[Captain_Hair]

Read the previous Aldrin stories: The Enemy Within and Diplomatic Protocol



STAR TREK: ALDRIN
-3-
Shadows in the Darkness
Derek Kessler

1

Starfleet Armaments Production Facility
Oceanus Procellarum
Luna, Earth, Sol System, Sector 001
20:32 Hours, July 8th, 2375
Stardate 52517.365608

The bright light of the red alert caught Commander Watkins’s attention a split second before the klaxon sounded. He jumped from his desk chair in the SAPF Commander’s Office, slapping the communicator on his chest, “Watkins to Security!”

“Sir,” The security office for the weapons facility answered, “We’ve just received a communiqué from Command: a Breen fleet has broken through the perimeter defenses and is on a direct course for Earth.”

“What’s our shield status?” Watkins asked. He looked over his shoulder at the window, noting the new bright dots in space over the stark gray lunar landscape. And they were growing.

“The primary generators are still offline for maintenance, we’ve activated the secondaries, but I doubt they’ll hold up for long if we’re attacked.”

“Notify Command of our situation,” he ordered, “Watkins out.” The commander ran out the door of his office, immediately landing on a catwalk that stretched across the kilometer-wide production dome. A maze of sealed assembly lines filled the floor below and reached up towards the catwalk, pumping out hundreds of quantum torpedoes and Type-XI shipboard phaser emitters each day. The normally brightly lit dome was darkened and filled with spinning red siren lights. An observation room hung from the apex of the dome, connected to Watkins’s office by the catwalk.

The observation door opened as Watkins approached. He ran in, “Shut down the lines!”

“What’s going on?” The Denobulan coordinating the production inside shouted over the alarm.

“A Breen fleet’s headed for Earth!” Watkins yelled, “Our shields are down, so our antimatter production and storage–”

“I understand!” The Denobulan yelled back. More alarms went off, followed by a massive chest-thumping explosion. Watkins looked through the windows of the observation room, watching as white fire tore through the dome’s production lines. “We’re losing containment!” Everything went white.

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
18:31 Hours, May 5th, 2380
Stardate 57341.793850

Clark couldn’t help but laugh at the appearance of the Norax. Everything from their ships to their body structure was completely unintimidating. Their ship was obviously older than its commander, retrofitted several times, but apparently never refurbished. The result was a formerly sleek warp craft that had been melded with emerging technologies that weren’t designed with aesthetics in mind. Exposed conduits crossed from heavily modified warp nacelles to the main hull, undoubtedly reducing the overall warp efficiency of the ship. The hull was an elongated saucer in design, with a small depression in both the top and bottom. The original components were painted a pastel blue, but had since been covered by the raw additions to the ship. Weapons were clearly not part of the original design and were now mounted in long silver cylinders that were literally bolted onto the pylons connecting the outboard warp nacelles to the hull.

The Norax themselves resembled the Tellarites of the Alpha Quadrant. They were shorter than the average humanoid, about a meter and a quarter tall, had wrinkled faces that were hid by clumps of speckled brown fur, and spoke with a rough voice. However, the Norax had not yet exhibited the aggressive tendencies of the Tellarites, instead they seemed almost pacifistic in nature. Similarly, their economic development appeared to have been benign in pace, as their warp capability was a surprise discovery in a mostly agrarian society. Their society was surprisingly poor for a warp capable species, as was such, their exploration programs were very limited in scope. Only the launch of warp probes by the Norax had alerted Starfleet scientists to the existence of an advanced civilization in the area.

It was detection of warp signatures in Sector 3411 that promoted Starfleet Command to order the Aldrin to the area to find and make first contact with the originator of the signals. Comparative long-range analysis of the warp signatures confirmed that the Norax vessel was the source, and Clark made the decision to approach and hail. The Norax responded immediately, excited to have made first contact with an alien species, apparently a first for them. Clark feared that if the Dominion wasn’t still busy battling their mystery enemy, the Norax would be on their ‘to conquer’ list. He had elected not to inform these fledgling space travelers of the instability and danger of their stellar neighborhood. At least, not yet.

Clark was slouching in his chair on the bridge, waiting for the Norax to repair their subspace transceiver. They’d been in the middle of discussing the structure of the Federation when the Norax subspace communications system had collapsed. Nearly an hour had passed since the failure, and Clark was growing weary of staring at the unappealing Norax vessel. He had high hopes that the rest of their society wasn’t as disjointed as this ship and its crew. Dr. Cochrane and the Norax ship’s physician, or close approximation thereof, were working on environmental settings that would provide comfort to both species, but progress was limited due to the Norax requirement of breathing methane. R’Mor reported, “We’re being hailed.”

“It’s about time,” Jensen groaned.

Clark nodded and stood up, “I’ll say. On screen.” He tugged down on this uniform jacket.

The Norax commander, a cheerful man named Kire, greeted Clark, “Captain, please forgive me, that’s never happened before.”

Toq’bae coughed at the back of the bridge, covering a laugh.

Apparently Kire had heard, “That didn’t sound too good. You may want to get him down to your doctor.”

Clark smiled, “We’ll get him taken care of.”

R’Mor’s console suddenly beeped. Clark turned in reaction as the Romulan reported, “An unidentified vessel has entered sensor range.”

Clark looked back to Kire, “Commander, do you mind?”

“Oh no,” Kire shook his head and smiled, “We’ll pick this up later.” The viewscreen changed to a view of the Norax vessel.

Clark sat in his command chair as Jensen ordered, “On screen.” The viewscreen displayed an expansive starfield. “Magnify.” The screen zoomed into the center of the image, enlarging the picture. The form of the vessel – cigar shaped hull and wide armored wings – was immediately recognized as that they’d fought just two weeks earlier in nebula FAS-N433.

Murphy was the first to respond, “Shit.”

“They’re approaching at warp 9.2, rendezvous in three minutes,” R’Mor said.

“Hail Kire,” Clark ordered.

The cheerful Norax appeared on the screen, “Captain Clark, I take it that–”

Clark cut him off, “Commander, we’ve detected the presence of a hostile vessel in this area. For your own safety you must withdraw to ten light-years as quickly as you can.”

Kire nodded solemnly, “I hope that we’ll hear from you again in little time, Captain.” The viewscreen blanked and showed the Norax ship turning and jumping into low warp.

“Red Alert,” Clark ordered. The bridge lights dimmed and began to pulse red, “Raise shields; ready a full spread of quantum torpedoes.”

“Done,” Murphy said, “Shall I deploy the armor?”

Clark shook his head, “Not yet. I doubt any intelligence about our capabilities got out of that nebula, so we’re not going to reveal our whole hand just yet. R’Mor, ready universal greetings.”

Murphy nodded, “Understood.”

“One minute,” R’Mor reported.

“Captain,” Toq’bae called out, “Sensors indicate that their disruption weapon is armed. I think.”

Clark nodded, “Thank you, Doctor. Kelley, are you ready?” Toq’bae growled at the title.

Kelley stretched her arms out to her sides and flexed her fingers, which proceeded to pop several times, “You know I am.”

“Excellent,” Clark smiled, “Let’s show them what this ship is made of.”

Jensen chided, “Duranium.”

Clark replied flatly, “Very funny.”

“We’re in weapons range,” Murphy reported.

R’Mor followed with, “We’ve got incoming!”

“Maintain our position,” Clark ordered, “Mr. Murphy, fire away.”

“Firing torpedo spread,” Murphy said.

The first of five quantum torpedoes was loaded up into the launch tube, which immediately employed its advanced impeller system to launch the torpedo at a sustained velocity of nearly three hundred kilometers a second. At one hundred meters beyond the Aldrin’s shield envelope, exactly 0.00036 seconds after launch, the torpedo armed itself. The next torpedo was loaded into the tube .025 seconds after the first was launched and immediately propelled forward at one million kilometers an hour. Halfway down the ten-meter long launch tube, the torpedo twisted and plowed into the sides of the tube. The sensor nodes at the front of the angular black casing were damaged by the impact, so the torpedo’s automatic arming system operated without sensor input and activated 0.00036 seconds later, assuming that it had exited the Aldrin’s shield envelope. The ship’s computer detected the jammed torpedo and gave the order to deactivate the launch system, but the next quantum torpedo had already started its speedy voyage towards the muzzle.

Dozens of alarms sounded across the bridge. There was no time to react.

The torpedo collided with the jammed weapon, activating the stuck torpedo’s impact sensitive detonator. The warhead ripped the torpedo apart and vaporized the torpedo tube. A powerful white explosion blew out into space and quickly backfilled into the torpedo bay that made up most of the large weapons pod mounted at the back of the Aldrin. The force of the explosion overwhelmed the hundreds of unarmed antimatter warheads in the quantum and transphasic torpedoes stored in the bay, setting off a chain reaction that tore apart the weapons pod.

The explosion engulfed all but the front half of the saucer. The explosion slowly dissipated in an expanding cloud of burning debris, revealing the devastation left behind. The weapons pod was gone, as was the starboard engineering hull up to the aft edge of the saucer. The accompanying warp nacelle, detached and perforated by the explosion, was drifting away from its now absent mooring. The aft half of the port engineering hull had been shredded, but enough remained to keep the warp nacelle and pylon tenuously attached. The hull was filled with breaches that exposed dozens of interior cabins to the vacuum of space. The damage continued along to the saucer, from which protruded a large section of hull plating several meters wide, stretching three decks down from the briefing room. Several small holes perforated the saucer’s light gray duranium skin, which was now scorched black. The lights all across the Aldrin flickered out as the ship tumbled away from the space it’d previously occupied.

The attacking ship sat at fifty kilometers distant, pockmarked by several large holes from the nine quantum torpedoes that had launched. It remained still, seemingly damaged beyond the point of withdrawal.

[Captain_Hair]

2

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
18:38 Hours, May 5th, 2380
Stardate 57341.795180

Clark pushed up off the deck, blinking as blood ran down into his eye. He coughed after inhaling, taking in lung full of smoke. He heard coughing coming from behind him, so he rolled over to investigate the source. The self-powered emergency lights had kicked on, and the damage on the bridge took his breath away. A thick support beam on the starboard side had fallen from the overhead, crushing the engineering station below. The first officer’s chair, located on the left side of the command area, had been ripped from its mount and Jensen was lying on the deck to Clark’s right. Every console was dead, and the master system monitor at the back of the bridge was shattered and burning. Twisted chunks of debris littered the deck and severed conduits hung from the overhead.

R’Mor, slumped over the ops arc, coughed loudly. Clark stood, staying at a low crouch, “What the hell happened?”

“I,” R’Mor coughed, slamming her fist against the dark screen in painful frustration, “I don’t know.” She looked to the side and spat blood onto the deck.

Clark dropped into his command chair, cringing as he hit. He futilely tapped at his armrest controls, “Everything’s dead. Even the auxiliary computer is offline.”

“I think that’s been well established,” Toq’bae said. The Bolian coughed lightly, muffling it in his elbow.

“Thanks, Doc,” Clark quipped. He tapped his combadge, “Clark to Vorik.”

“Vorik here.”

Clark coughed again, “Do you have any clue what just happened?”

“No, Captain,” Vorik shouted some orders, which were followed by a loud crashing noise, “We’ve lost all power in here and I can’t contact Engineering A.”

Kelley awoke on the helm, “What the…” She immediately looked around, saw Jensen motionless on the deck, and moved to her side.

Vorik continued, “We have a hull breach in here, but emergency forcefields are holding for now.”

“Evacuate engineering,” Clark ordered, “We can’t be sure of how long their reserve batteries will hold out.”

“Acknowledged. Vorik out.”

Murphy moaned, lying on the deck next to his station. He tried to sit up, but shouted and dropped back down. Toq’bae immediately went to his side, unclipping a tricorder from his belt.

Clark stood, walking through the smoke to the briefing room ramp. He pulled the door apart and stepped through, closely followed by R’Mor. Together, they opened the briefing room door and walked in, looking through the wide bank of windows. The view, which was normally dominated by the catamaran engineering hulls and the weapons pod, was filled with a slowly spinning starfield and bits of debris and gas trailing off the remaining portions of the Aldrin. A large sheet of charred hull plating was lodged in the saucer hull just beyond the windows, buckling the deck and bulkheads at the outer edge of the briefing room.

The captain couldn’t summon a reaction, freezing as soon as his brain struggled to process the change in view. R’Mor’s reaction was similar, however she managed to utter, “Oh my.”

