revealed that the hole that had allowed them to enter the ship was slowly dilating. As their way of escape closed, faint illumination came on in the cavern though the source of lighting was indeterminate.
“Fascinating,” remarked Sarnek. “The bay is beginning to pressurize . . . Oxygen, Nitrogen, trace amounts of Argon and Helium . . .”
“It appears that we are expected,” said Strauss. She wasn’t sure if she felt reassured or not. “Still, we will proceed with suits and helmets in case whatever system is providing the atmosphere breaks down or changes its mind.”
“A prudent precaution,” agreed Sarnek. “Especially considering that radiation levels are still dangerous for anyone without protective gear.”
Strauss stood. “Let’s get organized and on the move. We have less than two hours.”
“One hour, fifty one minutes, seventeen seconds,” corrected Sarnek. He could not see Strauss roll her eyes.
* * *
Stardate 54657.7
USS Akagi
Sector 7431
Captain Shiran Ch’Hranuth sat ramrod straight in the command chair of the USS Akagi. The tall Andorian was as disciplined as a Vulcan, as fierce as a Klingon, and as crafty as a Human. He had proven his mettle as a warrior during numerous battles with the Dominion, earning accolades in the process.
With the war’s end, Shiran found himself a soldier without a cause. The skills that served him so well during war were not highly regarded by Starfleet Command during seasons of peace, thus he was relegated to command of an older but well equipped heavy scout ship. Many captains would have taken umbrage at what some would perceive as a demotion of sorts, going from an Excelsior-class starship to a Rigel-class scout, but it was not in Shiran’s nature to complain. In fact, he relished the freedom he had with his new command to carry out missions against the resurgent Maquis. Diplomacy and exploration were not his forte’.
When Admiral Brandies enlisted him as part of Operation Vanguard, Shiran quickly volunteered his ship and services for the deep space mission to confront the approaching horde of alien ships. Instead, he was tasked to stay in Federation space, ready for any early arrivals – random interlopers, who might pose a threat.
Two days earlier, the call had come. He was to take Akagi to intercept a transient vessel of unknown origins, preventing it from an incursion into Klingon space by any and all means necessary.
The Andorian had no moral qualms about using the special weaponry, known only to himself. Honor demanded he carry out his orders. Duty was the ‘D’ in his DNA.
He only knew that two other Federation vessels had already intercepted the alien ship but had failed to stop it and were either unable or unwilling to respond to attempts at communication. Admiral Glover had hinted that Captain Franklin of the Resolute might hesitate to use all the resources at her disposal, hindered by moral compunctions common to Humans.
Shiran would not allow ethics to interfere with his orders. If Admiral Brandies and Starfleet Command deemed these invaders to be a clear and present danger, who was he to argue? He knew from experience that hesitation cost ships and lives.
That was a mistake he would not make.
“Time to intercept?” he asked of the helm officer, an Asian female.
“Six hours, fifteen minutes at present course and speed,” replied Lt. Shen Yu.
“That’s cutting it close,” remarked Commander Karim Patel, the Indian First Officer. “Based on long-range scans they will cross into Klingon space in twelve hours.”
“Leaving us six hours, Commander,” replied the Captain. “That will be enough to carry out our mission.”
Patel did not reply. Truth be told, he was troubled by their mission, particularly since Captain Ch’Hranuth was reticent to share details. All Karim knew was that they were to intercept an unknown alien vessel and divert it from Klingon space. But the early data indicated the vessel was massive, far beyond the abilities of even a fleet of Starships to turn with tractor beams. If those operating that ship could not be persuaded to change course . . .
But that was madness. Surely the Captain had no intentions of attacking the alien ship?
* * *
Stardate 54657.7
USS Kittiwake
Sector 7432
The Border Cutter USS Kittiwake burned through subspace at a blistering warp 9.6. Not a record-setting pace for modern vessels but certainly a near-record for a 70 year old Albacore-class ship.
“Captain, the mains won’t take much more of this,” objected Chief Engineer Lt. Preedo Ontu’k, a purple-eyed Altairian. He wrung his six-fingered hands in a parody of Human anxiety.
“Sure they will,” replied Captain Quinn Elena Destrehan, C.O. of the Kittiwake. “They have to hold together.” She pointed at the viewscreen. “One of our own is out there, very likely in distress and unable to communicate.” She fixed him with her pale blue eyes. “Thus, we will continue at warp 9.6 or better until we either find Bluefin or come apart at the seams. As Chief Engineer, it is your job to ensure that the latter does not happen. Are we clear on that, Mister?”
