Ninth Hour
USS Bluefin
Deck 8
Nigel Bane’s forced humor evaporated quickly as he descended through the carnage of the once proud border cutter. Instead of damage control parties making repairs or even crew members in need of assistance, he only found death and devastation.
His E-Suit warned that radiation levels were about to exceed the limits of protection the suit could provide. His footing was unsure as some of the gravity plating had failed. Debris and signs of destruction was everywhere. Power had failed on Deck 8, so he relied on his helmet lights and failing emergency lighting to make his way. Progress was slow and hazardous.
More than once, he considered turning around and making his way back to the relative safety of the primary hull . . . “relative” being the operative word as system failures were beginning to cascade. If the shields protecting the primary hull failed or if the structural integrity fields weakened further, well . . .
But Bane did not turn back. Even if one person was left alive below decks, he would not abandon them.
“Suck it up, Nigel. You’re a Border Dog. It’s what we do,” he reminded himself.
Deck 9
Senior Chief Solly Brin managed to extricate himself from the armory remnant, only to discover that the corridor outside was open to space. The flight deck was shredded and engineering was simply gone.
He took a moment to take in the devastation. The Red Orion NCO allowed emotions to flow into a deep place, out of touch for now. A calmness similar to battle fever enveloped him, only without the lust for violence. He had experienced this calm many times before during countless rescue missions.
Only this time, the victims were his shipmates, comrades in arms. But feelings were a hindrance to his mission - find and help survivors first, then discover what had happened to cripple the Bluefin.
It was apparent he was the sole survivor on deck 9, but he would check to be doubly sure. Then he would move upwards, level by level, checking every nook and cranny.
Border Dogs did not leave their own behind.
USS Kittiwake
Bridge
With force of sheer will, Captain Destrehan refrained from drumming her fingers on the arm of her command chair. The Kittiwake had been at warp 9.3 since receiving the news that Bluefin was in trouble. Maximum safe warp for the Albacore-class was 9.1. Lt. Commander Ferris had contacted the bridge twice about over-stressing the engines. The second time, Destrehan had read the Chief Engineer the riot act. They would not reduce speed until they reached their wounded sister ship and her crew!
Privately, Destrehan felt bad about her heated reply to Ferris, but she also knew time was against them. She would apologize later, publicly.
But she knew that Joseph Akinola would fly through the seven levels of hell to rescue Kittiwake if the situation was reversed.
She would not let him and Bluefin’s crew down.
If there was anyone left to rescue.
“I’ve got a strong tracking signal from Bluefin’s disaster buoy,” announced the XO, Commander Townsend. “We’re right on track.”
Kittiwake had already entered the leading edge of the ion storm. Staying at emergency warp would be a moot point shortly.
“Anything on Bluefin?” queried the Captain.
There was a marked hesitation that caused Destrehan to turn toward Ops where Townsend was analyzing the sensor readings. The Albacore-class cutters had incredibly sensitive sensor suites, but even these were hampered by ionic surges.
The buxom Executive Officer, glanced back at the Captain, an expression of deep concern on her face. “Readings are degraded due to the storm, but . . .” Townsend hesitated. “There are indications of a debris field consisting of tritanium, aiuminum, deuterium, and trace gases consistent with the standard atmosphere of a starship.”
Destrehan felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. Nonetheless, she maintained her stony expression. “Understood. Have rescue crews standing by on our Stallions, ready to launch on my order.”
USS Bluefin
Deck 8
Lt. Bane stared in wonder at the massive hole in the ship’s hull. He had rounded the corridor, checking rooms but finding no survivors, only several dead crew members. Most had died of asphyxiation when the hull was breached and emergency shields failed.
Now the deadly breach was right in front of him. The beautiful / horrible miasma of the ion storm raged silently in his view. A warning signal from his E-Suit indicated rising levels of radiation. Unlike the hard suits, the E-Suits were not as robust, especially against hard radiation.
The hole extended into the deck itself, creating a gulf between the rest of the deck and where he now stood.
