Chapter Four
Bridge
Location: Classified
Power throughout the ship had been cut back to minimum, to the point that the lighting was barely enough for her to see the viewscreen five meters in front of her chair or hear the atmospheric processors cycle clean air. But it needed to be this way, they couldn’t risk being discovered—their mission was too important. Despite the significance of the operation, the likelihood that they would never see home again, even she wasn’t fully aware of the full details. She didn’t even know if they were alone or if others would be on their own trajectory, which meant she didn’t know if there would be anyone else to complete the mission should the worst happen and they were stopped.
She shook her head. She couldn’t dwell on such thoughts; her focus had to be on their success—at any cost. She and her crew of sixteen were all ready and willing to give their lives for the cause, knowing it would bring a brighter future. They may not have the chance to enjoy the fruits of their labour, but they all took comfort in knowing that their actions would secure it for all others.
The thought made her smile and quietened her busy mind.
A chirp from the helm caught her attention. The helmsman looked over the readouts then looked back at her.
“We’ve passed the outer marker. Another eighty hours to target.”
She nodded. Eighty hours and they would be in orbit, then all they needed to do was wait for the signal—their only radio contact from headquarters—once they received it then they would begin, and bring about a new order.
* * * * *
Bridge, U.S.S. Pathfinder
G-765-4D, Dozaria Sector
Jurex’s head was pounding as she opened her eyes to murky darkness. Taking a deep breath, she coughed as bitter smoke filled her dry throat but didn’t let that stop her. Pushing herself to her feet she quickly looked around at the battered bridge, though the momentary fear she felt eased as she saw numerous others starting to move, coughing and groaning.
“Report!” she croaked, making her way towards the consoles at the front of the deck, where the Captain had last been standing.
Lieutenant Ngo was clambering back into his seat, but Taua was slumped beside her seat, gasping. Jurex stopped beside the Lothran and crouched down to assess her condition, which was clearly displayed on the display on her right breast. Several indicators were in the red with others dropping fast, which meant her suit was compromised.
She slapped her combadge. “Medical team to the bridge.”
“Internal comm is offline,” stated Ngo, “I’m rerouting.”
Taua’s eyes fluttered open and almost immediately she knew something was wrong, her expression one of panic as her mouth gapped, trying to draw in a breath.
“Try to stay calm, Lieutenant. Your suit has been compromised and self-repair system looks to have been damaged as well. We’ll get help for you very soon,” she assured the younger woman.
She shot Ngo a sharp look, but he was still working fervidly.
Someone appeared on the other side of the conn officer, setting down a medkit (one specially outfitted with equipment for her unique physiology). Jurex glanced up and felt a flood of relief to see Reihyn by her side, as he opened the kit and she pulled out the tricorder.
“I’ve got shipwide comlink bypassed, it’ll be patchy but it’s the best I can do.”
“Jurex to sickbay. We have a medical emergency on the bridge.”
“A team is on the way,” replied Doctor Ad’u.
“Sir, we’ve got massive damage throughout the ship. Main systems are either barely functioning or unresponsive, secondary and emergency backups are in the same condition. We’ve also got multiple hull breaches and fractures. I’m amazed we’re still in one piece.”
Reihyn stood up as she scanned the junior lieutenant. “I need facts, Lieutenant. Breach locations and severity. DC response. Casualties.”
“Aye sir, I’m trying to compile all that now, but the main computer is barely operational.”
As she located the worst of the tears in Taua’s envirosuit and applied an emergency sealant, which would at least keep her condition form worsening, Reihyn headed aft. She listened to him as she focused her mind on helping to keep Taua calm.
“Commander, what hit us?” he asked Moq, who stood at tactical once again, cradling his left arm.
“I don’t know, sir. There was nothing on sensors, definitely no ships.”
“Some form of booby trap, then—mines perhaps?”
“Even cloaked, mines can’t pass through our shields,” stated the Tellarite, though with something in his voice that caught her attention. She looked up to the freestanding console behind the command arena. She saw him scowl and quickly start entering commands.