Preedo’s headcrest wilted in a submissive gesture. “Yes ma’am.”
Destrehan regarded Preedo and suppressed a sigh. He was an excellent engineer but, as typical for his race, he was bound by ‘the book’ and uncomfortable with pushing the design limits of the ship. She, on the other hand, tended to think and act outside of the box, a trait that had earned her both commendations and the occasional reprimand.
“Look,” she continued, “I trust you, Preedo. That’s why I feel confident that we can push the envelope. These are tough ships and you’ve trained your crew well. If the mains shut down, well, that’s on me.”
The Altairian considered her words and his headcrest lifted in relief. “We’ll do our best, Captain.” He turned and made his way to the turbo-lift.
Destrehan turned to her Executive Officer, Lt. Commander Dee Dee Townsend. “I’ll be in my ready room, XO. You have the bridge.”
Townsend watched the door to the ready room slide shut, then turned to the helm officer, Lt. Emil Broussard. “Emil, you have the bridge. I’m going to talk with the Skipper.”
As Townsend disappeared into the ready room, Broussard turned to the Ops officer, Lt. (j.g.) H’Nahr and grinned. “Guess I’ll turn the bridge over to you so I can grab a Raktajino.”
“No sirrr,” replied the Caitian with an amused rumble. “I have not rrreceived command trrraining. Besides, who would pilot the ship?”
“An excellent point, H’Nahr. I suppose I must bear the burden of command a bit longer.”
* * *
Destrehan glanced up from her desk as the buxom executive officer entered. An expression of amusement mixed with annoyance crossed the young Captain’s face.
“That’s funny, Dee. I could have sworn I just turned the bridge over to you.”
Townsend ignored the jibe. “Quinn, Preebo is right – you’re pushing too hard. We won’t do Captain Akinola and the Bluefin any good if we lose the warp engines and have to be towed home.
Quin stood, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes. “We’re the Border Dogs, Dee. We have to go out . . . we don’t have to come back, or have you forgotten that?”
“I haven’t forgotten, Skipper,” Townsend replied, calmly. “And I served on Bluefin for four years or have you forgotten? I have close friends on that cutter. But as XO, it’s my job to point out the ramifications of your decisions. Respectfully, ma’am.”
Destrehan exhaled sharply but settled back into her chair. “I know that. Sorry, Dee . . . I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you. But for a legend like Akinola to disappear, not to mention that Akira-class starship, the Resolute . . . well, my mind is reeling with worst-case scenarios.”
Townsend regarded her friend and C.O. for a moment. “You’re thinking about the Amberjack, aren’t you?” USS Amberjack, their sister ship, had been destroyed in a Maquis ambush less than a year earlier. Captain Destrehan had once served with Amberjack’s C.O., Sylvia Reuben.
Quinn nodded. “Of course I am. And maybe if Amberjack had received backup in time, Sylvia and her crew would still be alive.”
Townsend shook her head. “It happened too fast, Quinn. Even at maximum warp, the nearest ship would not have reached them in time.”
Captain Destrehan turned in her chair to gaze out at the streaming starfield. “Well, I do not intend to have any regrets. Keep pushing at warp 9.6, XO, and don’t back off unless the core redlines.”
* * *
Stardate 54657.7
Star Stallion 02
Aboard the Alien Vessel
Star Stallion 02 sat in a landing bay somewhat wider and longer than the one on Bluefin. Structural ribs curved overhead, giving the space a cathedral effect. Faint illumination emanated from the walls revealing an otherwise featureless space, save for two round openings situated on the forward bulkhead, ostensibly to corridors that led to other areas of the ship. Beyond the openings lay darkness.
“From what our sensors show, there are nearly 50 kilometers of corridors on this ship – far too many for us to explore, even if we split up,” remarked Commander Strauss. “Bio readings are faint and scattered, but the radiation may be affecting our sensors.”
“The tactical drones can provide additional data,” pointed out Lt. T’Lyr.
“But with just three drones available, we will only be able to cover 6.13% of the accessible corridors,” interjected Sarnek.
“True,” continued Strauss. “So we have to decide where and how to allocate our resources in the time remaining. Commander Vanboerner, any suggestions?”
Resolute’s Chief Engineer raised his eyebrows. “Considering the lack of warp nacelles, my best guess is that the warp drive is located within the forward section – perhaps an annular ring similar to Vulcan designs.”
