United Trek: Refugee Crisis
As Task Force Vanguard forms to intercept the vast number of alien ships approaching the Alpha Quadrant, a few strange ships begin to arrive well ahead of the wave, some in clusters, a few alone.
Operation Vanguard is commanded by Admiral Saban Brandies, to include TFV, Starbase Bastion, and all (so-far) classified refugee/nomad contacts near or within Federation space.
This story is about one of the first refugee contacts.
Chapter 1: Contact
Stardate 54655.5 (28 August 2377)
Border Service Cutter USS Bluefin
Near the U’ulrnth Cluster, Molari Sector
Captain’s Log, Stardate 54655.5. “Two weeks into patrolling the U’ulrnth Cluster have produced zero results. Whatever pirates Fleet Intel thought were hiding in this vicinity have long-since packed up and moved on. We have yet to find the faintest ion trail to indicate any other ships within our scanning range. Either Fleet Intel passed along bad information, a distinct possibility considering the lack of intelligence in Fleet Intelligence, or perhaps someone simply tipped off the pirates that we were coming. Regardless, this has been a waste of time and assets.”
Akinola paused a moment, considering. He grimaced and spoke again. “Computer, delete phrase, ‘a distinct possibility considering the lack of intelligence in Fleet Intel.’”
“Acknowledged. Phrase deleted.”
The Captain took a sip of his coffee and continued. “Scamp and Kittewake have already resumed their normal patrols. This morning at 0620, Admiral Bateson has likewise released us from this assignment. I’m sure the crew will be glad to return to the Molari Badlands to tangle with ion storms – anything to relieve the monotony of fruitless patrolling. I must confess I’m ready for a change myself.”
He saved and closed the log entry, then stood from behind his desk – rolling his neck and yawning expansively. Grabbing his coffee mug, Akinola made his way to the bridge.
* * *
Inga Strauss, Bluefin’s Executive Officer, sat cross-legged in the command chair, engrossed in a PADD displaying crew shift rotations. A job she generally enjoyed was now more challenging with the addition of new personnel and the departure of others. It was akin to solving a puzzle – making sure all the pieces fit properly.
Akinola stood behind the command chair and took a moment to take in the sight of the U’ulrnth Cluster. The desolate region was located away from the major space lanes and lacked any planets of note. The vast gas clouds of the cluster offered a spectacular view, though it was devoid of populated worlds and mostly empty except for a few ancient star systems and barren planetoids. Akinola had to admit that it seemed like an ideal haven for pirates, despite their lack of success in finding any.
Strauss looked up, suddenly aware of the Captain’s presence just behind her left shoulder.
“Oh! Sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware you were on the bridge.”
The Nigerian C.O. smiled as he sipped his coffee. “No problem, Commander. You were busy and I was just enjoying the view of the cluster. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Her gaze followed his to the viewscreen. She shivered slightly.
“I’m not sure I would call it beautiful - ominous, perhaps. It’s no wonder we didn’t find anyone out here. I doubt even pirates would want to call this home.”
She vacated the chair, turning it slightly to offer Akinola access. He settled in with a slight grunt as a twinge of pain from his side momentarily caught him. Old scars occasionally taunted him - a reminder of reckless acts from his youth.
Well, most of them came during my youth, he mused. Aloud, he announced, “I have the bridge. Rest well, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir. Enjoy your day,” she replied as she stepped out of the pit and rounded the rail toward the turbo-lift.
Akinola glanced at the chronometer. Two minutes until the beginning of Alpha shift. His eyes moved toward the Ops station where Lt. (j.g.) K’lira Rune waited for her replacement. She caught the Captain’s gaze and shrugged.
An expression of annoyance crossed Akinola’s face. Lt. Nigel Bane might be a top-notch operations officer but he was notorious for arriving on duty at the last possible second. The day he crossed the line and was one second late, Captain Akinola would have his pound of flesh. A small, feral smile appeared as the former NCO contemplated a suitable remedy for the Australian officer’s cavalier attitude toward punctuality.
A steady beep from the sensor suite drew Rune’s attention back to her station. “Captain, I’m picking up a transient contact entering extreme sensor range, bearing 114 mark 52, range is 19 point 6 light hours.”
“Track the contact and designate as Tango-one. Helm, how soon can we intercept?”