“Before I was thrown from my station, I did see something on the sensor display,” he explained as he tried to access the damaged computer.
Just then the turbolift opened and a medical team entered, comprising of two corpsmen and two security guards, pushing anti-grav gurneys. She waved one of the medics towards her, as the other headed to another injured crewman at the aft consoles.
Senior Chief Petty Officer K3 Brown scuttled over to them, her attention immediately drawn to the distressed officer on the deck, making soft, soothing clicks as she aimed her tricorder at the flight controller.
“Her suit has been damaged, auto-repair isn’t responding, nor is the purge system. Internal atmosphere has been compromised and at dangerous levels,” Jurex told the non-com.
“Thank you, Commander, I’ll take care of her. You have other things to address.”
She gave the senior chief a nod and slipped into Taua’s vacant console, she could assess their situation first hand, provide support for Ngo and try to work on answers directly. Beside her, Taua was lifted onto one of the gurneys and whisked towards the lift.
“I’ve got it,” said Moq, after what had felt like hours. “Sensors registered multiple phase shifts. It looks like we were in a field of cloaked mines, though no normal cloaks. I’d say they were out of phase, at least enough to pass through our shields.”
“Phased-cloaked mines,” Reihyn thought aloud.
The operations officer in Jurex was immediately intrigued by the notion of such technology, but this wasn’t the time or place she reminded herself, as she tried the patch the navigational controls back to the helm, so she could at least learn where they were.
“Captain,” Ngo called out, “we’ve got hull breaches on decks four, six, seven, eleven, eighteen, nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three and twenty-five, as well as A and B decks of the pod. Emergency forcefields are at fifty percent in the engineering section and no higher than twenty in the saucer, but the pod is open to space. Bulkheads have sealed off affected sections up there. I’ve not heard anything from three of our damage control teams, but the others have all been dispatched.” He paused for a moment, swallowing heavily. “Injury reports from all decks, sickbay estimates at least three hundred and thirty crewmembers are wounded, though no indication as to severity. Nineteen confirmed dead. Forty-one are unaccounted for at present.”
Jurex cast a look at the ops manager then back at the Rigellian-Enex. Though she was trying hard to keep her metal barriers up, just as she did in all emergency situations, it didn’t take a telepath to sense the anguish that came from him. Reihyn fought tooth and nail to keep his crew safe, taking any loss to heart—it was something some may have seen as a failing but, to her at least, his unyielding commitment and dedication to his crew was something she had always admired.
Including Lieutenant Texil’Vehn’s newest arrivals, the crew complement of the Pathfinder had stood at 761. Now, sixty were either dead or missing and almost half of those who’d survived were in need of medical attention. Things couldn’t get much worse.
Her bypass for the navcomp came to lift with an alarm. Looking at the external sensor readings, she immediately kicked herself for jinxing them.
“Sir,” she started, trying to keep her tone level, “our momentum and trajectory will take us into the atmosphere of the planet in under a minute.”
“Can you stop us, Commander?” he asked, his voice hollow, as though he already knew the answer.
She shook her head. “Impulse, thrusters and helm control are all inoperative, sir.”
All eyes shifted to the Captain, who stood beside tactical, well aware of the situation they were in and the burden that was on his shoulders. He took a single deep breath. “Commander, take Ngo, Patel, Reese and ch’Thuun below and help with repairs. Focus on propulsion, even if it’s enough to level our descent so we won’t burn up in the atmosphere, as well as subspace communications and external sensors. Kusanagi, Martino, you’re at ops and conn. I’ll co-ordinate from here. We just need to get to limping, then we can try to figure out how to get out of here.”
“Aye Captain,” she confirmed, trying to project the same strength and resolve he did.
* * * * *
Operations Centre, Deep Space 10
Yaren System, Lazon Sector
Kara Drezner had always had a knack for tuning out background noise and focusing on what she needed too, growing up the oldest of nine had made it a necessity if she’d wanted to get any studying done. It was a skill that had seen her ace every exam in school and then on to Starfleet Academy, and seen her in good stead during her career in Intel. So even in the middle of the din that was the ops centre, she was able to stay on task with practiced ease.