Murphy limped into the briefing room, “Holy shit.”

Clark didn’t look away, “John, do you have any clue what happened here?”

“All I know is that every alarm I had went off,” Murphy said, “Weapons malfunction of some sort.”

“There are fifty three safety interlocks on quantum torpedoes,” Clark looked to the wreckage-covered table, a confused look twisting his face, “A jam couldn’t have done this. The torpedoes don’t arm until they’re a hundred meters beyond our shields.”

The ship that had attacked came into the spinning view out the windows. Its hull sported several breaches, but the damage was nowhere near as extensive as the Aldrin’s.

Murphy shook his head, “There’s no way that their disruptors could have done this.”

“I can see why Vorik couldn’t contact Engineering A,” R’Mor pointed at the empty space previously occupied by the port engineering hull, “How many people were in there?”

Clark’s voice was vacant of emotion, “Anywhere between fifty and one hundred twenty. Maybe more.”

Murphy groaned, “My quarters were over there.”

Clark tapped his combadge, “Vorik, report to the bridge.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Are you okay?” Clark asked Murphy, noting how the tactical officer was holding his stomach.

“Toq’bae said I broke a rib,” Murphy said, “I landed pretty hard on my stomach.” He started to shrug, and the stopped and groaned, “I’m going to be getting down to sickbay right quick.”

Clark turned and headed through the open door back to the bridge. He walked back out onto the dark command deck, “Is everybody out here okay?”

Jensen answered, “I’m not.” She was sitting on the deck, her right arm held in a makeshift splint and sling. Kelley packed up the med-kit next to her and returned it to the open cabinet by the dead viewscreen.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Clark said, “The weapons pod and engineering hull A are gone. We have no power, and whoever the hell that is out there is holding position. It looks like we dealt enough damage to immobilize their vessel, but they’re in a lot better shape than we are.

Toq’bae asked, “What happened?”

Clark shook his head, “I don’t know, but it looks like some sort of accident.”

“Accident my ass,” Jensen groaned.

Vorik ran up out of the stairs on the port side of the bridge, “Captain, the damage seems to be confined to the aft-facing portions of the ship.”

Clark tilted his head toward the open briefing room door, “Come with me.”

The Vulcan followed him into the briefing room. He centered himself behind the windows and held his hands behind his back, “There appears to have been a major malfunction.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Clark said. He returned to the bridge, dropping into his chair, “Anybody have any ideas?”

Vorik walked through the door, “I recommend that we launch an emergency beacon, and then restore fusion power.”

“We can do the fusion,” Clark said, “But our emergency beacons were stored in and launched from the weapons pod.”

“That’s a small problem,” Kelley sarcastically proclaimed.

“That is correct,” Vorik acknowledged, “I believe that the communications system is still intact. We could initiate an distress signal once power is restored.”

Clark nodded, “That’s going to be the plan. Vorik, organize teams to evaluate the fusion reactors, see which are in the best condition.”

Vorik nodded and immediately responded, “With eight fusion reactors, twenty four personnel will be required.”

“Take whomever you need,” Clark said, “I don’t know what condition our environmental systems are in, so I need you to get that done immediately.” He rolled his eyes, “Along with everything else.”

“Yes, Captain,” Vorik walked across the bridge and disappeared down the stairs.

19:33 Hours, May 5th, 2380
Stardate 57341.908782

Vorik aimed his wristlight at the wreckage that obstructed his path, reducing the corridor to a passage less than two meters high and several centimeters wide. Twelve engineers had followed him through the trashed corridors, working their way towards the four fusion reactors on the aft port edge of the saucer section. The reactors were paired to produce the massive thrust of the impulse engines, routing excess energy into the EPS systems. The reactor bays on either side of the saucer each held two spare reactors, but those would have to be moved into the place of a damaged reactor to be used. Vorik pulled a tricorder from his waist and scanned the blockage. Reassured of its relative stability, he clipped the tricorder back in place and stepped onto the base of the debris pile. With a few cautious steps and careful avoidance of the standing wreckage, Vorik moved over to the other side.

The other engineers followed one at a time, all getting through without incident. The door into the reactor bay was at the end of the corridor, only a few meters away. Vorik easily pulled the door open and walked into the dark bay. The reactors – four-meter wide duranium spheres resting on a track – were silhouetted by a strip of dim red lights on the far bulkhead. As the engineers spread into the reactor bay, Vorik shined his light on the closest reactor, revealing a meter-wide hole in its side and a fallen beam that had impaled the adjacent reactor. Beyond that was the large thrust nozzle that pointed out into space. An officer came back to Vorik, “Reactors one and two are total losses.”

Vorik nodded, “As are three and four. Check the spares.” The reporting engineer nodded and walked away, calling for others to come with him. Vorik tapped his combadge, “Vorik to the bridge.”

“Clark here.”

“Captain, all four active reactors are damaged beyond feasible repair,” Vorik said.

“What about the spares?” Clark asked.

The engineer sent to check then came back into view, displaying a ‘thumbs-up’. Vorik nodded, “They are in good condition.”

“Acknowledged. Clark out.”

Vorik’s combadge immediately beeped, “Man’tA’el to Vorik.”

“Go ahead.”

“Both sets of reactors in here are crushed. I don’t think we can set up the spares.” A static sound filled the transmission, followed by hushed voices.

Vorik inquired, “Lieutenant?”

“Somebody just beamed into–”

Vorik cut him off, “Get everybody out of there, now.” He tapped his combadge.

A white light appeared between the two sets of reactors, accompanied with what sounded like a transporter. Vorik immediately signaled with his hand for everybody to evacuate. The engineers ran towards the open door, attracting white disruptor fire as they crossed. One, a male Deltan, was struck in the leg and fell to the deck, sliding out of the line of fire. Vorik rushed forward, grabbed his arms, and dragged him to the exit. Vorik helped the Deltan though the rubble in the corridor, making sure he got a firm footing on the debris. The Deltan’s injured leg caught of the wreckage, dragging a beam out of place. The pile of debris collapsed, pulling down the overhead and trapping Vorik on the other side.

19:40 Hours, May 5th, 2380
Stardate 57341.910112

Clark tapped his combadge, looking for an update, “Clark to Vorik.” There was no response, so he repeated, “Clark to Vorik.”

The combadge connected, transmitting a rough, almost mechanical, alien voice, “We have your person.”

The bridge crew froze. Clark asked, “What do you want?” The combadge beeped off, untouched by Clark. Murphy pulled his phaser rifle from his shoulder and activated the weapon.

Clark tapped his combadge “Bridge to team two.”

“Man’tA’el here, Sir.”

“What’s your status?” Clark asked.

“We were forced out of the reactor bay by intruders. Didn’t Commander Vorik appraise you?” He couldn’t hide the panic from his voice.

Clark shook his head, “No, he’s been taken captive.”

There was silence on the other side, Man’tA’el was obviously caught off guard, not sure what to do or say, “Sir, do you wish for me to assume command of Engineering?”

“Not yet,” Clark said, “There’s not much to command anyway. Contact team one and regroup at sickbay.”

“Understood.”

“Clark out.” He slumped further into his chair, “We dealt enough damage to their ship that they have to come over here. Just wonderful. John, start coordinating security. I need to know what we’re up against.”

Murphy nodded, “Yes, Captain.” He left the bridge via the stairs.

Jensen picked her chair off the floor with her good arm, dragging it across the deck. She dropped it where it used to be mounted, “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Clark gave a despondent shrug, “I just don’t know.”

R’Mor drove her elbow into the weapons cabinet next to the master system monitor, jarring the door open. She pulled out the five phaser rifles inside and distributed them to those on the bridge, “I think we’ll need these.” As she was passing a rifle to Clark, a loud creaking noise came through the open door to the briefing room ramp, coming from the ramp that led down to the docking port on deck five. Clark grabbed the rifle and leveled it at the door, adjusting the energy level to heavy stun. Everybody else on the bridge did the same, even Jensen, who awkwardly handled the rifle with just her left arm.

The noise stopped and all was quiet for several seconds, only interrupted by a burst of sparks from a broken conduit. A thump echoed through the emptiness, followed by loud footsteps. A tall humanoid walked through the door, confidently approaching Clark. It stood two and a half meters tall, dwarfing Clark, and wore a full suit of segmented armor, complete with a full-face helmet with no discernable visor. The armor covered the majority of its body, exposing only a few areas around the joints. Seven orange stripes crossed its left shoulder piece, and eight blue triangles were arranged in a hexagonal grid on the right. It carried a large disruptor rifle equipped with what appeared to be a high-power targeting scope, and lacking a casing to protect the weapon’s components. It held the weapon to the side, barely reducing its threatening appearance. Two more stepped up behind the lead humanoid, each toting a massive rifle, but with notably fewer marks on their shoulders.

Clark slowly lowered his rifle, trying not to let his fear show through his posture. He cleared his throat, “Who are you?”

Its voice was the same crude mechanical tone as that they had heard through the combadge, “We are the Kunari.”

“I’m Captain David Clark of th–”

The Kunari cut him off, “Who you are is not important.”

Clark nodded slowly, “What do you want?”

“This vessel. We require your fusion reactors.”

“I can’t do that,” Clark said, “My crew needs those fusion reactors.”

“That is not my concern,” The Kunari said confidently, “We are on a mission, and we will not fail.” It turned and headed back for the ramp. R’Mor and Kelley adjusted their rifles’ aims onto the back of the Kunari’s head. It paused at the doorway, not looking back, “The condition of your ship is not my fault, so fight with honor, if you have any.” It disappeared into the pitch-black ramp.

[Captain_Hair]

3

Captain’s Log
Stardate 57342.25

Security teams have been searching the ship ever since our first face-to-face encounter with the Kunari. They’ve run into several groups of Kunari, and discovered that their armor is EM silent, so our tricorders are having, well, they can’t detect them. We’ve lost both reactor bays, the primary and auxiliary computer cores, Engineering B, and the environmental control room. The enviro controls concern me the most, as it appears that their armored uniforms are self-contained environments. We’ve secured every vital area that we still hold, the bridge, useless for the time being, and sickbay, posted guards throughout the ship, and fortified the entrances to Kunari-held sections. Except for one minor injury inflicted during our initial encounter, we have not seen their weapons in action, and they’re EM shielded too.

We still haven’t figured out what happened in the weapons pod; if it was an accident I can’t comprehend how many safety interlocks had to fail. Or which one didn’t have a backup. Once we get power back online we should be able to call out of the computer what happened, but first we need to get access to both. It’s just a, uh, a ‘small’ problem. With our positions fortified, we are formulating a plan to take back the port reactors, but we have little information on what waits for us inside. Unfortunately, restoring power would give the Kunari control over the computer and enviro. As that is so, we will have to secure the rest of the ship before trying to restore power.


Ensign Carpenter tapped the stock of his rifle, rocking it back and forth on the makeshift barrier that had been established in corridor 12||A2, fifteen meters from the open door into Reactor Bay B. The outline of the door was only visible because of the dim light that emanated from inside. The entire corridor was pitch black, sans for Carpenter and Lieutenant McGlaughlin’s position, which was barely illuminated by a tactical red light. Despite that it had already been proven nearly useless against the Kunari, a tricorder lay on the deck behind their position, aimed down the corridor. The position itself stretched all the way across the three-meter span of the corridor and was constructed from debris pulled from the surrounding area, including a burned bulkhead panel across the front.

McGlaughlin shook his head, whispering, “Can’t you just sit still?”

Carpenter rolled his eyes, “Sorry.”

“How’s everything going?” Clark appeared behind the two, moving into the light.

“Just fine, Sir,” McGlaughlin said. He glanced down the corridor, “No activity to report.”

Clark nodded, “That’s good. I think.”

A loud metallic crash came through the door. McGlaughlin and Carpenter immediately picked up their rifles and Clark dropped to a knee and brought his rifle to his face.

“That’s new,” McGlaughlin whispered.

Several silent seconds passed. Clark nervously graced his trigger and adjusted his aim. The light in the reactor bay suddenly ceased.

“Do you hear that?” Carpenter asked.

Clark didn’t look away from his rifle, “Hear what?”

Soft footsteps sounded off the deck.

“That.”

Clark felt every hair on his body stand on end; he could hear his heart pounding in his chest. A metal-on-metal tap echoed, originating just more than a meter away. Carpenter fired his phaser towards the sound, striking the corridor bulkhead. The ensuing shower of sparks was blocked by a large humanoid shape in the corridor.