Lt. Bralus tapped a panel on the helm controls. “Thirty eight minutes at warp 8, sir.”
“Get us underway. Lt. Rune – can you identify the transient?”
“Negative sir, not at this range. Whatever it is, it’s big – my guess would be a rogue comet or asteroid.”
Akinola grunted. “Best we check it out to make certain. Looks like our return home will be delayed slightly.”
* * *
Commander Strauss stepped off the turbo-lift onto deck four, only to nearly collide with a fast-moving Lt. Nigel Bane.
“Nigel! Good God, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Bane flashed a brilliant smile. “Sorry, Inga – got to get to the bridge before Alpha shift begins.” He stole a quick kiss from the petite XO. Inga playfully pushed him aside.
“Uh-uh, Mister. I’m not going to be the reason you’re late. You’re going to push your luck one too many times and the Captain is going to have your butt.”
“The Skipper can have m’ arse, but m’ heart belongs to you.” He winked as the lift doors slid shut.
Inga smiled and shook her head as she turned to head to her quarters. Though fatigued, she absently hummed a little tune.
* * *
With twenty seconds to spare, Bane tapped Lt. Rune on the shoulder. “I relieve you,” he said, grinning.
“What? So soon?” replied K’lira, sarcastically. She indicated a monitor at eye level. “We’re chasing down a transient contact, designated Tango-one. Try not to lose it, Nigel.” She patted his hand and vacated the chair.
Nigel favored the green Orion woman with a cocky smirk as he settled in at the station, cracked his knuckles and logged in. The smirk quickly faded and his brow furrowed as he called up various sensor sub-routines to try to glean more data from the contact. A dizzying amount of data poured across three display panels. As he pondered the significance of the data flow, he sensed someone standing behind him and he swallowed.
“Glad you could join us, Mr. Bane,” remarked Captain Akinola, dryly. “I do hope your duty shift isn’t keeping you from more pressing matters?”
“Ah, no sir, not at all.”
“Good, good. I’d hate to think that bridge duty is cramping your style. If it is, I can always arrange for you to spend your duty shifts in auxiliary control. Perhaps a couple of weeks of double-shifts there would help you to sort out your scheduling issues?”
Bane cleared his throat. “Message received sir. I, ah, shall endeavor to arrive earlier.”
Akinola clapped the Operations Officer on the shoulder, just a bit harder than necessary. “A prudent response, Mister Bane. Glad we had this little chat.”
The Captain made his way back to the command chair, settled in and gazed serenely at the viewscreen as stars trailed by while the cutter sped through subspace.
At the helm, Lt. Bralus tried very hard not to grin.
Bane quietly blew out a relieved breath. Just two hours in auxiliary control, aka “the hole,” was bad enough, but pulling doubles of 16 hours down there? He’d go stir-crazy in three days, four tops. Best to behave and show up a bit earlier for duty tomorrow . . . say half an hour.
The energy reading from the transient contact took his mind off of his time management issues. Frowning, he adjusted the sensor return filters and began muttering to himself.
“Anything you’d care to share with the rest of us, Mr. Bane?” queried Akinola. Bane had not realized he was muttering so loudly.
“Skipper, Tango-one is putting out an impressive amount of radiation; far more than should come from a natural body. Probability is high that our contact is a ship of some kind.”
“Yellow alert,” ordered Akinola, instantly. Maybe that intel about pirates wasn’t entirely bogus, he thought.
* * *
Inga Strauss had just stepped out of the sonic shower and slipped on her pajamas when the yellow alert announcement came over the ship’s comm system. Uttering something between a sigh and a groan, she began to unbutton her pajama top as she reached into her closet for a fresh uniform.
* * *
Senior Chief Solly Brin stepped off the turbo-lift and headed towards the tactical station. He nodded to Akinola who inclined his head in return. They had known each other so long that words of instruction were generally superfluous.
The red Orion NCO activated the cutter’s defensive array – purely precautionary but standard procedure for yellow alert status. A faint glow surrounded the cutter as the defensive shields came on line. Massive phase capacitors charged amidships, should the ship’s main batteries be required. On decks three forward and five aft, photon torpedoes were loaded into launch bays.
“Shields up, weapons on standby,” announced Solly. “All I need is a target.”