Bane considered the distance. There was no gravity where he now stood, auto-magnets in his boots securing him to the deck. It was reasonable to assume that the same was true on the other side of the gap. He’d only managed to search about half the deck thus far.
He was under no illusions that he would find any survivors. Yet, there was always a possibility that someone donned an E-Suit or found a space where some atmosphere remained.
* * *
Gravimetric shear is a fancy term to describe a rogue wave of densely charged particles. They can appear with little warning during ion storms. The stronger the storm, the stronger the wave.
Normally, a well-shielded, sturdily built vessel like a border cutter can fly through gravimetric shear by presenting the narrowest cross section, usually bow-on, with little or no problems. The hull might rumble and the ship might creak and shake, but actual damage is generally avoided.
For a crippled, partially shielded ship with no sensors, failing inertial dampeners, and no propulsion, the results are certain to be much worse.
As they were for Lt. Nigel Bane.
The dense wave of ionic particles hit Bluefin with a force equivalent to a 40% powerlevel phaser beam from another cutter. On a ship with full shields, the effect would be negligible. But for the 80 year old cutter, it was the death knell. The breach before Lt. Bane widened and a large section of Deck 8 tore away. The violent twisting of the deck under Bane’s feet dislodged his boots from the deck, but momentum was already carrying him outside the ship, exposing him to hellish radiation. The unarmored E-Suit provided almost no protection from the concentrated wave of particles. The intensity flash-fried the Australian Operations Officer, much like the victim of a nuclear explosion at ground zero. Mercifully, Bane experienced no pain in the moment his body was vaporized.
There was one other living being on Deck 8. Senior Chief Brin had just made his way there and was about to exit the ladder alcove. He managed to hang on as the gravimetric shear hammered the ship and his hard suit protected him from the radiation burst.
It did not spare him from witnessing Bane’s death, for as the Lieutenant was pulled into the maelstrom, his body twisted and the Human and Orion made eye contact for an instant.
Solly Brin seldom experienced helplessness, but there was nothing he could do to save Bane. No one heard Brin's roar of frustration as he pounded an interior support member with enough force to bend it.
* * *
SS Forty-Niner
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” The voice was both distant and near. Miller frowned.
“Am I dead?” she wondered. “And if so, why am I being questioned in the afterlife.”
“Kenny, hand me that hypo-spray.” A pause. “Thanks.”
Miller felt a slight pressure on her arm followed by a hiss. Almost immediately, the pain that permeated her battered and bruised body began to retreat. She was able to inhale deeply and the fog in her brain receded.
She blinked and her eyes began to focus.
A Human woman with freckles and white hair was looking down at her with concern. She wore a Starfleet uniform with blue trim and the two pips on her collar indicated a Lieutenant. The woman smiled as Tyna opened her eyes.
“There you are!” she said, obviously pleased. The Starfleet officer glanced toward someone out of Miller’s view. “I'm telling you Kenny, Tri-ox and Cotonovin are the best things in the galaxy for a hangover. File that away for future reference!”
“Yes ma’am,” replied the unseen Kenny with a chuckle.
“How are you feeling?” asked the Lieutenant, her attention returning to Miller. “Looks like you’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“Like I’ve been sucked through a black hole and spit out the other side,” she rasped. It began to dawn on her that she was indeed still alive, as impossible as that might seem.
“Where are my manners?” exclaimed the Starfleet officer. “I’m Physician’s Assistant Alana Feldman and that’s Corpsman Keneth Strong.” The Corpsman finally moved into Miller’s field of view, a young looking, dark-skinned man. He was folding up a medical kit.
“We’re from the Starship Guanabara,” Feldman continued. “Your distress call was relayed to us from the Border Service. We’ve already transported your Tellarite friend to our sickbay. He was in a bad way, but our CMO is a wizard, so his chances are good.”
“But . . . you can’t use a transporter in an ion storm,” protested Miller.
Feldman smiled. “True enough, but you were no longer in the storm. It seems that when your warp core exploded after it was ejected, the shock wave pushed your ship clear. You were very lucky!”
Miller thought about her dead shipmates. “Yeah, we had all the luck,” she muttered.