She sat at the command table, in the middle of the maelstrom, with a sector display on her monitor as she accessed the stations communications array directly. As the strategic operations officer, it was her responsibility to keep apprised of all ship movement in the space surrounding DS10, so her display tracked all Starfleet, Federation, Cardassian, and all other species ships—though her security clearance, from her days as a pure intelligence operative, gave her access to far more information on those ships than anyone else onboard, including Captain Jachim. She knew exactly what class and type of ship each blinking icon was.
There was no sign of the Cardassian Alliance yet, other than one of the freighters heading out to Kohbeeria, though she knew it wouldn’t be long before the Alliance did dispatch a cruiser or warship. The Keldon Empire’s deployment along the border remained unchanged. Whilst there were fifteen non-aligned or neutral ships within their sensor perimeter, none of which were making any unusual movement. Whilst all reports from along the Breen frontier stated that the Confederacy was remaining quiet, just as they had done for the last five years.
As for Starfleet forces, they were spread somewhat thin on the far side of the former Union. The closest was the Resilient, just over an hour out, but with a Federation Councillor onboard they would have standing orders to remain out of any tactical operations unless absolutely necessary, which meant the station couldn’t rely on her for defence. There were two Sabre’s that could reach the station in eight hours and the Akira-Class Griffin would be on site twenty minutes before the Cardassians arrived, after which the next ship to arrive wouldn’t be for another fourteen hours. Whilst only another two ships were within two days travel of the station, even the Pathfinder, once she went to maximum warp, would still be at least three days away.
That was if she could contact the task force flagship.
Worry was trying to get it’s icy talons around her stomach, but she kept it at bay, after all there were any number of reasons why the ship wouldn’t be answering hails, with only a few of them being something seriously wrong. But still, a whisper echoed from the darkest recesses of her mind.
She turned to face Van Heerden. “Johannes, are we having any problems with the comm on our end?”
With a narrowing of his piercing blue eyes, the closest he got to showing annoyance, the communications officer quickly looked over the system diagnostic. After a pause he looked back at her. “The last routine check showed everything to be fully functional. Is there a problem?”
“I’m having trouble contacting the Pathfinder,” she admitted.
Van Heerden slipped his earpiece in place and tried himself, his hands deftly moving over the controls, trying every frequency and bandwidth far quicker than she’d be able too. But all his efforts came up short as well.
“The last report we got from them said, they were altering course to answer a badly distorted distress call,” he said, glancing at the communications log. “There may be some form of disruption in the system that impacts subspace signals, which could account for the poor condition of the emergency broadcast.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted, not sounding overly convinced. “Thanks for trying. I’ll keep at it.”
“There is a subspace buoy a few light-years from their last reported position. I can try to boost its output from here; that might cut through any regional interference—though it may take a couple of hours.”
“That’d be appreciated.”
“You got it.”
Drezner turned back to her display, though still didn’t feel right. She tapped on her sector display and zoomed in on the Pathfinder’s last known location, looking for any ship near to them that could be able to relay a message. The first one she saw was a Ferengi merchantman, though didn’t hold out much hope of them being overly helpful in the situation, but as she looked a little further away she located a Starfleet vessel on patrol along Breen space.
When she called up the data on the vessel Drezner smirked. I couldn’t be more fortunate, she told herself as she opened up the communications system again.
* * * * *
Bridge, U.S.S. Orion
Breen Border, Dozaria Sector
Commander Vincent Okonedo sat in the command chair, legs casually crossed, as he finished off his Romulan vadha root tea—a beverage he’d quickly developed a taste for after the trading embargo had been lifted. It had a sharp, bitter taste, and gave him a far greater boost than any coffee, even the strongest raktajino the replicator had on offer. It was an acquired taste, though not one most stuck with to appreciate, as such there weren’t many others who liked it—other than Romulans of course.
Though they were on patrol of Breen space, since the last great incident involving the secretive Confederacy in late 2380, they had withdrawn to their old borders and not made a peep since. Some were of course worried that they were simply biding time to regroup and strike out once again, but Okonedo was always a ‘glass half full’ sort so chose to enjoy the quiet whilst it existed.