“Very well. Helm, drop us out of warp 2 A.U.s from the contact. I want room to maneuver until we get a firm I.D.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Bralus.
The turbo-lift doors opened and the ship’s new assistant engineer stepped onto the bridge. Lt. T’Lyr was a young Vulcan female, recently transferred from Star Station Bravo and the Second Squadron. Unlike their old comrade, T’Ser, Lt. T’Lyr was traditional to the core in her Vulcan upbringing and demeanor. Without a word, she took her seat at the engineering station and logged in.
Akinola suppressed a smile. He had served with Vulcans all his life but never one who tried so hard to be the ‘ideal’ Vulcan as this young woman.
“Good morning, Lt. T’Lyr,” greeted Akinola, “Where is Commander Gralt?”
T'Lyr made a graceful turn in her chair and fixed Akinola with an accusatory stare. “The Chief Engineer ordered me to get my ‘skinny butt’ to the bridge,” she replied with affronted dignity. “He then said he needed to watch the mains, lest the Captain pull, and I quote, ‘some Yarliq-assed stunt.’ . . . Sir.”
Akinola cleared his throat. “I see.” He stifled a sigh. Sometimes Gralt pushed the boundaries of propriety too far - even for a crusty Tellarite engineer.
“I’ll have a word with Gralt,” he promised.
“I would appreciate that, Captain,” T’Lyr replied, turning back to her station.
The lift doors opened again, heralding the arrival of Commander Strauss. She stepped down into the pit and stood by Akinola. He glanced at her askance.
“Couldn’t sleep, Commander?”
“Never got the chance, sir. I thought I might as well come back in case we go to red alert.”
“This may just be a wild-comet chase, XO.”
“I’ll hang around. There’s no way I could get to sleep now anyway.”
The Captain nodded. “We should know something shortly. Status report, Mr. Bane.”
“Tango-one is 18.7 kilometers long, tapered with a maximum circumference of 1,730 meters at the fore. The mass readings are odd – it has to be hollow on the inside.”
“It’s sounding less and less like an asteroid. It could be a comet,” observed Akinola.
“Not many comets traveling at point two-two cee, Skipper,” replied Bane. “And that radiation trail is strong enough to peel the paint off our hull at a thousand klicks without shields. I’ll wager Tango-one is a ship or I’ll eat Senior’s boots.”
“The hell you will,” grumbled Solly. “I like these boots.”
“I won’t take that bet, Mr. Bane,” replied Akinola. “Can we get a visual yet?”
Bane adjusted the resolution controls. “It will be grainy at this distance, but here goes . . .”
The main viewscreen shifted from a streaming starfield to a dark patch of space. At first, Akinola couldn’t see anything recognizable as a ship.
“Half a sec, Skipper,” announced Bane, “I need to compensate for the lack of starlight.”
Gradually, a long, dark object appeared on the screen. Strauss cocked her head to the side. “Looks kind of like a long mushroom that someone uprooted.”
Akinola had to admit that the XO’s description was about as good as any he could conjure. A large, flattened section like the cap of a mushroom made up the bow of the ship, if indeed it was a vessel. The rest of the mushroom-ship tapered aft in irregular fashion. Whoever built it wasn’t much on straight lines.
“Sure doesn’t look like a ship,” muttered Brin.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s not from around here,” said Akinola. “Mr. Bane, start hailing it as soon as we’re in range.”
“Captain? We’re coming up on 2 A.U.s from the object,” announced Lt. Bralus from the helm.
“Drop us out of warp, Mr. Bralus – ahead three quarters impulse, bring us to a parallel course with the contact. Keep us clear of that radiation trail.”
“Aye sir, ahead three-quarters. Adjusting course now.”
“Maximum image on the viewscreen, please.”
The strange craft grew both in size and detail on the screen. It was primarily dark brown in color, thought streaked in places with lighter hues. Whether this was a design element or caused by dust or meteorite collisions, no one on the bridge could tell. Prominent structural ribs surrounded the craft, providing some sense of symmetry that the earlier view lacked. There were no running lights, no obvious viewports or landing bays, and nothing recognizable as identifying marks. There were, however, numerous gouges and craters along the hull along with the obvious scars from energy weapons.
“Whatever it is, look like someone has used it for target practice,” murmured Strauss.
“Solly – threat assessment?” queried the Captain.