USS Bluefin
Deck 8
Nigel Bane’s forced humor evaporated quickly as he descended through the carnage of the once proud border cutter. Instead of damage control parties making repairs or even crew members in need of assistance, he only found death and devastation.
His E-Suit warned that radiation levels were about to exceed the limits of protection the suit could provide. His footing was unsure as some of the gravity plating had failed. Debris and signs of destruction was everywhere. Power had failed on Deck 8, so he relied on his helmet lights and failing emergency lighting to make his way. Progress was slow and hazardous.
More than once, he considered turning around and making his way back to the relative safety of the primary hull . . . “relative” being the operative word as system failures were beginning to cascade. If the shields protecting the primary hull failed or if the structural integrity fields weakened further, well . . .
But Bane did not turn back. Even if one person was left alive below decks, he would not abandon them.
“Suck it up, Nigel. You’re a Border Dog. It’s what we do,” he reminded himself.
Deck 9
Senior Chief Solly Brin managed to extricate himself from the armory remnant, only to discover that the corridor outside was open to space. The flight deck was shredded and engineering was simply gone.
He took a moment to take in the devastation. The Red Orion NCO allowed emotions to flow into a deep place, out of touch for now. A calmness similar to battle fever enveloped him, only without the lust for violence. He had experienced this calm many times before during countless rescue missions.
Only this time, the victims were his shipmates, comrades in arms. But feelings were a hindrance to his mission - find and help survivors first, then discover what had happened to cripple the Bluefin.
It was apparent he was the sole survivor on deck 9, but he would check to be doubly sure. Then he would move upwards, level by level, checking every nook and cranny.
Border Dogs did not leave their own behind.
USS Kittiwake
Bridge
With force of sheer will, Captain Destrehan refrained from drumming her fingers on the arm of her command chair. The Kittiwake had been at warp 9.3 since receiving the news that Bluefin was in trouble. Maximum safe warp for the Albacore-class was 9.1. Lt. Commander Ferris had contacted the bridge twice about over-stressing the engines. The second time, Destrehan had read the Chief Engineer the riot act. They would not reduce speed until they reached their wounded sister ship and her crew!
Privately, Destrehan felt bad about her heated reply to Ferris, but she also knew time was against them. She would apologize later, publicly.
But she knew that Joseph Akinola would fly through the seven levels of hell to rescue Kittiwake if the situation was reversed.
She would not let him and Bluefin’s crew down.
If there was anyone left to rescue.
“I’ve got a strong tracking signal from Bluefin’s disaster buoy,” announced the XO, Commander Townsend. “We’re right on track.”
Kittiwake had already entered the leading edge of the ion storm. Staying at emergency warp would be a moot point shortly.
“Anything on Bluefin?” queried the Captain.
There was a marked hesitation that caused Destrehan to turn toward Ops where Townsend was analyzing the sensor readings. The Albacore-class cutters had incredibly sensitive sensor suites, but even these were hampered by ionic surges.
The buxom Executive Officer, glanced back at the Captain, an expression of deep concern on her face. “Readings are degraded due to the storm, but . . .” Townsend hesitated. “There are indications of a debris field consisting of tritanium, aiuminum, deuterium, and trace gases consistent with the standard atmosphere of a starship.”
Destrehan felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. Nonetheless, she maintained her stony expression. “Understood. Have rescue crews standing by on our Stallions, ready to launch on my order.”
USS Bluefin
Deck 8
Lt. Bane stared in wonder at the massive hole in the ship’s hull. He had rounded the corridor, checking rooms but finding no survivors, only several dead crew members. Most had died of asphyxiation when the hull was breached and emergency shields failed.
Now the deadly breach was right in front of him. The beautiful / horrible miasma of the ion storm raged silently in his view. A warning signal from his E-Suit indicated rising levels of radiation. Unlike the hard suits, the E-Suits were not as robust, especially against hard radiation.
The hole extended into the deck itself, creating a gulf between the rest of the deck and where he now stood.