“Fire!” Clark yelled. He fired his rifle straight down the corridor, phasering a Kunari square in the chest. McGlaughlin and Carpenter started firing, each hitting a Kunari. Clark bent over and grabbed a small cylindrical flare from the deck beside McGlaughlin. He squeezed it, breaking the charge inside, and hurled it into the corridor, “Flare!”

The flare illuminated while in the air, flying past the armored head of a Kunari. It hit the deck and bounced, then flashed a brilliant white. The three Starfleet officers had already shielded their eyes from the flash. They looked up, finding the corridor filled with Kunari, apparently unfazed by the flare. At least twenty of the armored aliens filled the corridor, all slowly advancing towards the barricade.

They immediately began firing rapid shots into the advancing Kunari, but hitting the armor only made them stumble back for a second. The lead pair of Kunari, just over a meter away, hefted their massive rifles to a firing position and released a barrage of white beams at the Starfleet officers. They immediately dropped down, still firing their phaser rifles. The Kunari started running to the barricade, barely slowed by the phaser fire.

Clark tapped his combadge, “Clark to Murphy! We’re experiencing heavy resistance at Reactor Bay B!”

“Acknowledged, reinforcements are on the way,” The combadge cut off.

A lead Kunari suddenly collapsed from a phaser strike in its knee, its massive body blocking the path for those behind him. McGlaughlin shouted, “Got one! Aim for the joints!” Clark and Carpenter adjusted their aim accordingly, drilling the Kunari at the exposed under armor at the sides of their waist, shoulders, and neck. Despite the piling bodies, the Kunari kept advancing, easily stepping over the fallen. They were drawing dangerously close the barricade, and their powerful rifles were quickly drilling away the trio’s protection.

A Kunari jumped over the barricade, tackling Clark. He dropped his rifle and rolled with the attack, yelling as the massive force of the Kunari slammed into his chest. Clark rolled back onto his shoulders and threw the Kunari off with his legs. The alien quickly recovered, but had dropped its rifle behind Clark. The captain grabbed his rifle from the deck and fired it at point-blank range into the Kunari’s neck, eliciting a muffled scream as it collapsed to the deck. A second later the body vanished in the white haze of a transporter

Clark looked back, finding Carpenter and McGlaughlin shooting at Kunari less than a meter away. They were starting to scale the meter-high barricade, simply throwing more bodies at the three then they could handle. Clark yelled, “Fall back!” He started down the corridor.

McGlaughlin and Carpenter immediately stood and ran from the advancing Kunari, pausing occasionally to fire a burst of phaser beams back. Clark tapped his combadge, “Clark to Murphy! We’ve lost the corridor!”

“Regroup at Junction 12||AF,” Murphy instructed, “I’ve got eight officers there.”

A white energy beam cut into Carpenter’s hip, knocking him to the deck. McGlaughlin stopped and ran back to the ensign, scooping him off the deck. Clark yelled to his combadge, “I hope they’re well armed. Clark out.” The corridor turned, providing cover for the fleeing officers. Carpenter was still holding onto his rifle, which Clark wrenched from his grasp. The captain continued running forward, jumping over a pile of smoldering debris on the deck.

A female voice yelled from the corridor ahead, “Halt!”

Clark leaned back and planted his feet on the deck, skidding to a stop, “It’s Clark! We’re being pursued!”

The position ahead of him illuminated from within, revealing a meter-high pile of debris with eight security officers behind the barricade. Two small portable phaser cannons were mounted on either side of the intersection, and the six between all had phaser rifles pointed at Clark.

Valerio waved them over, “Get over here!”

Clark jumped over the pile and turned, steadying his two rifles on the block. As Valerio helped McGlaughlin over the barrier, the Kunari came around the corner. “Get him to sickbay!” Clark ordered. Carpenter tossed a small object onto the deck as McGlaughlin took him away, but Clark had already turned his attention to the Kunari that were rounding the corner of the corridor.

The phaser cannons began firing powerful bursts of phaser energy into the Kunari, throwing their limp bodies back against the bulkhead. Before their bodies hit the deck they were taken away by transporter beams. Half a dozen Kunari were mowed down before the rest retreated, leaving the corridor eerily empty.

Clark tapped his combadge, “Clark to Murphy.”

“I’m here.”

“I think we’ve stopped the Kunari,” Clark said, “For now.” He noticed the object Carpenter had dropped and picked it up; it was the tricorder they had open at the previous position. Clark turned it on and smiled, “And we got some pretty good scans.”

“Great. Any tips?” Murphy asked.

Clark slipped one of his rifles over his shoulder and cradled the other in his arms. He stood and walked down the corridor from the barricade, “Joints. Shoulders, neck, etcetera. They’re small targets, but they aren’t armored well.”

“Sounds good.”

“And phaser cannons work pretty well,” Clark laughed.

“I’ll remember that. Murphy out.”

03:34 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57342.815866

Clark pointed to Reactor Bay B on the dorsal schematic of the Aldrin, and dragged his finger down the corridor to where the reinforced fighting position was positioned. “We’ve lost this corridor.” He pointed to other sections of the ship, “Reactor Bay A, they’ve taken most of section I, so our guard there has had to spread out and been weakened significantly.”

“I’ve deployed the entire security division,” Murphy said. He dropped his PADD onto the briefing room table, temporarily disrupting the holographic display. A portable projector was positioned on the end of the table, filling the large surface with a schematic of the damaged Aldrin, at least as far as the data uploaded from tricorders provided.

“Draft from other departments,” Clark said, “Science isn’t doing much right now.”

Toq’bae cleared his throat, “Excuse me?”

Jensen laughed, “They’re not.”

“Take them,” Clark ordered, “Anybody but medical.”

Murphy nodded, “Understood.”

“Man’tA’el,” Clark looked to the Andorian, “How much time do we have left in the emergency batteries?”

“Forty hours,” Man’tA’el said, “If you want any longer we’ll have to shut off the life support.”

Kelley rolled her eyes, “Which is the only thing drawing power.”

Man’tA’el’s blue antennae drooped slightly, “Exactly.”

Clark nodded, “Can anybody tell me how many crew we have left?”

“Three hundred eighty one,” R’Mor said.

Cochrane added, “Forty of whom are in sickbay.”

“Okay. How many environmental suits do we have?” Clark asked.

R’Mor leaned back against the bulkhead by the open door to the ramp, “We were assigned five hundred fifty.”

Clark shook his head, “I know that. How many do we have?”

After a few seconds of silence, R’Mor answered, “I don’t know.”

“Find every one you can,” Clark ordered, “Distribute adequate numbers to each position. We’re going to need them. I just hope we have enough left for everyone.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Have we been able to establish contact with Engineering Hull B?” Clark asked.

“We had two come out of there,” Jensen said, “They said that they were completely overrun by the Kunari.”

Clark nodded, “We’re going to have to investigate. John, organize a probe team.”

“Light or heavy?” Murphy asked.

Clark smiled, “Extra heavy. I want them to deal as much damage as possible if they encounter any resistance.”

“May I lead?”

“Well,” Clark thought for a few moments, “As long as you don’t get killed.”

“Or captured,” Toq’bae added.

Clark nodded, “That too.”

Murphy smiled, “I can manage that.”

Clark looked to Toq’bae, “How are the sensors coming along?”

“They’re not,” the Bolian answered, “It looks like the explosion overloaded the EPS manifolds across the entire ship. And took out good chunks of the ODN network and sensors along with them.”

“Okay. Have we made any progress in determining…” Clark looked out the windows at the void once occupied by the rear portion of the Aldrin, “What happened?”

Man’tA’el shook his head, “None. Without sensor logs I can’t say anything new. And I can’t find anything in the PADD libraries remotely close, excepting a warp core breach.”

“And there are no antimatter propulsion devices in the weapons pod,” Clark finished, “What about getting a mayday out?”

“We need power if we want it to get past the range of a communicator,” Man’tA’el said.

Clark nodded, “Very well. You all know what to do. Dismissed.”

[Captain_Hair]

4

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
10:23 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57343.615640

The heat signatures of the surrounding corridor projected into Murphy’s left eye, giving him sight in the otherwise pitch black Corridor 4B-A. He had outfitted himself with a Starfleet Tactical Harness, a garment consisting of a pair of over-the-shoulder straps and a belt around the waist. Several grenades, including concussive, flash, and EM, hung from loops on the straps and several additional battery packs for his phaser rifle dangled from the belt. A lightweight headset was mounted over his left ear, facilitating audio communications and projecting a combination electromagnetic, subspace, visual, infrared scan into his eye. Murphy carried a modified Type-IIIc phaser rifle, sporting enhanced sensors, and upgraded plasma accelerator, and an overpowered pulse emitter, but the higher power draw necessitated that additional batteries be carried.

The ten other members of the scout team were similarly equipped. With the headset projectors in use, they were able to progress down the corridor without the addition of extra light. They’d moved fifty meters into uncertain territory and had not yet detected any Kunari. The movement was cautious, even though the tricorder data had indicated several weaknesses in their armor. With the headset displays programmed to highlight the weak areas, targeting with the rifle would be no problem.

The team was moving slowly through the corridor, carefully avoiding the bits of debris that littered the deck. Murphy, as the commander of the squad, was positioned in the center of the x-formation, sweeping the sides of the corridor. The lead end of the formation was approaching the intersection with Corridor 4B-B, a short passage at the forward end of Engineering-B’s upper deck. To the right was a turbolift and the open door into Engineering-B. No light came from the room, allowing the infrared sensors to easily pierce the darkness. Murphy tapped a control on his hip, sending a halt signal to each of the squad member’s displays. He moved forward, twisting a knob on the side of his display to manually change the bandwidth mode. He stopped on the EM mode, piercing through the bulkhead and finding the silhouetted forms of the dozens of Kunari in all of the surrounding cabins, including those in Engineering-B.

Murphy slowly unhooked a concussion grenade from his harness, tapped the controls in its top, pulled a thin pin from the stalk, and tossed it though the door. The grenade bounced across the deck and rolled through the railing that edged the end of the upper deck. It detonated in a small explosion just over two meters from the empty warp core, releasing a shockwave that filled Engineering-B, knocking the Kunari inside to the deck. The deck shuddered as the shockwave propagated through the ship.

With the EM scan still active, Murphy watched the Kunari all around him react to the blast, grabbing rifles and rushing to the corridor doors. The squad had already taken positions that covered every possible entrance into the corridor. A door ten meters down the corridor from which they’d came opened and three Kunari toting their massive rifles ran through. Several high-powered phaser blasts slammed into their weak spots, throwing them back onto the deck before they could fire a shot. Phaser shots resounded through the corridor as more Kunari came from every direction.

Murphy looked back to Engineering-B, noting that the Kunari inside were on their way to the upper deck. He activated another concussion grenade, setting it for a shorter fuse, and tossed it through the door. The grenade exploded before it touched the deck, releasing a shockwave that knocked the Kunari back into the railing and several more over the edge. The squad continued to hold their ground, pecking off the Kunari before they could fire. A single Kunari charged up the stairs around the warp core and across the deck, tucking into a roll that covered his unarmored areas.

The Kunari tumbled through the door, jumping up and firing his rifle in mid-air. Murphy turned his phaser on the alien, firing several successive bursts into it. The Kunari fell to the deck next to one of the squad members, who had laid down his rifle and was wrapping a bandage around his upper arm. Murphy moved to cover his position, but another Kunari came through the door and fired past Murphy. He stumbled back and the Kunari fired past his head, hitting the bulkhead and throwing hot shrapnel into Murphy’s back.

Murphy yelled and dropped his rifle, clawing at the hot bits of metal stuck in his neck. He quickly took in a calming breath, picked up his rifle, and looked up. The Kunari soldier, the Starfleet officer, and the fallen Kunari were gone. More Kunari began coming through the door, piling out faster than Murphy could fire. He yelled over the resounding phaser and disruptor fire, “Fall back! Fall back!”

The team immediately began moving back down the corridor, tossing concussion grenades into the cabins they passed. The Kunari charged down the corridor after them, wildly firing their disruptors. Murphy tossed a flash grenade into the pack, immediately followed by an EM grenade. The flash detonated on impact, filling the corridor with a bright light that briefly overwhelmed his headset. The EM grenade bounced across the deck and exploded, knocking over the Kunari within a meter. Murphy’s headset flickered under the assault, cutting out for a few seconds. In that time of unassisted vision, he could still see the open hatch at the end of the corridor, lit by the small fires further down. A single fire extinguisher activated over the corridor several meters back, spraying sticky blue foam onto the Kunari below.