“They’ve got no shields and I’m not reading any kind of energy weapons. No signs of external weaponry of any kind for that matter. They might have internal missiles but there are no obvious launch-points. For now, threat level is low.”
“Mr. Bane, any life-signs?”
“That hull is denser than a Loosehead Prop’s skull, Skipper,” Bane replied, referencing his love for Australian rules football. “Get us in closer and I might be able to get a better reading.”
“You heard the man, Mr. Bralus. Let’s get within 2,500 kilometers but be ready for evasive maneuvers if they suddenly change course. That beast outweighs us a bit.”
The Bolian helmsman dutifully adjusted the cutter’s heading, bringing the Bluefin closer to the behemoth. From an outside perspective, the cutter looked like a minnow swimming alongside a whale.
“Any response to our hails?”
“No sir, not yet – no transmissions of any kind ‘cept for the radiation its trailin’. Seems that’s from their sublight drive, but I’d bet my boxers they’ve got engine troubles.”
“I always took you for a tighty-whitey guy, Lieutenant,” remarked Brin.
“Just on even days, Senior,” replied Bane. “On odd days I wear the boxers. Then on Saturdays, I like to go comman . . .”
“Mind your stations!” ordered Strauss stiffly, her face reddening slightly.
“I’ll second that, XO,” replied Akinola, failing to suppress a grin. “Lt. T’Lyr – any thoughts on what’s driving that ship?”
The Vulcan engineer turned and peered at the image of the massive vessel. “I tend to agree with Mr. Bane. Radiation levels are consistent with a damaged spike-drive, a primitive but sturdy system, usually fusion powered. There are no obvious warp nacelles but it’s possible that an annular warp drive ring is located in the periphery of the bow section. If so, it’s off-line and has been for some time.”
Akinola rubbed his chin as he considered this. “Perhaps it’s a derelict. A generational ship or . . .”
A sudden, ominous rumbling reverberated through the Bluefin’s hull. Numerous warning alarms sounded from the helm, ops and the engineering stations.
“Report!” barked Akinola.
“We’ve plowed into a massive gravity wave,” replied Bralus tightly as he fought with the controls to stabilize the ship.
“Confirmed,” added Bane. “128 standard gees and falling.”
“Structural integrity fields holding,” announced T’Lyr, her fingers flying over her LCARS interface. “No structural damage to the ship.”
“Increase our stand-off distance to 4,000 kilometers,” ordered the Captain. Even as he spoke, the shaking diminished and the Bluefin once more smoothly paced the massive, silent vessel.
“What just happened?” asked Commander Strauss, cautiously relinquishing her grip on the pit rail.
“My apologies, Commander,” answered T’Lyr. “Apparently the ship utilizes attenuating gravity fields for navigation. The spike-drive merely provides thrust. I regret my oversight.”
“Not your fault, Lieutenant,” replied Akinola quietly as he gazed at the alien vessel on the screen. “We’re all still in the dark about that ship.” He paused a moment in thought. “Mr. Bane, can you plot its origin?”
“Workin’ on it, Skipper. It’s left a bonzer track to follow, but it will still be a guess. She might have made several course changes from wherever she started. One other thing – while we were getting shaken like a rabbit by a wild Dingo, I detected faint life-signs on board.”
“Life signs?” pressed Akinola.
Bane wore an apologetic expression. “Sorry, Skipper. We moved off before I could get a focused reading. Someone or something’s alive on that ship, but I can’t tell you what or how many. Just a definite bio-electric signature.”
Strauss turned to him suddenly. “What about the ship’s heading, Nigel? Assuming they remain on their current course, where are they going?.”
“Easy enough to plot,” he said. “It seems they shifted a couple of degrees to starboard when we got a bit close. Might have been an evasive maneuver.”
“Or it may have been a planned course change,” pointed out Akinola.
“Or that – right enough, Skipper. Okay, got a course projection – assuming they don’t turn again. I’ll put it on the screen.”
Superimposed over the image of the ship appeared a stacked grid representing the Borderland region. A red line curved through the grid, straight through an undulating border marked with Imperial trefoils.
“Damn,” muttered Strauss.
“Damn indeed,” agreed the Captain.
Unless the alien vessel made a radical course change, it would head straight into the heart of the Klingon Empire.