Bane considered the distance. There was no gravity where he now stood, auto-magnets in his boots securing him to the deck. It was reasonable to assume that the same was true on the other side of the gap. He’d only managed to search about half the deck thus far.
He was under no illusions that he would find any survivors. Yet, there was always a possibility that someone donned an E-Suit or found a space where some atmosphere remained.
* * *
Gravimetric shear is a fancy term to describe a rogue wave of densely charged particles. They can appear with little warning during ion storms. The stronger the storm, the stronger the wave.
Normally, a well-shielded, sturdily built vessel like a border cutter can fly through gravimetric shear by presenting the narrowest cross section, usually bow-on, with little or no problems. The hull might rumble and the ship might creak and shake, but actual damage is generally avoided.
For a crippled, partially shielded ship with no sensors, failing inertial dampeners, and no propulsion, the results are certain to be much worse.
As they were for Lt. Nigel Bane.
The dense wave of ionic particles hit Bluefin with a force equivalent to a 40% powerlevel phaser beam from another cutter. On a ship with full shields, the effect would be negligible. But for the 80 year old cutter, it was the death knell. The breach before Lt. Bane widened and a large section of Deck 8 tore away. The violent twisting of the deck under Bane’s feet dislodged his boots from the deck, but momentum was already carrying him outside the ship, exposing him to hellish radiation. The unarmored E-Suit provided almost no protection from the concentrated wave of particles. The intensity flash-fried the Australian Operations Officer, much like the victim of a nuclear explosion at ground zero. Mercifully, Bane experienced no pain in the moment his body was vaporized.
There was one other living being on Deck 8. Senior Chief Brin had just made his way there and was about to exit the ladder alcove. He managed to hang on as the gravimetric shear hammered the ship and his hard suit protected him from the radiation burst.
It did not spare him from witnessing Bane’s death, for as the Lieutenant was pulled into the maelstrom, his body twisted and the Human and Orion made eye contact for an instant.
Solly Brin seldom experienced helplessness, but there was nothing he could do to save Bane. No one heard Brin's roar of frustration as he pounded an interior support member with enough force to bend it.
* * *
SS Forty-Niner
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” The voice was both distant and near. Miller frowned.
“Am I dead?” she wondered. “And if so, why am I being questioned in the afterlife.”
“Kenny, hand me that hypo-spray.” A pause. “Thanks.”
Miller felt a slight pressure on her arm followed by a hiss. Almost immediately, the pain that permeated her battered and bruised body began to retreat. She was able to inhale deeply and the fog in her brain receded.
She blinked and her eyes began to focus.
A Human woman with freckles and white hair was looking down at her with concern. She wore a Starfleet uniform with blue trim and the two pips on her collar indicated a Lieutenant. The woman smiled as Tyna opened her eyes.
“There you are!” she said, obviously pleased. The Starfleet officer glanced toward someone out of Miller’s view. “I'm telling you Kenny, Tri-ox and Cotonovin are the best things in the galaxy for a hangover. File that away for future reference!”
“Yes ma’am,” replied the unseen Kenny with a chuckle.
“How are you feeling?” asked the Lieutenant, her attention returning to Miller. “Looks like you’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“Like I’ve been sucked through a black hole and spit out the other side,” she rasped. It began to dawn on her that she was indeed still alive, as impossible as that might seem.
“Where are my manners?” exclaimed the Starfleet officer. “I’m Physician’s Assistant Alana Feldman and that’s Corpsman Keneth Strong.” The Corpsman finally moved into Miller’s field of view, a young looking, dark-skinned man. He was folding up a medical kit.
“We’re from the Starship Guanabara,” Feldman continued. “Your distress call was relayed to us from the Border Service. We’ve already transported your Tellarite friend to our sickbay. He was in a bad way, but our CMO is a wizard, so his chances are good.”
“But . . . you can’t use a transporter in an ion storm,” protested Miller.
Feldman smiled. “True enough, but you were no longer in the storm. It seems that when your warp core exploded after it was ejected, the shock wave pushed your ship clear. You were very lucky!”
Miller thought about her dead shipmates. “Yeah, we had all the luck,” she muttered.