Security officers were already climbing into the hatch, with one standing on either side firing back at the Kunari. Murphy’s display recovered from the EM shock and brought the enhanced view of the corridor back. Utilizing the EM mode, he looked over the surrounding cabins, finding them devoid of Kunari. The last of the security officers were going through the hatch, which led into a vertical Jefferies tube. Murphy stopped his forward movement, realizing that the Kunari had stopped firing. He looked back and saw the previously advancing Kunari retreating, carrying the fallen Kunari with them. Their backs were turned, as if they did not expect the Starfleet squad to take advantage of their position.

The last officer by the hatch signaled into the Jefferies tube for them to halt. He looked to Murphy, “Sir, I recommend we take full advantage of their retreat.”

Murphy shook his head, recalling the words of the Kunari on the bridge, “No. Let them go.”

“Sir, they’ve got Ruffing!” the officer protested.

“I said,” Murphy repeated, “Let them go. We can’t risk losing anybody else right now.”

He continued to protest, “Sir, they are exposed.”

Murphy slipped his rifle over his shoulder, “And we aren’t?”

11:19 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57343.729432

A briefcase-sized portable emergency fusion generator sat outside of Cochrane’s office, powering the sickbay through a port in the opened bulkhead. The surgical bay and all of the bio-beds were fully functional and lit, but non-essential areas, such as the office and private examination rooms, were dark. The door to the corridor was open, with a guard posted on either side, both inside and out, as well as checkpoints at the three nearest corridor junctions. Murphy stepped through the door, dropping his rifle and tactical harness near the replicator.

Cochrane was standing over a bio-bed holding Carpenter’s unconscious body, monitoring the ensign’s vitals with a tricorder. Cochrane’s uniform was soaked in all manner of blood; Carpenter’s was soaked in his own. He grabbed a hypospray off the side of the bed, released its contents into Carpenter’s neck, and returned his attention to the tricorder, tapping the screen to focus on one of the readouts. Murphy came up beside him, “Hey Doc.”

“Commander,” Cochrane nodded, dropping the tricorder into a pocket, “Are you well?”

Murphy turned so that Cochrane could see the burns on the back of his head, neck, and shoulders, “Shrapnel.”

Cochrane pulled the tricorder back out of his pocket and scanned the dark red wound, “It’s all superficial; you’ll be fine.” He returned the scanner to his pocket, “Just don’t pick at it.”

“Can I at least get a pain killer?”

The doctor took a slow breath and stepped around Murphy, headed towards the supply room, “Come with me.” Cochrane stopped, leaning against a corner bulkhead in the shadows. He crossed his arms, “Do you know how many people are on my medical staff?”

Murphy thought for a moment, “Thirty?”

“Twenty two.”

“Okay.”

“Ten of them are missing,” Cochrane said flatly, “Another three are lying on bio-beds in the overflow bay. I have nine people left.” Murphy remained quiet. Cochrane nodded slowly, “I have seventy patients. I only have forty-seven beds. The replicator’s been fused, so my supplies are limited to what’s on hand.”

“I understand,” Murphy placed a comforting hand on the elder officer’s shoulder, “How long have you been doing this?”

Cochrane shook his head, “I don’t know, I haven’t had a chance to look at a chronometer, let alone worry about what time it is.”

“The explosion was 18 hours ago.”

“My…” The doctor stared off into space briefly, “I can’t remember what time I started yesterday.”

Murphy dropped back against a bulkhead angled to Cochrane’s, “You have experience with this stuff, right? You were on a frontline starbase during the war.”

“I was. I was CMO of Starbase 375,” Cochrane said quietly, “Twenty four thousand men and women went through my ward in two years.”

“I seem to remember that you got a few medals for what you did there.”

“Three.” he bit his lip and sighed, “But that doesn’t change the fact that 123 of my patients didn’t make it.”

Murphy’s eyebrows jumped, “That’s really impressive.”

Cochrane shook his head, “No, it isn’t. I don’t know how many of them died without a chance of salvation. How many died in the hands of their ship’s doctor? How many died because their ship couldn’t make it to 375 in time? Most of the patients that were going to die were already dead by the time they got there. I visited the morgue on base once, after Chin’toka. The morgue… was a starbase cargo bay. You can fit Akira-class starships inside one. There were twenty five thousand!” he stopped, closing his eyes and taking several calming breaths. “Twenty five thousand caskets. Row after row after row of boxes draped in UFP flags.”

“But this…” Cochrane waved his hand towards the rest of sickbay, “This is different. At then end of the day on 375, I got to go back to my quarters and take a shower and go to bed in clean linens. Very rarely was the station ever in danger. I… I don’t even know if I have quarters here anymore. I’m afraid that half of the people in my sickbay right now aren’t going to make it. And I don’t know how many more I’m going to get. Thankfully, these Kunari haven’t killed anybody more. Yet.”

Murphy smiled, “Doc, I’ve got faith in you. You can do this.”

Cochrane laughed lightly, “I don’t really have much of a ch–” He froze, cocking his jaw slightly, “They haven’t killed anyone.”

“That’s nice.”

“No, no,” Cochrane pushed off from the bulkhead, “They’re trying to take over the ship, right?”

Murphy nodded, “That’s how it seems.”

“But there weapons are set on stun,” he paused, “The Captain said something about their wanting an honorable fight… maybe the Kunari don’t want the ship. They couldn’t hail us, and it would be unreasonable for them to ask for our help in our condition. Maybe a fight isn’t what they want.”

Murphy thought for a moment, “Then why would they come over here and shoot at us?”

“Did we give them any other option?”

[Captain_Hair]

5

Starfleet Armaments Production Facility
Oceanus Procellarum
Luna, Earth, Sol System, Sector 001
20:41 Hours, July 8th, 2375
Stardate 52517.367318

Watkins tasted blood in his mouth, smelled the ionized atmosphere left behind by the powerful antimatter explosions. He opened his eyes, finding a gray bulkhead a few centimeters from his face. He stood, groaning as the bones in his left forearm made it known that they’d been fractured. The first thought that crossed his mind was he was retiring in a week. The next was an impulse to assess the damage. He looked over the control room, which was a mess of burning debris. The side of the room to Watkins’s right was a gaping hole, blown away by the explosion. The chief of operations was nowhere to be seen, although the mangled body of a Vulcan was slumped over a console.

Watkins shuffled forward, holding his injured arm to his chest. He neared the edge of the hole, looking out towards the antimatter generators. The massive cylindrical generators that cut through the dome’s skin were gone, as was nearly one hundred meters of the dome around that spot. An emergency forcefield had immediately filled the gap, sealing the pressurized dome from the vacuum of the moon’s surface, but the fiery debris at the base was sending electrostatic waves across the otherwise invisible barrier. The gray lunar soil beyond had been blasted away to form a blackened crater. Most everything inside the dome had suffered damage; the area within one hundred meters of the generators was simply gone, vaporized bt the explosion.

A few alarms were still activated, mostly on the far opposite side of the dome. In spite of the massive hole in the Vulcan’s back, Watkins checked his neck for a pulse, finding none. He pushed the body off the console, smearing green blood across the display. Watkins tapped the flickering console, “SAPF to Starfleet Command. We have been attacked.”

The computer beeped and responded in the familiar female voice, although distorted by the damaged systems, “Unable to connect.”

Watkins ignored the computer, “Starfleet Command, come in. I repeat: this is SAPF, we have been attacked. Damage is,” He paused, turning to look back at the site of detonation, “Catastrophic.”

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
13:38 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57343.962146

The mechanical voice of the Kunari cut into Vorik’s mind, “He’s coming about.”

Vorik opened his eyes, which quickly adjusted to the dark surroundings. Despite the visual adjustments, he was unable to discern his surroundings. Vorik was propped against a bulkhead; his arms were bound behind his back and his ankles were tied together. He called into the darkness, “What do you want?”

A faint glowing device was tossed to his feet. Vorik twisted to move his body away. The Kunari voice said, “Do not worry. It is a light, nothing more.” It stepped into view, towering more than two meters above Vorik, “Greetings.”

Vorik maintained a calm tone, “What do you want?”

The Kunari crouched on the other side of the light, picking it up and turning it in his hands, “I hope you’ll forgive the darkness. Our world is a dark one.”

“What do you want?”

“You are insistent,” the Kunari dropped the light back to the deck, “We want to salvage components from your vessel and integrate them into ours so that we can return to our home. Nothing more.”

“Then why did you board us?” Vorik asked.

The Kunari tapped the light with a gloved hand, “Would you have assisted us after engaging in hostile actions?”

“Assuming that you made no further hostile moves,” Vorik said, “I am certain that we would have offered assistance after repairing the Aldrin.”

“Aldrin? That is a curious name.”

Vorik agreed, “This vessel was named for an earlier Earth space explorer. It is an illogical tradition to name vessels in such a manner, but Starfleet Command finds it necessary to maintain such traditions.”

“You from this Earth?” the Kunari asked.

“No, I am from Vulcan.”

The Kunari dropped its head slightly, as if it were thinking. After a brief moment of silence, it asked, “You are different from the others. Are your Vulcans enslaved?”

“The Vulcans and Humans are both members of an interstellar organization called the United Federation of Planets, along with one hundred seventy eight other worlds. The majority of Starfleet officers are from these worlds,” Vorik explained.

“This Federation,” The Kunari said, “I have no record of its existence.”

“That is to be expected,” Vorik said calmly, “The Federation’s territory is located approximately seventy thousand light-years from this location.”

“Why are you here?”

Vorik said, “Starfleet’s primary mission is that of exploration.”

A Kunari voice came from beyond the light, “We have another one.” Vorik looked up as a Starfleet security lieutenant was pushed forward. His hands were bound together. The Kunari handling him turned his back to the bulkhead and pushed him down to the deck. It tied a pliable strip around the lieutenant’s ankles, placing him in a position similar to Vorik’s.

The lieutenant looked to Vorik, “Lieutenant Ruffing. I assume you’re Commander Vorik.”

Vorik nodded, “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

Ruffing looked up at the Kunari, “Why don’t you just kill me?”

“That would not be honorable,” the first Kunari said confidently, “We will not lower ourselves to the level of our enemy.”

“Are we your enemy?” Vorik asked.

“No. You are an unfortunate bystander in our great crusade.”

“Crusade?” Ruffing questioned.

The Kunari stood, “Yes, we too are on a mission. The Dominion must be eliminated.”

“The Dominion is changing,” Vorik said, “They are no longer the–”

“That does not matter,” The Kunari angrily cut him off, “It does not change what they have done. They must pay.” It turned and walked away.

Ruffing looked to Vorik, “Any ideas?”

Vorik stared forward into the darkness, “I have none. I cannot even be certain of our location.”

“That’s encouraging,” Ruffing rolled his eyes.

“This is not an appropriate time for sarcasm,” Vorik said.

Ruffing leaned over and whispered, “Can you tell them apart?”

“There are minute differences in their armor,” Vorik lowered his volume accordingly, “Although they are negligible enough to be attributed to inefficient fabrication techniques.”

“So their armor is poorly made?” Ruffing said, “It still absorbs phasers with no problem.”

“It may be of poor quality, but it is still effective,” Vorik said, “Additionally, there are two sets markings on either shoulder which appear to be rank indicators not unlike those used by Starfleet. I have yet to determine the exact significance of either set of markings.”

Ruffing nodded slowly, “I see.”

“How were you taken?” Vorik asked.

“Scouting mission,” Ruffing said, “We were probing Hull B when the Kunari completely overwhelmed us.”

Vorik looked at him for the first time in their conversation, “What equipment did they confiscate?”

Ruffing shrugged, “Not much. They got my combadge and tricorder. I managed to overload my rifle and crush my headset.” He pointed to a bandage around his right bicep, “They shot me, but it was only a graze.”

Vorik moved his hands toward the wrapping, “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

He gently pulled down on the edge of the bandage, exposing a burned mass of flesh and melted uniform sleeve that covered a hand-sized portion of his arm. Vorik examined the wound, “Only a graze?”