He swirled the last mouthful of the indigo coloured liquid in the bottom of his mug, before lifting it to his lips and savouring it, smacking his lips appreciatively once it was finished.
“Enjoy that, Vin?” Counsellor Linnis asked from the seat on his left.
Okonedo flashed a wide grin at the Ocampa, the first of her race to enter Starfleet since they’d arrived in the Alpha Quadrant eight years ago. “How could you tell?”
“You’re not a hard person to read.”
He chuckled, admiring the young junior lieutenant’s flawless face, pixie-like haircut and pointed ears. A lot about her reminded him of Enan Lanalli, which automatically made him think about how lucky his best friend and former roommate, Alek Jachim, was. Though he’d never seen himself as the marrying type, Okonedo would have considered it with Enan—or someone like her.
Quickly, he shook his head. The last thing he needed was a relationship with the ship’s counsellor, even if she was smart, beautiful, with a wondrous outlook on life, a smile that lit up any room—
Knock it off! he scorned himself.
Abruptly he stood and headed over to the replicator with his empty mug to recycle it. With a hum, it vanished into thin air. He turned back to the centre of the bridge and decided that he needed to stretch his legs a little, so began to wander from station to station, checking in with each of the crewmembers, all of whom he knew personally, many having served onboard for a number of years. Having been onboard for the last decade, he’d seen many faces come and go, fortunately most were still out there somewhere, living their own lives—hopefully enjoying where they’d wound up.
Ten years ago, had he been told that he would be the Orion’s first officer, he would have laughed. He’d never been that interested in chasing command—that was definitely more Alek’s dream—as he had only ever wanted to be a science officer. But after he’d been promoted to second officer, he’d found himself enjoying the new challenge the role presented, so when the Captain had offered him the open billet of XO, he’d agreed.
He was just approaching ops when Ensign Naomi Wildman, the chief operations officer, looked up at him, a soft scowl on her horned brow.
“Sir, we’re receiving a priority signal from Deep Space Ten.”
Before he could reply, the turbolift beside her console opened and the Captain stepped onto the bridge—her timing immaculate as always. She took one quick look at their faces and knew something was up.
“Problem?” Captain D’Kehra asked, looking at him.
“Priority channel from DS10, Cap.”
She looked at Wildman. “Onscreen.”
As the image of the star field vanished, D’Kehra moved to the banister behind the command area. Okonedo by her side as Lieutenant Commander Drezner’s face appeared, an unusual look on her typically composed visage.
“Commander, what’s wrong?” began D’Kehra, all business—which was out of character for her as well.
“Captain, it may be nothing, but we’re unable to contact the Pathfinder. I’m sending you through their last known position, the heading they were on, as well as their ultimate destination. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be something to be overly concerned about, but we have a situation developing here for which we may need the flagship.”
D’Kehra glanced at Wildman, who nodded as the data transmission was received.
As she focused on the viewscreen again, Okonedo moved to join the half-Ktarian as she looked over the information they’d been sent. There wasn’t much to look through, especially nothing that might have given some indication as to what had happened to the Nebula-Class ship.
“Don’t worry, we’ll see what’s keeping them and lend a hand if needed.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“We’ll be in touch. Orion out.”
The green-skinned Orion turned from the viewscreen as the streaks of stars once more filled the display. Okonedo had already transferred the co-ordinates to the helm, so all they were waiting for was D’Kehra to give the order.
“What does it look like to the two of you?”
He shared a look with Wildman, who shrugged slightly, then turned back to the Captain. “From what I can see there’s nothing that should interfere with communications, at least nothing from these readings. This is either a technical fault with the Pathfinder, or something serious has happened to them.”
“Agreed. I want a full analysis of the system, see what we can determine from here. Once we arrive, we’ll go in at red alert and be ready for anything.”
“You got it, Captain.”
D’Kehra turned to the conn. “Endaro, alter our heading and take us to maximum warp.”
* * * * *