* * *
As Task Force Vanguard forms to intercept the vast number of alien ships approaching the Alpha Quadrant, a few strange ships begin to arrive well ahead of the wave, some in clusters, a few alone.
Operation Vanguard is commanded by Admiral Saban Brandies, to include TFV, Starbase Bastion, and all (so-far) classified refugee/nomad contacts near or within Federation space.
This story is about one of the first refugee contacts.
United Trek Refugee Crisis – Tales of the USS Bluefin: “Trajectory”
Chapter 1: Contact
Stardate 54655.5 (28 August 2377)
Border Service Cutter USS Bluefin
Near the U’ulrnth Cluster, Molari Sector
Captain’s Log, Stardate 54655.5. “Two weeks into patrolling the U’ulrnth Cluster have produced zero results. Whatever pirates Fleet Intel thought were hiding in this vicinity have long-since packed up and moved on. We have yet to find the faintest ion trail to indicate any other ships within our scanning range. Either Fleet Intel passed along bad information, a distinct possibility considering the lack of intelligence in Fleet Intelligence, or perhaps someone simply tipped off the pirates that we were coming. Regardless, this has been a waste of time and assets.”
Akinola paused a moment, considering. He grimaced and spoke again. “Computer, delete phrase, ‘a distinct possibility considering the lack of intelligence in Fleet Intel.’”
“Acknowledged. Phrase deleted.”
The Captain took a sip of his coffee and continued. “Scamp and Kittewake have already resumed their normal patrols. This morning at 0620, Admiral Bateson has likewise released us from this assignment. I’m sure the crew will be glad to return to the Molari Badlands to tangle with ion storms – anything to relieve the monotony of fruitless patrolling. I must confess I’m ready for a change myself.”
He saved and closed the log entry, then stood from behind his desk – rolling his neck and yawning expansively. Grabbing his coffee mug, Akinola made his way to the bridge.
* * *
Inga Strauss, Bluefin’s Executive Officer, sat cross-legged in the command chair, engrossed in a PADD displaying crew shift rotations. A job she generally enjoyed was now more challenging with the addition of new personnel and the departure of others. It was akin to solving a puzzle – making sure all the pieces fit properly.
Akinola stood behind the command chair and took a moment to take in the sight of the U’ulrnth Cluster. The desolate region was located away from the major space lanes and lacked any planets of note. The vast gas clouds of the cluster offered a spectacular view, though it was devoid of populated worlds and mostly empty except for a few ancient star systems and barren planetoids. Akinola had to admit that it seemed like an ideal haven for pirates, despite their lack of success in finding any.
Strauss looked up, suddenly aware of the Captain’s presence just behind her left shoulder.
“Oh! Sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware you were on the bridge.”
The Nigerian C.O. smiled as he sipped his coffee. “No problem, Commander. You were busy and I was just enjoying the view of the cluster. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Her gaze followed his to the viewscreen. She shivered slightly.
“I’m not sure I would call it beautiful - ominous, perhaps. It’s no wonder we didn’t find anyone out here. I doubt even pirates would want to call this home.”
She vacated the chair, turning it slightly to offer Akinola access. He settled in with a slight grunt as a twinge of pain from his side momentarily caught him. Old scars occasionally taunted him - a reminder of reckless acts from his youth.
Well, most of them came during my youth, he mused. Aloud, he announced, “I have the bridge. Rest well, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir. Enjoy your day,” she replied as she stepped out of the pit and rounded the rail toward the turbo-lift.
Akinola glanced at the chronometer. Two minutes until the beginning of Alpha shift. His eyes moved toward the Ops station where Lt. (j.g.) K’lira Rune waited for her replacement. She caught the Captain’s gaze and shrugged.
An expression of annoyance crossed Akinola’s face. Lt. Nigel Bane might be a top-notch operations officer but he was notorious for arriving on duty at the last possible second. The day he crossed the line and was one second late, Captain Akinola would have his pound of flesh. A small, feral smile appeared as the former NCO contemplated a suitable remedy for the Australian officer’s cavalier attitude toward punctuality.
A steady beep from the sensor suite drew Rune’s attention back to her station. “Captain, I’m picking up a transient contact entering extreme sensor range, bearing 114 mark 52, range is 19 point 6 light hours.”
“Track the contact and designate as Tango-one. Helm, how soon can we intercept?”