14:21 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57344.073468

Jensen and R’Mor pushed an anti-grav pallet loaded with environmental suits through the corridor. A gravitational generator mounted on the bottom of the large rectangular sheet levitated the load to a meter height, rendering it practically weightless to the user. R’Mor walked behind the pallet, propelling it through the dark corridor. She and Jensen were both had a phaser rifle and were wearing tactical harnesses, which negated the need for additional light sources. Jensen, maneuvering the pallet from the front, stopped and pointed at a supply cabinet in the corridor bulkhead. She pulled the two meter sliding hatch to the side, uncovering two med-kits, five environmental suits hanging from the overhead, and two engineering kits. R’Mor left the pallet hovering in place and started pulling the suits out. She tossed them onto the pallet as Jensen grabbed the four kits and placed them on a corner. The Bajoran closed the cabinet and continued down the curving corridor, dragging the pallet behind her.

R’Mor followed, reading from the display projected into her eye, “We should be coming up on a position soon.”

A male voice called out from the darkness, “We’re right here!”

“Who is it?” Jensen asked.

“Lieutenant Seong,” a light activated, revealing a small lounge at the intersection of two corridors. One corner has been completely demolished by an explosion, opening a hole into the charred remains of somebody’s quarters. The corridors that fed through the lounge were both four meters wide; one a ring through the saucer approximately halfway between the outer hull and central computer core, the other a straight line from the center out to the docking hatch on the port edge of the saucer.

Ten officers were in the lounge, which itself measured ten meters square, centered on the intersection. Two security officers, each equipped with a loaded tactical harness, were posted behind a fortified embankment of debris, consisting of fried conduits, twisted bulkhead panels, and even furniture from the lounge. Lieutenant Seong was kneeling in the center, sorting through the contents of a lone desk drawer.

Ensign Sara Bennett, a human with a touch of Klingon ancestry visible by the subtle ridges of her forehead and slight point of her teeth, was the only medical officer in the group. She was sitting an empty corner of the lounge, nervously turning a tricorder over in her hands. Her black duty jacket was open revealing a sweat-drenched blue science division shirt beneath, it’s collar also opened several centimeters.

Jensen jumped over the barricade before her, extending her hand to Seong, “Commander Jensen.”

Seong nodded, “Good afternoon, Sir.”

R’Mor raised the anti-grav pallet and pushed it over the barricade. She stepped over and lowered it back down to a meter height. Jensen grabbed a pair of environmental suits and dropped them between a pair guarding a corridor.

Seong nervously tapped the stock of his rifle against the deck, “We’ve been set up here for three hours, and we haven’t seen a thing.”

Jensen returned to the palette, “What are you trying to say?”

“I think we might have set up in the wrong area.”

“This is a critical junction,” Jensen said. “All of the other corridors leading to the reactor bay are blocked.” She pointed down corridors to the aft and port, “The Kunari can only come through these two corridors.”

Seong picked up his rifle, lightly bouncing the barrel in his hand. A light flashed behind the lieutenant, followed by the firing of phaser rifles down the corridor. Seong collapsed face first to the deck as white disruptor beams shot in from every direction. Jensen and R’Mor dropped as a beam drilled into the pile of environmental suits. The anti-grav pallet tilted with the impact, flipping over and dumping its load into the deck before crashing.

Jensen crawled to Seong’s body, activating and pointing a wristlight at his back. The beam had hit between his shoulder blades, melting the black fabric to his back. Jensen carefully rolled him over and put her fingers to his neck, feeling a weak pulse. She turned to Bennett, “He needs help!”

Bennett pushed off from her corner, dragging a med-kit across the deck. She shuffled to Seong’s side and began scanning him with the tricorder. The tricorder beeped and Bennett opened the med-kit and pulled out a hypospray.

The Kunari disruptor fire pounded into all four of the embankments, throwing sparks into the face of the officers behind them. Jensen tapped her combadge, “Jensen to Clark!”

“Clark here.”

One of the officers flew back, crashing to the deck. R’Mor checked his burned face, assured him that’d he be okay, and took his position. Jensen yelled over the weapons fire, “We’re in at the junction of corridors 8B,” she put her head up, looking down a corridor, “And 8C.”

“That’s a lounge,” Clark said.

“I noticed! We’re surrounded and under fire.”

Clark paused, “Surrounded?”

Jensen fired her rifle as a Kunari entered the range of the dim lights. The combined shots from the two guarding that entrance, the Kunari stumbled back out of visible range. “That’s what I said!” Jensen yelled.

One of the officers pitched a concussion grenade down a towards the reactor bay corridor. It bounced for a second and then exploded, filling the corridor with a wind of fire and debris.

“They’ve gotten past our blocks. Clark, out.”

14:29 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57344.073468

Clark grabbed a PADD off the briefing room table and brought up a schematic of Deck 8. He noted the locations of the checkpoints and tapped his combadge, “Clark to Calem.”

A Kunari responded, “We have your crewmen. They will not be harmed.”

“What do you want with–” Clark was cut off by a burst of static, followed by his combadge beeping once.

He nervously tapped his foot on the bridge deck. Murphy came up through the stairs by the turbolift, “Captain, I’ve lost contact with all of the teams on the port side of Deck 8.”

“We’ve got one left, Seong’s team,” Clark said, “Jensen just reported in and said they were surrounded.”

Murphy immediately reached for his rifle, “Do you want me to mount a rescue team?”

“No.” Clark shook his head and sighed, “We don’t know what we’re up against.” He tapped his combadge, “Clark to Toq’bae.”

There was a pause before the Bolian answered, “Toq’bae here.”

“Lieutenant, is there any way you can rig up a tricorder so that it can scan the entire ship? We need to know who is where.”

“Give me few hours.”

“We don’t have a few hours.”

Toq’bae sighed, “Understood.”

Clark smiled, “Thanks. Clark, out.” He looked to Murphy, “Is it just me, or is it getting colder?

He nodded, “It is.”

Clark nodded slowly, “Yeah.” He froze, “Damn.”

The realization hit Murphy, “Environmental is failing.”

“This is going to be fun,” Clark rolled his eyes, noting the slight vapor that condensed from his breath, “Notify your squads.”

Murphy nodded, “Yes, Sir.” He stepped back, tapping his combadge, “Murphy to Valerio.”

Clark tapped his own combadge, “Clark to Jensen.”

Jensen answered, “Back so soon?” A phaser rifle fired in the background.

“It looks like the environmental systems are shutting down,” Clark said, “How many ECSs did you get?”

“We had thirty,” Jensen said, “But some have been damaged.”

“How people many are with you?”

“Twelve, two injured,” she said, “But we have a medic.”

Clark nodded, “Good. Keep as many ECSs as you need, but if you can get some out…”

“Understood. Jensen out.”

[Captain_Hair]

6

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
15:17 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57344.187260

An armored Kunari approached Vorik and Ruffing, “Stand up.”

A second Kunari appeared next to it, pointing at Vorik, “Come with me.”

The first turned to the second, “I have orders to escort these two to the–”

“And the bostra needs this one.”

“Understood,” the first put a massive gloved hand on Ruffing’s back, guiding him away from Vorik and the second Kunari.

Vorik turned to the massive being, “Where are you taking him?”

“To the others. He won’t be harmed. The bostra wishes to speak with you.”

“Bostra?”

“It is a rank,” the Kunari said, “She is our commander.”

Vorik nodded and the Kunari turned to the right and indicated for him to walk in front. He silently complied, walking slowly forward in the darkness. A flash of sparks illuminated the surrounding corridor, but gave no evidence of where on the Aldrin they were. Vorik continued forward, “I am unfamiliar about your society. What sort of social order to you employ?”

“Ours is an honorable society of warriors. Everything is geared towards the state – our generals are our governors. But that is by necessity.”

“Why is that?”

“Turn here,” the Kunari ordered. Vorik turned right down the dim corridor. “We have an expression, a tooth for a tooth.”

Vorik nodded, “The Humans have a similar expression.”

“Mareth is guided by that principle. It is what directs our lives, what has driven us back into the stars.” He stopped by an open door, “Here.”

Vorik turned and faced the Kunari, “You seek justice from the stars?”

“In the stars.” The Kunari pointed its rifle at the door. Vorik stepped through, finding himself in darkness.

Another mechanical Kunari voice came from the darkness, “Lieutenant Commander Vorik.”

“That is correct.”

“I am Bostra Bolen. It is honorable to meet you.” She activated a small dim light in her hand and tossed it onto a table. Her armor was more heavily scarred than the other Kunari and bore seven orange stripes on the left shoulder, and eight blue triangles on the right.

“Under different circumstances I might be inclined to agree,” Vorik said dryly.

Bolen tapped an armored finger on the table, “I see that you have no appetite for pleasantries.”

“Small talk is illogical.”

“Much to the contrary,” Bolen paused, “You can learn much about a person through a seemingly pointless conversation.”

“Much pointless information,” Vorik stated flatly. “Why am I here?”

“I require your assistance.”

“I cannot give it.”

Bolen tilted her helmeted head to the side, “Really? You are this ship’s chief engineer. I would expect that you would be capable of repairing your own vessel.”

“I cannot make repairs that would put this vessel into enemy hands.”

“We are not your enemy.”

Vorik cocked an eyebrow, “Yet, you invade this vessel?”

“Your attack damaged several systems across my vessel. We are here to salvage parts,” Bolen said, “It was your resistance that has resulted in needless death.”

“How many?”

“I am uncertain how many of your personnel have been killed, I would hope none. But you have killed nineteen of my crew since we boarded.”

Vorik stood silently, recalling the discussion about a tooth for a tooth.

Bolen sighed through the helmet, “My society’s ways dictate that I should kill you, and eighteen of your crewmates, to avenge this loss.”

“Vengeance is not logical,” Vorik said.

“No, it is not. But it is necessary.” Several quiet seconds passed before Bolen stepped back away from the light, “But killing you would accomplish nothing. I would prefer that our conflict be resolved without any further loss of life. And for that, I need your help.”

“Continue.”

“The explosion that disabled your ship dealt damage to your environmental systems. While my crew can operate without those systems being active, yours will perish if they are not repaired, and I hope that our restoration of the systems would serve as a gesture of peace toward your commander. My engineers will assist you in affecting necessary repairs.”

Vorik barely nodded, “Thank you.”

Bolen bowed slightly, “You are welcome.”

18:39 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57344.535096

Bennett rose from her knees to a crouch over Seong. The lieutenant was lying on his front, leaving his burned back exposed. Bennett deactivated her medical tricorder and zipped her black uniform jacket shut. Jensen was leaning against a barricade, “How is he?”

The medic’s voice was shaky, “He’ll be fine in a few days.”

Jensen nodded, “And how are you?”

“I’m… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She pushed off the barricade and crawled to Bennett. Jensen moved to less than a meter distant and whispered, “Because you don’t look okay.”

Bennett dropped back onto her rear, crossing her legs and leaning forward, “This isn’t exactly what I signed up for.”

“I don’t think any of us had this in mind when we joined.”

“Twenty three seventy five.”

“The year the Dominion surrendered,” Jensen stated.

“And the year I joined Starfleet,” Bennett said, “I was 25 years old, I’d lived on Earth my entire life. The day the Breen attacked Starfleet Command…” she trailed off. “I knew that I had to join. And Starfleet needed medics, I had some experience, but it was enough for them. I thought that I’d get through my four years at the Academy and go join the fight… I never though we’d actually win.”

“People have a way of underestimating Starfleet.” Jensen chuckled, “We tend to underestimate ourselves.”

“I hadn’t even put in a full semester at the Academy when the Dominion surrendered. I thought it was all over, that we could go back to… exploring strange new worlds. That I’d get to fight… funky new diseases.” She laughed lightly, “I never thought that I’d end up in a Dominion prison, standing in line to be executed. I never thought that my ship would be taken over by a handful of Romulans, or that I be fighting trench warfare in the corridors.”

Jensen sighed and sat next to Bennett, “Things seem to have a way of turning out differently than we expect.”

Bennett wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead ridges, “You’re tellin’ me.” She dried her hand on the carpeted deck.

“I have a few stories I could tell you,” Jensen smiled, “But they’re a bit too classified for these ears.”

She cocked an eyebrow, “Any that you can tell us?”

R’Mor turned away from the barricade, leaning her rifle against the scorched bulkhead, “We could use a good story or two, Commander.”

Jensen smiled, recounting from her Academy days, “Who here’s been to the 602 Club?”

19:12 Hours, May 6th, 2380
Stardate 57344.644518

Toq’bae deactivated his tricorder and grimaced. Another beeping tricorder sat on the curved surface of his science console. The screens flickered on and off, powered by a portable fusion generator at his feet. He tapped the tricorder’s screen and looked over the screens, noting no changes.