T’Lyr chimed in. “That is plausible, Commander, but without concise data we are merely speculating.”
“Unfortunately, Lieutenant, we do not have the luxury of consulting ‘concise data’ as you put it,” responded Vanboerner. “Time is short and as Commander Strauss said, we must make quick decisions.”
“It would seem that logic dictates we guess,” said Sarnek, earning a startled glance from T’Lyr.
“Yes, Mr. Sarnek,” agreed Strauss, grateful that her helmet hid her amused expression from both Vulcans, “but let’s give it our best-educated guess. I believe Mr. Vanboerner has the right idea – let’s proceed on the assumption that the warp drive is in the forward section, the ‘head’ if you will. Let’s allocate two of the tactical drones for the forward section and one to head aft.”
“But what of a command and control center?” asked T’Lyr. “Most space-faring races in our quadrant separate the control area from the drive section for safety purposes.”
“That’s true,” concurred Vanboerner. “But it’s also true that on the ships with which we are familiar it is possible to control the ship from engineering.”
“Our primary job is to divert this ship,” reminded Strauss. “If we can find their drive section, we may have a chance to effect a course change or at least drop this vessel out of warp. We can always offer explanations to any crew afterwards.”
Vanboerner grinned. “Easier to gain forgiveness than permission, eh?”
“Something like that. Let’s pair up then send out the drones. Corpsman Sanders will accompany Lt. T’Lyr and you will investigate that forward corridor to starboard. Steiner, you will accompany Commander Vanboerner and take the port corridor. Senior Chief, you and I will seek to find a way aft in case our assumptions prove wrong. Any questions?”
“How much time?” asked Vanboerner.
“Be back on board in one hour, forty five minutes. Keep track of your time and don’t get too far out. If the drones find something, either biological or technical in nature, they will scan it and notify it. As to rules of engagement . . . well, do not fire on anyone or anything unless fired upon. So far we’ve experienced no hostile actions. Let’s hope that continues.”
“Something let us on here,” pointed out Solly. "That doesn't mean they will be so quick to let us out."
“Yeah, I hadn’t forgotten that Senior Chief. Steiner, launch the drones. Everyone check your suits – turn on your helmet lights, weapons set to stun, and for God’s sake, stay in sight of your partner. Communications may not be reliable.”
The boarding party exited the Star Stallion and at last stood on the deck of the alien vessel. Strauss suppressed a chill of nervousness. The silence and darkness within the corridors made for an eerie environment. She was pleased to have the large Orion NCO accompanying her. There were few things in the quadrant that could spook Solly Brin.
Petty Officer Steiner activated a control on his forearm and the three tactical drones flew silently from their compartments on the Stallion. Their on-board sensors were linked to each of the boarding party’s environmental suits and could provide real-time input via the head’s up displays in their helmets.
“Move out,” ordered Strauss.
* * *
Zhar was aware that the small craft had landed in its bay. The re-pressurization sequence was programmed by Zhar’s creators eons ago, though Zhar did not know if the provided atmosphere was life-giving or deadly. It’s ability to control such things had been lost.
As the creatures from the small craft emerged, an ancient memory was stirred. Despite its degraded memory banks, these beings seemed familiar somehow.
The ancient computer summoned reserves from long dormant systems to analyze this new data. Unfortunately, most of these systems were likewise corrupted by time and battle damage. Feedback from the effort to interconnect dead data banks created a cascade failure, rendering Zhar’s already damaged comm system completely inoperative. Additionally, its external navigation sensors failed.
Zhar was now blind and mute.
* * *
Stardate 54657.8
Sector 7433
The class one probe passed out of the gravity field and into clear space one hour and twelve minutes after launch from the Bluefin. The advanced sensor array on the tiny craft immediately began to search for other vessels in its vicinity. Forty three minutes later, it detected a slight subspace disturbance tracking along a linear course that would ultimately intercept the Bluefin and the alien vessel. The sophisticated onboard A.I. then activated its tachyon sensors, confirming with a high degree of probability that this was a cloaked vessel, specifically a Klingon ship, D-7 class.
Its pre-programmed mission completed, the probe made a 180 degree course correction and jumped to warp, en route to rendezvous with the Bluefin.
* * *
To be continued
Hopefully I can maintain momentum and get this beast finished. Sorry you're annoyed about the plot device thingy but thanks for the "great minds" compliment. 
they're always fun at parties.