Lt. Bralus tapped a panel on the helm controls. “Thirty eight minutes at warp 8, sir.”
“Get us underway. Lt. Rune – can you identify the transient?”
“Negative sir, not at this range. Whatever it is, it’s big – my guess would be a rogue comet or asteroid.”
Akinola grunted. “Best we check it out to make certain. Looks like our return home will be delayed slightly.”
* * *
Commander Strauss stepped off the turbo-lift onto deck four, only to nearly collide with a fast-moving Lt. Nigel Bane.
“Nigel! Good God, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Bane flashed a brilliant smile. “Sorry, Inga – got to get to the bridge before Alpha shift begins.” He stole a quick kiss from the petite XO. Inga playfully pushed him aside.
“Uh-uh, Mister. I’m not going to be the reason you’re late. You’re going to push your luck one too many times and the Captain is going to have your butt.”
“The Skipper can have m’ arse, but m’ heart belongs to you.” He winked as the lift doors slid shut.
Inga smiled and shook her head as she turned to head to her quarters. Though fatigued, she absently hummed a little tune.
* * *
With twenty seconds to spare, Bane tapped Lt. Rune on the shoulder. “I relieve you,” he said, grinning.
“What? So soon?” replied K’lira, sarcastically. She indicated a monitor at eye level. “We’re chasing down a transient contact, designated Tango-one. Try not to lose it, Nigel.” She patted his hand and vacated the chair.
Nigel favored the green Orion woman with a cocky smirk as he settled in at the station, cracked his knuckles and logged in. The smirk quickly faded and his brow furrowed as he called up various sensor sub-routines to try to glean more data from the contact. A dizzying amount of data poured across three display panels. As he pondered the significance of the data flow, he sensed someone standing behind him and he swallowed.
“Glad you could join us, Mr. Bane,” remarked Captain Akinola, dryly. “I do hope your duty shift isn’t keeping you from more pressing matters?”
“Ah, no sir, not at all.”
“Good, good. I’d hate to think that bridge duty is cramping your style. If it is, I can always arrange for you to spend your duty shifts in auxiliary control. Perhaps a couple of weeks of double-shifts there would help you to sort out your scheduling issues?”
Bane cleared his throat. “Message received sir. I, ah, shall endeavor to arrive earlier.”
Akinola clapped the Operations Officer on the shoulder, just a bit harder than necessary. “A prudent response, Mister Bane. Glad we had this little chat.”
The Captain made his way back to the command chair, settled in and gazed serenely at the viewscreen as stars trailed by while the cutter sped through subspace.
At the helm, Lt. Bralus tried very hard not to grin.
Bane quietly blew out a relieved breath. Just two hours in auxiliary control, aka “the hole,” was bad enough, but pulling doubles of 16 hours down there? He’d go stir-crazy in three days, four tops. Best to behave and show up a bit earlier for duty tomorrow . . . say half an hour.
The energy reading from the transient contact took his mind off of his time management issues. Frowning, he adjusted the sensor return filters and began muttering to himself.
“Anything you’d care to share with the rest of us, Mr. Bane?” queried Akinola. Bane had not realized he was muttering so loudly.
“Skipper, Tango-one is putting out an impressive amount of radiation; far more than should come from a natural body. Probability is high that our contact is a ship of some kind.”
“Yellow alert,” ordered Akinola, instantly. Maybe that intel about pirates wasn’t entirely bogus, he thought.
* * *
Inga Strauss had just stepped out of the sonic shower and slipped on her pajamas when the yellow alert announcement came over the ship’s comm system. Uttering something between a sigh and a groan, she began to unbutton her pajama top as she reached into her closet for a fresh uniform.
* * *
Senior Chief Solly Brin stepped off the turbo-lift and headed towards the tactical station. He nodded to Akinola who inclined his head in return. They had known each other so long that words of instruction were generally superfluous.
The red Orion NCO activated the cutter’s defensive array – purely precautionary but standard procedure for yellow alert status. A faint glow surrounded the cutter as the defensive shields came on line. Massive phase capacitors charged amidships, should the ship’s main batteries be required. On decks three forward and five aft, photon torpedoes were loaded into launch bays.
“Shields up, weapons on standby,” announced Solly. “All I need is a target.”