Clark came from the stairwell on the port side of the bridge, “Any progress?” A phaser rifle was slung over his shoulder and an engineering kit hung from his hand.

“No.” Toq’bae smiled, “But at least the temperature is cooling down.”

Clark rubbed his hands together, “If it gets much colder I’ll have to break out the winter gear.”

Toq’bae tapped a button on his console, “I’ve run a power line to the internal sensors, and they are running, but I can’t get the tricorder to interface with the data line.”

“Let’s see here,” Clark came across the bridge and looked over the setup. “Let me see your tricorder.” He set the engineering kit by the console.

Toq’bae handed him the deactivated tricorder, which Clark turned on and aimed at the deck. He moved back a few steps and the tricorder beeped. Clark looked up at Toq’bae, “How much data can a tricorder receive per second?”

“Uh… five quads.”

“I’m reading eight point five four in the data trunk,” Clark dropped to a knee and set the tricorder on the deck. He grabbed and opened the engineering kit, “Open the tricorder.”

Toq’bae picked up the tricorder and twisted, popping a seam along the sides of the gray shell. He pried the shell apart and extracted the touch screen and internal circuitry, “Okay.”

Clark handed a flexible narrow cable to Toq’bae, “Primary programming port.” As he examined the circuits of the tricorder, Clark opened a hatch in the deck, exposing a hatch below that dropped into the corridor behind the mess hall. He opened a small port inside the passageway and plugged in the cable. Toq’bae snapped his end of the cable onto an interface on the tricorder. The screen lit up brightly and emitted several beeps.

“I’ve got something!” Toq’bae smiled, “But I don’t think the tricorder’s going to work to control this well.” He squinted at the compressed information streaming across on the tiny display.

“Nor do I,” Clark said. He rooted through the engineering kit, pulling out another optical cable, “Plug this into the…”

“The what?” Toq’bae picked up the tricorder circuitry.

Clark pointed at the tricorder, “The round port on your left.” He handed one end of the cable to Toq’bae.

“Top or bottom?”

“Uh… top.” Clark took the other end of the cable and ducked down on the ramp side of the science station. He pried a panel from the bulkhead, exposing a dimly lit system of plasma conduits, ODN relays, and bio-neural gel packs. “Who did this?”

Toq’bae plugged the cable into the tricorder and leaned over the console, looking down on the captain, “Did what?”

“These,” Clark gestured at the circuits, “This looks like a four-year-old Pakled put it together! It’s nothing like the approved designs.”

“Captain, have you ever met Dr. Leah Brahms?”

“I worked with her on the Akira,” Clark said, “She’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re a lot like her,” Toq’bae said flatly.

Clark froze and slowly looked up at the Bolian, “I beg your pardon?”

“You are an engineer: stubborn and uncompromising.” Clark started to protest, but Toq’bae cut him off, “You have to accept that changes happen over time. It’s been a nearly a decade since you built the Akira. You can expect that people will make changes to improve your designs.”

His brow furrowed, “This not an improvement.”

Toq’bae stared at Clark for several seconds before saying, “Is you whining about changes going to get this thing running?”

Clark stared back at Toq’bae for a long moment then inserted the cable into a relay. He flatly declared, “That should do it.”

Toq’bae tapped the tricorder’s screen and the science station’s half-cylinder display lit up, streaming multiple screens of internal sensor feeds. Several windows cycled through multiple visual sensor feeds, thermal readings, and other information. Toq’bae clapped his blue hands together, “Yes!”

“Okay,” Clark pulled a tricorder out of a pocket and handed it to Toq’bae, “This has detailed scans of the Kunari armor. If you can find anything useful in it…”

“I’ll give it a look,” Toq’bae smiled and took the tricorder. Clark turned around to leave and Toq’bae leaned back over the console and grabbed the captain’s shoulder, “David, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Clark looked over his shoulder back at him, “I know. And you’re right.” He closed the engineering kit with his foot and slid it up the ramp to Toq'bae, “I don’t know how long those cables will hold.”

Toq’bae nodded, understanding Clark’s self-reference, “Don’t worry, Sir, I’m sure they’ll hold.” Clark smiled briefly then left via the stairs.

[Captain_Hair]

7

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
07:17 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57347.823694

Kelley sat her phaser rifle and medical kit against a bulkhead and kneeled next to an unconscious male crewman’s body. She aimed her wristlight at the man’s head, revealing him to be a Cardassian ensign. A white bandage soaked in dark red Cardassian blood was wrapped around his thigh. Kelley carefully untied the bandage, revealing a scorched pit his scaled skin. The Cardassian moaned as she pulled out a tricorder and began to scan the wound. Kelley looked to his face, “What’s your name?”

The ensign’s head rocked back and forth before he opened his eyes and focused on Kelley, “Amal Gorat.” He strained to sit up, but groaned and grasped at his leg.

Kelley gently pushed Gorat back down, “You don’t want to do that. Your quad’s been severely burned.”

Gorat let out an exasperated sigh, “Well, at least it cauterized my arteries.”

“Yep. You’ll be back on you feet in no time.” Kelley slipped her tricorder back into her pants. She opened the medical kit and pulled out a dermal regenerator. She held the device over the wound and squeezed the activator. The regenerator pulsed blue and powered off.

“You broke it,” Gorat chided.

“Did not.” Kelley tried to activate the device again; it flickered and died. “Or maybe I did.” She tossed the defunct regenerator over her shoulder.

Gorat smiled, “I don’t suppose you’ve got another of those on you?”

Kelley stood, “Afraid not. I’ll have to get a fresh one from Doc Cochrane.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Gorat laughed, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She rolled her eyes, “Glad to hear it.” Kelley turned and walked back down the corridor, passing close to two dozen patients lined up on the path to sickbay. The explosion and Kunari assault had injured many crewmen, though none had died at the Kunari’s hands, and only a few bodies had been pulled from the wrecked aft of the ship.

Kelley walked through the open sickbay doors, finding Cochrane in antiquated gray surgical garb, facing into the isolation bay. A female human still in her uniform lay face up on a biobed on the far side of Cochrane, presumably undergoing a rarely performed physical surgery. Cochrane turned at the sound of Kelley’s footsteps. He set his tools, some bloodied, on a tray to his right, “How’s triage going, Lieutenant?”

Kelley headed for the storage room by Cochrane’s office, “As well as triage can go. What’s up with the scrubs?”

Cochrane shrugged, “I felt like playing ‘Doctor’ tonight.”

“It’s morning,” she entered the storage room and returned a few seconds later with a new dermal regenerator, “At least by ship time.”

“Is it?” Cochrane pointed a bloody glove at the female behind him, “Lieutenant Morris here decided to get shot in the intestines.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t her idea. Will she be alright?”

Cochrane nodded slightly, “She’ll be fine, but she won’t be all that happy until I can get her off this bed.”

“I take it your sterilizing field is offline?”

“It’s nice to do things the old fashioned way on occa–” Cochrane froze at the sound of disruptor fire.

Gorat’s voice came from the corridor, “Damn!” Phaser rifle discharges quickly followed.

Kelley grabbed for the strap of her rifle and realized she had left it with Gorat. A white disruptor beam shot across the open doorway. Kelley dropped the dermal regenerator, “Is there a weapons cabinet in here?”

Cochrane pointed at his darkened office, “Behind my desk!” Kelley ran towards the office, switching on her wristlight as she went. The doctor grabbed a dermal regenerator off the tray and held it over Morris’ exposed open belly. A thin translucent layer of skin grew over the wound as Cochrane moved the regenerator over the primitively stitched intestinal tubes. A white disruptor beam drilled into the glowing blue wall of the isolation bay. Cochrane turned around slowly, holding the regenerator out to his side.

Two Kunari stood inside the sickbay door, both training their massive rifles on Cochrane. The doctor gently set his regenerator on the tray and raised his hands above his head.

A loud metallic bang came from the office as Kelley dropped the hatch from the small weapons cabinet onto the deck. The Kunari on the right immediately turned and fired into the curved glass window, shattering it. Kelley screamed and fell as the bits of glass ricocheted through the small office. The Kunari fired again, blasting the open weapons cabinet. The four hand phasers inside exploded, blowing out the bulkhead around the cabinet.

Cochrane yelled, “Please! This is a sickbay!”

The Kunari to the left spoke, “Yes it is. We have members of your crew that require treatment. You will treat them.”

“I’d be glad to,” Cochrane growled, “As soon as you stop pointing those damned guns at me.”

Cochrane’s combadge beeped, “Toq’bae to Cochrane. I’m reading Kunari signatures near sickbay.”

The doctor cocked his head down at his combadge and looked up at the Kunari. The pair lowered their rifles and Cochrane tapped his combadge, “Thanks for the update, but you‘re a little late. Cochrane out.” He walked towards his office and one of the Kunari soldiers immediately came to his side to guard. It reached over, grabbed Cochrane’s combadge, and crushed it in its gloved hand.

Cochrane stopped at the office door and looked back at his escort, standing a meter behind him, “Do you have any clue how old I am?”

“That is irrelevant,” the Kunari declared.

Cochrane sighed, “Just like the Borg.”

“What is the Borg?”

“Don’t worry,” Cochrane moved to pat the Kunari on the shoulder, but thought better of it, “You’d get along great.”

The Kunari straightened its posture, reaching almost a meter above Cochrane’s head, “We do not need to ‘get along’ with anyone.”

Kelley groaned and sat up against the charred and pitted remains of Cochrane’s office, “Of course not.” She rolled her eyes and slowly stood up, cradling her left arm.

Cochrane walked into the office and pulled out his tricorder, “Are you okay?”

Kelley gingerly touched the burned flesh on the left side of her face, “Never better, Doc, never better.”

The doctor turned back to the Kunari, “May I treat her?”

“Yes. I will send for your wounded.” The Kunari started to turn, but came back to Kelley, “Surrender your communications devices.” It held out an open gloved hand.

Cochrane removed Kelley’s communicator from her chest and dropped the silver and gold delta shield in the Kunari’s hand, “What’s your name?”

“Dal.” The Kunari squeezed Kelley’s communicator until it snapped and sparked, and then dropped the pieces onto the deck.

Kelley shuffled up next to Cochrane, “Okay, Dal, are you a male or a female.” After a seconds of silence she prompted, “Humor me.”

“I am a male,” Dal said flatly. He turned and walked away.

Cochrane took Kelley’s right arm and draped it over his shoulders. He walked towards the doorway, helping Kelley along. She laughed lightly, “Charming fellow.”

09:16 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57348.049484

Jensen stirred from her sleep, quickly realizing that she had fallen asleep during her guard shift. She groaned, “I need caffeine.”

Mbaken – a native of the former Earth nation of Somalia – sat across their small fort. He chuckled and his low voice filled the fortification, “I could just go for some food.”

Jensen shifted up against the embankment behind her, “Raktajino. Give me a few cups and I’ll be good all day.”

Mbaken smiled in the darkness, “That stuff is foul.”

“Blasphemy!” Jensen declared, “Don’t tell me: you’re a coffee drinker.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Mbaken shrugged.

Bennett, lying on the other side of the fort with her back to the embankment, growled quietly, “Either will kill you before your time. But,” she stretched and kicked over her medical kit, “If I had to choose, raktajino.”

Jensen chuckled, “She’s a Klingon alright.”

“I’m only one eighth Klingon,” Bennett said. She sat up and grabbed her medical kit, “My great grandfather was Klingon.”

“And the rest of you is Human?” Jensen asked.

“More or less,” Bennett winked, “There’s a bit of Vulcan and Coridanite in me too.”

Mbaken pulled out his tricorder, read the screen, and sighed. Bennett looked quizzically at him, “Verifying my story?”

“No,” Mbaken smiled lightly, “Just checking if our friends have decided to make a return.”

“And?” Jensen inquired.

Mbaken dropped the tricorder by his side, “Nothing.”

The tricorder beeped three times, paused for a second, and then repeated. Mbaken froze and turned his eyes down at the scanner. Jensen stared across at him, “What is it?”

Mbaken grabbed his phaser rifle from the deck and whispered, “They’re back.”

R’Mor, Jensen, Bennett, and brought their rifles to the ready and looked around the darkened corridors. Mbaken pointed down the corridor behind Jensen. The commander twisted around so that she was lying belly-down on the barricade with her rifle balanced on the top. She peered into the scope on top of her rifle, noting the enhanced infrared figure moving through a T-intersection fifteen meters at the end of the corridor.