“Very well. Helm, drop us out of warp 2 A.U.s from the contact. I want room to maneuver until we get a firm I.D.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Bralus.
The turbo-lift doors opened and the ship’s new assistant engineer stepped onto the bridge. Lt. T’Lyr was a young Vulcan female, recently transferred from Star Station Bravo and the Second Squadron. Unlike their old comrade, T’Ser, Lt. T’Lyr was traditional to the core in her Vulcan upbringing and demeanor. Without a word, she took her seat at the engineering station and logged in.
Akinola suppressed a smile. He had served with Vulcans all his life but never one who tried so hard to be the ‘ideal’ Vulcan as this young woman.
“Good morning, Lt. T’Lyr,” greeted Akinola, “Where is Commander Gralt?”
T'Lyr made a graceful turn in her chair and fixed Akinola with an accusatory stare. “The Chief Engineer ordered me to get my ‘skinny butt’ to the bridge,” she replied with affronted dignity. “He then said he needed to watch the mains, lest the Captain pull, and I quote, ‘some Yarliq-assed stunt.’ . . . Sir.”
Akinola cleared his throat. “I see.” He stifled a sigh. Sometimes Gralt pushed the boundaries of propriety too far - even for a crusty Tellarite engineer.
“I’ll have a word with Gralt,” he promised.
“I would appreciate that, Captain,” T’Lyr replied, turning back to her station.
The lift doors opened again, heralding the arrival of Commander Strauss. She stepped down into the pit and stood by Akinola. He glanced at her askance.
“Couldn’t sleep, Commander?”
“Never got the chance, sir. I thought I might as well come back in case we go to red alert.”
“This may just be a wild-comet chase, XO.”
“I’ll hang around. There’s no way I could get to sleep now anyway.”
The Captain nodded. “We should know something shortly. Status report, Mr. Bane.”
“Tango-one is 18.7 kilometers long, tapered with a maximum circumference of 1,730 meters at the fore. The mass readings are odd – it has to be hollow on the inside.”
“It’s sounding less and less like an asteroid. It could be a comet,” observed Akinola.
“Not many comets traveling at point two-two cee, Skipper,” replied Bane. “And that radiation trail is strong enough to peel the paint off our hull at a thousand klicks without shields. I’ll wager Tango-one is a ship or I’ll eat Senior’s boots.”
“The hell you will,” grumbled Solly. “I like these boots.”
“I won’t take that bet, Mr. Bane,” replied Akinola. “Can we get a visual yet?”
Bane adjusted the resolution controls. “It will be grainy at this distance, but here goes . . .”
The main viewscreen shifted from a streaming starfield to a dark patch of space. At first, Akinola couldn’t see anything recognizable as a ship.
“Half a sec, Skipper,” announced Bane, “I need to compensate for the lack of starlight.”
Gradually, a long, dark object appeared on the screen. Strauss cocked her head to the side. “Looks kind of like a long mushroom that someone uprooted.”
Akinola had to admit that the XO’s description was about as good as any he could conjure. A large, flattened section like the cap of a mushroom made up the bow of the ship, if indeed it was a vessel. The rest of the mushroom-ship tapered aft in irregular fashion. Whoever built it wasn’t much on straight lines.
“Sure doesn’t look like a ship,” muttered Brin.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s not from around here,” said Akinola. “Mr. Bane, start hailing it as soon as we’re in range.”
“Captain? We’re coming up on 2 A.U.s from the object,” announced Lt. Bralus from the helm.
“Drop us out of warp, Mr. Bralus – ahead three quarters impulse, bring us to a parallel course with the contact. Keep us clear of that radiation trail.”
“Aye sir, ahead three-quarters. Adjusting course now.”
“Maximum image on the viewscreen, please.”
The strange craft grew both in size and detail on the screen. It was primarily dark brown in color, thought streaked in places with lighter hues. Whether this was a design element or caused by dust or meteorite collisions, no one on the bridge could tell. Prominent structural ribs surrounded the craft, providing some sense of symmetry that the earlier view lacked. There were no running lights, no obvious viewports or landing bays, and nothing recognizable as identifying marks. There were, however, numerous gouges and craters along the hull along with the obvious scars from energy weapons.
“Whatever it is, look like someone has used it for target practice,” murmured Strauss.
“Solly – threat assessment?” queried the Captain.