R’Mor slid down next to her, “Why are they ignoring us?”

Jensen’s brow furrowed, “Because they can. They’ve cleared the blockage over there.”

Ensign Carlt, a male Trill, activated a PADD and studied the screen, “That’s the only way around us.”

Mbaken looked around in the darkness, “If we cut off that corridor we can force them to come through us.”

“There’s an EPS manifold over there, isn’t there?” Jensen asked.

Carlt nodded, “There is.”

“What about the Jefferies tubes?” R’Mor asked.

Jensen didn’t look up from her rifles, “Their suits are too bulky to fit through the hatches. How many concussion grenades do we have left?”

R’Mor looked around and counted the number of fingers each officer held up, “Twenty.”

“R’Mor, Mbaken, Carlt, and Harmon, set one concussion to impact mode,” Jensen ordered. She stood and held her rifle level. The Bajoran stood there for several seconds, watching the Kunari silently shuffle past. Jensen slipped her rifle over her shoulder and unhooked a grenade from her harness, “Bennett, follow my lead.”

Bennett slowly stood, “Commander, I’m a med–”

Jensen turned around and cut her off, “Ensign, you’re a graduate of Starfleet Academy’s Basic Tactical Training Program. You will follow.”

Bennett swallowed and grabbed a rifle off the deck, “Yes, Sir.”

“On three,” Jensen ordered. She took a deep breath and adjusted her grenade to a one second fuse, “One, two, three.”

Four grenades sailed through the air, striking the deck at the feet of the Kunari. On impact they released a violent shockwave, knocking the Kunari into the air and crushing outward the surrounding bulkheads and deck plating. Jensen leaped over the barricade, tucking into a roll as the shockwave plowed through the corridor. The commander hit the deck and sprung from her roll, releasing her grenade down the corridor from which the Kunari were advancing. A second later it exploded, throwing back more Kunari into a pile where the corridor turned a corner.

Bennett jumped over the barricade, firing her rifle into the first Kunari that tried to sit up. Jensen raised her rifle and fired off rapid bursts into the Kunari. Bennett backed into a bulkhead whipping around to fire at anything that moved. “You’re doing great!” Jensen shouted. A Kunari came around the corner and shot a brilliant white disruptor beam past her head. She returned fire, striking the bulkhead behind the Kunari and rupturing a plasma conduit underneath. Bright green flame poured into the corridor, cutting off the approach and filling the air with a low roar and searing heat.

Bennett slowly lowered her rifle to survey the lifeless bodies sprawled at her feet. A few of the Kunari disappeared in the white transporter beam that seemed to grab them when they were felled. She slumped against the bulkhead, dropping her rifle to the deck. Jensen set two grenades to a delayed motion sensor and rolled them under the flame into the approaching corridor. She crouched and looked past the flame, seeing that the Kunari were retreating back to the reactor bay. The commander stood and looked back. The look of despair on Bennett’s face caught her attention, “Sara, are you okay?”

Sweat flowed along the Bennett’s subtle cranial ridges, channeling it away from her eyes and down the side of her face. She sighed, “I took an oath to do no harm.”

Jensen slipped her rifle over her shoulder and put an arm across Bennett’s back, gently pulling her away from the bulkhead, “You did what you had to do.”

[Captain_Hair]

8

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
14:58 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57348.698581

Vorik grabbed a hyperspanner from his engineering kit and pointed it into the fractured casing of the massive atmospheric scrubber on which he sat. He activated it and held it above a component for a few seconds, then returned it to the kit. His Kunari guard stood at the base of the two meter tall and four-meter wide cylinder, “What is your progress?”

The Vulcan suppressed an upwelling frustration, “None since you last asked me two minutes ago.” He grabbed a gravitic coupler from the kit and leaned back towards the crack, “I will inform you when there is progress.”

The Kunari stood quietly for several seconds, its helmeted head angled towards the deck. It looked back up to Vorik, “How much longer until you are completed?”

Vorik slowly set the coupler down and turned back to the Kunari, “If you continue to interrupt me I will not finish in either a timely or precise fashion.” He abruptly returned his attention to the broken scrubber. A bolt of phaser fire struck the Kunari square in the chest, barely knocking it back. It recovered almost instantly, swinging its massive disruptor rifle up to firing position and delivering a white beam across the open doorway.

Vorik grabbed the hyperspanner from his kit and jumped down off the scrubber. As more phaser beams shot through the door, he slipped behind the massive cylinder and snuck around behind the Kunari. Somebody outside the environmental control room yelled in agony, Vorik took the cover of sound to lunge at the back of the Kunari, leaping onto its massive armored frame. He jammed the hyperspanner into an opening in the armor around its neck, activated it, and pushed off.

The Kunari flailed its arms in a futile attempt to reach the sparking hyperspanner. Vorik stepped back from the panicked alien, watching as the tool slowly overpowered its nervous system. The Kunari fell to its knees, then slumped face first onto the deck. Vorik slowly approached the twitching body of the Kunari, and after several quiet seconds pulled the hyperspanner from its back and turned it off.

Murphy stepped through the doorway, “Vorik?”

The Vulcan calmly wiped off the tool end of the hyperspanner, “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

“Are you okay?” Five more armed officers entered the room.

Vorik looked over the assembled team, recognizing that three of them were from his engineering team, “Johnson, Adnahn, work on the reverse nitrogen stabilizer. Loren, mass bio-contaminant filter.”

Murphy put out an arm to block their advance, “Commander?”

The Vulcan immediately understood Murphy’s opposition, “If we do not repair these components then we will all suffocate.” He paused, “Except for Loren; she breaths nitrogen.” Loren, a hairless Deltan, smiled coyly.

“We’re collecting environmental suits,” Murphy said, “Components be damned.” He lowered his arm.

“You do not have enough,” Vorik stated flatly, “Most of the ECSs are stored in the shuttlebay and the engineering sections. We do not have access to either; restoring minimal environmental support is necessary if you wish to survive.”

Murphy stared at Vorik with disbelief, “This area is under Kunari control. If we don’t leave here soon we’ll all be taken captive!”

“Leave my engineers,” Vorik ordered, “And get out of here.” He looked to Johnson, Adnahn, and Loren, “Give Commander Murphy your weapons.”

Loren shook her bald head, “Commander, this is suicide.”

“An armed party standing here is suicide. Leaving here is suicide.” A small amount of emotion welled up as Vorik pointed a shaking finger at the broken and scorched machinery behind him, “Fixing these is the only way for us all to survive.”

Murphy pointed his rifle at the motionless Kunari on the deck, “And what about them?”

“They don’t want us,” Vorik said, “They don’t want this ship. I’m still alive, repairing this equipment so we can all live. Loren, Adnahn, Johnson, hand over your weapons; Murphy, get your team out of here, now.”

“Sir?”

An edge of irritation crept into Vorik’s voice, “That is an order, Lieutenant.”

Murphy bit his tongue, “Yes, Sir.” He had the remaining two security officers take the weapons and nodded, “Let’s get out of here.” They left through the open doorway, silently moving through the corridor.

Adnahn looked to Loren with a quizzical face, “You breath nitrogen?”

“There is no time for small talk,” Vorik declared, “You have your assignments.” He took a calming breath before returning to the atmospheric scrubber. The three engineers moved towards their tasks, examining the wrecked environmental equipment around the dark room. Vorik climbed back on top of the massive scrubber and slipped his hyperspanner back into the crack.

Ten second later, three towering Kunari ducked through the door, their disruptors already trained on Adnahn, Loren, and Johnson. The center of the three, which had several stripes and triangles marked on its shoulder armor, spoke, “Who are these?”

Vorik sat up and looked at the engineers, who were frozen with terror at the sight of the Kunari. He set the tool on the scrubber casing and turned to the soldiers, “They are my colleagues. They will be assisting me with the necessary repairs.”

“You do not need them,” the Kunari stated, “They will be taken to the others.”

“No. I alone cannot repair all of the equipment before injury occurs,” Vorik said, “I cannot repair these before even I am incapacitated. So if you wish for me to restore this vessel’s environmental systems, I highly recommend that you allow my colleagues to continue.” He stared calmly at the helmeted head of the lead Kunari.

The Kunari barely nodded, “Your argument is sound. I will have extra guards posted to this cabin.” It pointed at the fallen Kunari, “He is alive. Take him to the infirmary.” The other two picked up the unconscious Kunari and took him from the room. The lead remained behind and blocked the doorway, resting the tip of its massive rifle on the deck. Vorik returned his attention to the scrubber.

15:26 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57348.752878

Clark looked up from the mess of PADDs sprawled across the briefing room table. Disbelief was etched on his face, “He did what?”

Murphy swallowed, “He took Johnson, Adnahn, and Loren so he could fix the environmental controls.”

Clark dropped his head a took a deep breath, “I can’t believe…” He drew an arm above his head and slammed his fist into the PADDs, “Son of a bitch!” He stood, putting his hands behind his head, and walked away from the table. Several disturbed PADDs slipped off the table and clattered onto the deck.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Murphy adjusted the rifle hanging over his shoulder, “He said that we won’t have enough environmental suits to save everyone.”

“Do you believe him?” Clark stopped a meter short of the bulkhead and turned around, slowly approaching the table.

Murphy nodded, “I know him well enough – he was telling the truth.”

Clark dropped his arms and nodded, “He’s doing what he thinks is best for the crew.”

“Yeah.”

“So,” Clark paused and sighed, “What do we do now? You, me, and Toq’bae are the only senior staff that aren’t captive. The only part of the ship we really have anymore is the bridge, and it’s all but useless. I’m at a loss of what to do.”

Murphy looked out the window, “Maybe we should consider abandoning ship.”

“To where?” Clark asked. He grabbed a PADD from the table, glanced at the display, and then tossed it back onto the table, “There isn’t a marginally habitable planet within eight light-years. And the shuttlebay is depressurized, and we know that it is surrounded by Kunari. The only way we can get to it is from the outside.”

“What about surrendering?”

Clark froze and glared at Murphy, “John, so long as I am breathing I will not relinquish control of this vessel to anybody who threatens us.”

“Well, we might want to figure out something soon,” Murphy said quietly. He took a step towards the window, “I think that the Kunari just launched a shuttle.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Captain, I wish I were.”

Clark walked to the window and stared out towards the crippled Kunari ship, “That’s a big shuttle.” He sighed and let his shoulders slump.

Murphy turned to the captain, “A wise man once said ‘Sometimes surrender is the honorable victory.’ ”

Clark laughed lightly and looked to Murphy, “Who said that?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that; I just made it up,” Murphy chuckled.

“You might be right,” Clark said. “Maybe in my fight to prove myself I lost sight of what’s really important.” He looked out the window at the approaching shuttle, and then down to the shattered remains of the Aldrin, “But what is important? If I just let them come aboard and take everything we’ll have nothing left for ourselves. We won’t be able to get home without fusion reactors. Can you imagine traveling sixty light-years on thrusters only? Might as well fire up the stasis pods.”

“So we keep fighting?”

“We’ve got no choice.” Clark turned away from the window and grabbed the top of one of the high-backed chairs in the briefing room. He twisted the chair back and forth a few times before pushing it up against the table, “The Aldrin may be broken, but she’s all we’ve got. And if we’re going to give up the only thing we’ve got left, then we might as well show ourselves to the nearest airlock. We keep fighting.”

Murphy nodded, “Yes, Sir.”

“Captain.”

“Yes, Sir,” Murphy cracked a slight smile and winked at Clark as he turned and left for the bridge.

He stepped onto the bridge and was immediately greeted by Toq’bae, “We’ve got a problem.”

Murphy froze in mid-step, “Considering how bad things are right now, this must be bad.”

Toq’bae nodded, “It is. We were so focused on tracking the Kunari we forgot to look at anything else.”

“What is it?”

“With all of the hull breaches our radiation shielding has been compromised,” Toq’bae said. He called up a schematic of the ship with large swaths of red to mark hull breaches, “Half of the ship has been flooded with low level gamma radiation.”

“Clark’s not going to like this,” Murphy walked pas his defunct tactical station to the glow of Toq’bae’s science console.

“Gamma radiation slows the mitochondrial process,” the Bolian said, “Without treatment we’ll all starve.”

Murphy looked over the schematic, “So the front half of the saucer is the only safe area?”

“For now.”

Clark came through the door, “What am I not going to like?”