“They’ve got no shields and I’m not reading any kind of energy weapons. No signs of external weaponry of any kind for that matter. They might have internal missiles but there are no obvious launch-points. For now, threat level is low.”
“Mr. Bane, any life-signs?”
“That hull is denser than a Loosehead Prop’s skull, Skipper,” Bane replied, referencing his love for Australian rules football. “Get us in closer and I might be able to get a better reading.”
“You heard the man, Mr. Bralus. Let’s get within 2,500 kilometers but be ready for evasive maneuvers if they suddenly change course. That beast outweighs us a bit.”
The Bolian helmsman dutifully adjusted the cutter’s heading, bringing the Bluefin closer to the behemoth. From an outside perspective, the cutter looked like a minnow swimming alongside a whale.
“Any response to our hails?”
“No sir, not yet – no transmissions of any kind ‘cept for the radiation its trailin’. Seems that’s from their sublight drive, but I’d bet my boxers they’ve got engine troubles.”
“I always took you for a tighty-whitey guy, Lieutenant,” remarked Brin.
“Just on even days, Senior,” replied Bane. “On odd days I wear the boxers. Then on Saturdays, I like to go comman . . .”
“Mind your stations!” ordered Strauss stiffly, her face reddening slightly.
“I’ll second that, XO,” replied Akinola, failing to suppress a grin. “Lt. T’Lyr – any thoughts on what’s driving that ship?”
The Vulcan engineer turned and peered at the image of the massive vessel. “I tend to agree with Mr. Bane. Radiation levels are consistent with a damaged spike-drive, a primitive but sturdy system, usually fusion powered. There are no obvious warp nacelles but it’s possible that an annular warp drive ring is located in the periphery of the bow section. If so, it’s off-line and has been for some time.”
Akinola rubbed his chin as he considered this. “Perhaps it’s a derelict. A generational ship or . . .”
A sudden, ominous rumbling reverberated through the Bluefin’s hull. Numerous warning alarms sounded from the helm, ops and the engineering stations.
“Report!” barked Akinola.
“We’ve plowed into a massive gravity wave,” replied Bralus tightly as he fought with the controls to stabilize the ship.
“Confirmed,” added Bane. “128 standard gees and falling.”
“Structural integrity fields holding,” announced T’Lyr, her fingers flying over her LCARS interface. “No structural damage to the ship.”
“Increase our stand-off distance to 4,000 kilometers,” ordered the Captain. Even as he spoke, the shaking diminished and the Bluefin once more smoothly paced the massive, silent vessel.
“What just happened?” asked Commander Strauss, cautiously relinquishing her grip on the pit rail.
“My apologies, Commander,” answered T’Lyr. “Apparently the ship utilizes attenuating gravity fields for navigation. The spike-drive merely provides thrust. I regret my oversight.”
“Not your fault, Lieutenant,” replied Akinola quietly as he gazed at the alien vessel on the screen. “We’re all still in the dark about that ship.” He paused a moment in thought. “Mr. Bane, can you plot its origin?”
“Workin’ on it, Skipper. It’s left a bonzer track to follow, but it will still be a guess. She might have made several course changes from wherever she started. One other thing – while we were getting shaken like a rabbit by a wild Dingo, I detected faint life-signs on board.”
“Life signs?” pressed Akinola.
Bane wore an apologetic expression. “Sorry, Skipper. We moved off before I could get a focused reading. Someone or something’s alive on that ship, but I can’t tell you what or how many. Just a definite bio-electric signature.”
Strauss turned to him suddenly. “What about the ship’s heading, Nigel? Assuming they remain on their current course, where are they going?.”
“Easy enough to plot,” he said. “It seems they shifted a couple of degrees to starboard when we got a bit close. Might have been an evasive maneuver.”
“Or it may have been a planned course change,” pointed out Akinola.
“Or that – right enough, Skipper. Okay, got a course projection – assuming they don’t turn again. I’ll put it on the screen.”
Superimposed over the image of the ship appeared a stacked grid representing the Borderland region. A red line curved through the grid, straight through an undulating border marked with Imperial trefoils.
“Damn,” muttered Strauss.
“Damn indeed,” agreed the Captain.
Unless the alien vessel made a radical course change, it would head straight into the heart of the Klingon Empire.
* * *
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(The ball's in your court, Sam!)