16:58 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57348.926932

Jensen leveled her sight on an approaching Kunari and pulled the trigger of her rifle. The weapon whined loudly then went cold in her hands. She swore under her breath and pushed back from the barricade, letting Lt. Eastport slip in her place. The stock of her rifle slipped off with ease and Jensen dropped the rectangular power pack out. She grabbed a fresh pack of the belt of her tactical harness, shoved it into the open stock, and snapped the cover back over it. The rifle cycled back to life and Jensen stood, acquiring a target as soon as the scope met her eye. She squeezed the trigger and a yellow phaser beam shot from the barrel and struck the targeted Kunari in the center of its chest. It stumbled back from the energy discharge, but quickly recovered, not even lowering its rifle. It ignored Jensen and continued targeting the officers crouched behind the barricade, despite her exposed stance.

She realized her mistake an instant later. Jensen whipped her head to the left, a corridor that also led to the reactor control room. A wall of Kunari stood just four meters away and four soldiers across, completely blocking the corridor. Their rifles were raised, aimed at Jensen and the other officers. Jensen looked past the front row, finding several more ranks waiting behind. Jensen ripped concussion grenades from her tactical vest, holding one in each hand. She slipped a thumb into the grenade rings and yanked out the pins. Jensen growled, “Bring it on.”

R’Mor looked up from her rifle at the frozen Jensen, “Commander?”

Jensen pitched the grenades at the Kunari and dropped to the deck, twisting to catch herself as white disruptor beams crisscrossed overhead. Her right arm slipped and her head smacked hard against the deck. The grenades detonated just a second apart, ripping through the Kunari and the narrow corridor. Shrapnel flew through the air and disruptor beams dug into the bulkheads and overhead as the Kunari were flung back like dolls. Eastport, Mbaken, and Carlt pushed off from their positions on the barricade and looked at the smoky chaos in the corridor. Jensen sat up and grimaced, realizing that she had fractured her right arm, the same she’d broken just two days earlier during the explosion. She grabbed her rifle from the deck, kicked her legs out, and sprung back to her feet. The corridor was quiet as both the Starfleet officers and Kunari recovered from the blasts. Jensen shifted the rifle into her unbroken left arm and fired from the hip.

A white disruptor beam seared the air by her ear. Jensen looked at the now empty space, perplexed by the lack of sound from the superheated air. She looked around and felt panic rising. Bright yellow energy beams silently shot from phaser rifles around her. There was a bump against her leg; she looked down to see Bennett patting a hand against her thigh. Bennett was looking up at Jensen, she mouthed “Commander?”

Jensen looked back up, shot her rifle into a Kunari recovering from the grenades, and thanked their cumbersome armor. Bennett grabbed Jensen’s pant leg and pulled her off balance, Jensen turned back to her and shouted, “What?” She froze, not hearing her own voice. Jensen looked back up into the corridor as confusion and panic took over. She could smell the scorched duranium, see the awkward Kunari, feel the cold of the air, but the complete lack of sound felt almost deafening. Jensen dropped her rifle and pressed an open hand against her ear. She looked back into the corridor, sighting a Kunari with its rifle trained on her body. There was nothing she could do to stop the white disruptor beam from silently drilling through her right shoulder.

Bennett caught Jensen as she fell, gently lowering her to the deck. The medic again mouthed words at Jensen, “Commander? Can you here me?”

Jensen coughed and fought to respond, but was overwhelmed by the pain through her entire right arm. Bennett repositioned her arm and Jensen yelled in agony then stopped when she heard nothing. She grabbed Bennett with her left arm and shouted, “Can you hear me?”

The medic nodded and mouthed, “Yes.” Jensen sighed and slumped back, watching disruptor beams silently streak over head.

[Captain_Hair]

9

Starfleet Armaments Production Facility
Oceanus Procellarum
Luna, Earth, Sol System, Sector 001
20:41 Hours, July 8th, 2375
Stardate 52517.367318

“Somebody answer me!” Watkins yelled at the communications console, “Please! We have been attacked!”

The console beeped and the face of a female Andorian Starfleet captain appeared on the screen, “SAPF, this is the U.S.S. Aronoff. What is your situation?”

Watkins breathed a sigh of relief, “We have suffered extensive damage and heavy casualties.” He wiped the blood off the screen with the sleeve of his right arm.

“Understood. We are going to relay that information–”

Watkins cut her off, “Relay? I have men dying in here!”

“I understand that, Commander, but our sensors indicate that Starfleet Command has suffered far greater damage. We have priorities.”

“I understand,” Watkins dropped his head, “SAPF out.” The entire control room shifted under him, dipping more than thirty degrees. Watkins grabbed onto the top of console and looked out to see the slender supports of the dome buckling around the breach. A support beam snapped and opened a new breach, which quickly filled with the static of a forcefield. The control room dropped a meter, knocking Watkins to the deck. He started to slide across the slick blood-covered duranium deck, failing to gain purchase with his desperately clawing hands. More support beams snapped with quiet thunder as the dome depressurized and the tensional balance the held the structure up collapsed.

The familiar tingle of a Starfleet transporter grabbed his body as the control room started a four hundred meter freefall.

Watkins materialized standing upright, looking out over a sprawling series of clear pressure domes and classic art deco buildings, their light gray stucco made from the dry lunar soil. Despite the massive gravity generators installed below the surface, the gravity here was close to three quarters Earth standard. The trees here were more slender and taller than their Earth counterparts and the humanoid residents had to take hormonal boosters to allow them to function on other worlds and starships. The sky was still black, even with the sun shining and several hundred meters of nitrogen/oxygen air held in by the domes.

A thin young human woman with tied-back blond hair was standing at the base of the transporter pad, “Welcome to Tycho City.” Watkins looked away from the city and over Lake Armstrong to his rear. The glowing shell of SAPF lay beyond the massive clear dome over the lake. The white SAPF dome buckled and collapsed on itself, releasing a ball of fire as the remaining air escaped. The blue ball of Earth sat in the sky close to the wreckage; only the largest of starbases around it were visible as tiny dots of light.

Watkins suddenly felt insignificant, felt the life draining from his body. SAPF has been his responsibility, the hundred proud Starfleet engineers that ran the plant his adopted family. It was all gone, caught off guard and destroyed by only a few shots from a Breen warship. He slowly turned back around, having forgotten that the woman was there. Watkins sighed and shook his head, “Is there anybody else?”

“We’ve pulled out eighteen others,” The woman said, reaching up and taking his bloody hand, “They’re in the hospital right now.”

Watkins nodded and swallowed, collecting himself, “Where’s that?”

The woman smiled sympathetically, “You’ll need to be checked out anyway. This way, commander.” She pulled Watkins behind her.

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
20:11 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57349.29373

Standing in the dim sickbay overflow ward, Cochrane dropped a bloody autosuture on an equipment cart to his side and let his head drop. The battered body of a male Xindi-Arboreal lay before him, his gray-haired chest was scarred but otherwise healed. His scorched and bloodied uniform jacket and red division shirt were draped across his shredded legs. Cochrane ran a tricorder over his legs to confirm that blood-encrusted scrapes were superficial. Dal, standing across from the Xindi, interrupted, “Is this one done?”

“Ensign Zahel will recover,” Cochrane wiped the blood off his hands onto his stomach, “No thanks to you.” He looked up at the helmet hiding the Kunari’s head, “You’re not very talkative, are you?”

“There is not need for,” he paused, searching for the right word, “Talkativeness.”

Cochrane set his tricorder on the equipment cart, “What do those markings on your shoulder stand for?”

Dal pointed to the worn three orange stripes on its left shoulder, “Rank.” And then the dozen blue triangles on the right, “Kills.”

“Kills?”

“Jem’Hadar,” Dal said with a hint of pride in his voice, “They are formidable warriors, but they will fall.”

Cochrane nodded slowly, “I see. And if you kill something other than a Jem’Hadar?”

“We do not kill them,” he said, “They have not wronged us.”

“Wronged you?”

Dal looked past Cochrane at the human female on the biobed behind the doctor, “Tend to that one.”

Cochrane turned around, pulling the equipment cart to his side, “Lieutenant Dorman.” He picked up the tricorder and scanned the massive burn on her thigh, “These are phaser burns.”

“She was injured by your own weapons,” Dal stated flatly, “Are they self-inflicted?”

“Why should you care?”

“It is of tactical interest.”

“I’m sure it is,” Cochrane grabbed a dermal regenerator off the cart, “But I doubt she shot herself.”

Dal looked over Dorman’s body, “Doubt is not sufficient. Are these wounds self-inflicted?”

Cochrane activated the dermal regenerator and waved its blue light over her leg, “I’m a doctor, not a forensic examiner.”

“Your sarcasm is not appropriate!” Dal snapped.

The doctor slowly turned off the tool and placed it back on the tray, “You should watch that temper of yours.”

Dal straightened his body, towering over Cochrane. He spoke with measured patience, “Was her wound self-inflicted?”

“Unlikely,” Cochrane slipped a vial into the end of a hypospray and pressed it to her neck, “Lieutenant Dorman is a fine geophysicist but she’s no warrior. I’ve had tactical training with her, she wouldn’t even be able to figure out how to shoot herself in the leg.”

A biobed elsewhere in the overflow ward sounded an alarm. Cochrane whipped around searching through the expansive ward for the telltale flashing red emergency light. Dal pointed a massive hand over Cochrane’s head, “Down there.”

“Thanks,” Cochrane grumbled. He grabbed a handle on the equipment cart and dragged it down the curved aisle towards the alarm. He arrived at the center of the semi-circular room, finding Lieutenant Solow still on his bed. Cochrane looked up at the vitals monitor over Solow’s bandaged head, every signal was dropping rapidly and his heart rate was already at zero. He grabbed the tricorder from the equipment tray and scanned Solow, then tossed the tricorder to the deck as he climbed up over Solow’s body and started to administer cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. Cochrane stared at the vitals monitor as he repeatedly compressed Solow’s chest, synaptic activity and blood-oxygen levels bottomed out. Cochrane leaned over and pressed his mouth to Solow’s, filling the lieutenant’s lungs with air. Solow’s chest expanded and deflated. Cochrane looked up at the monitor as the kidney function indicator hit zero. He sat back up, laced his fingers together, and continued to administer compressions.

Dal slowly approached, constantly watching Cochrane struggle to revive Solow. For several minutes Cochrane applied compression’s to Solow’s still heart and breathed air into his lungs. Exhausted, Cochrane sat back on his haunches and stared at the vitals monitor. Everything on the display said ‘dead’ to Cochrane. He gently grabbed Solow’s limp hand, feeling that the temperature was already dropping. Cochrane sighed and closed his eyes for several seconds before getting off the biobed and deactivating the vitals monitor. He grabbed a PADD from the end of the bed and tapped its screen, “Lieutenant Gordon Solow. Killed in action: Stardate 57349.317, 20:24 Hours, May 7th, 2380. Cause of death: massive cranial disruptor trauma.” He looked over at Dal with disgust, “You only kill Jem’Hadar?”

21:12 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57349.408963

Kelley slowly walked through the jammed-open sickbay door, sighting Cochrane tending to an officer on one of the biobeds. She quietly came up behind the doctor, noticing that Lieutenant Janel Ste, a Trill, was on the bed. Kelley quickened her pace, “What happened?”

“Big boom,” Cochrane said dryly.

Kelley came to his side, looking down at the wide white bandage wrapped around Ste’s stomach. “Will she be okay?”

Cochrane sighed as he loaded a hypospray with painkillers, “Her body is stable and Janel’s neural activity is keeping her alive, but the Ste end of things isn’t looking so good.” He pressed the hypospray to Ste’s arm, injecting the medicine via aero-suspension into her bloodstream.

“Disruptor?”

“Direct hit to the symbiont,” Cochrane nodded, “I’m surprised it’s still alive.”

Kelley held a hand up against the stripe of spots that ran down the side of Ste’s face, “She was my doctor when I was a kid.”

“Janice,” Cochrane looked into her eyes, “When was the last time you slept?”

Kelley looked up at the doctor, letting her confusion be evident, “What?”

“Janel is three years younger than you,” Cochrane said.

Kelley laughed lightly, “No, no… Ste’s previous host, Jekar; he was my family doctor.”

Cochrane nodded, “Oh.” He played with the hypospray, turning it over in his hands, “When was the last time you slept? You look exhausted.”

“You aren’t looking all that great yourself, Doc,” Kelley kidded.

He cracked a smiled, “Honey, I’m 113 years old. I always look this way.”

Kelley shrugged, “I haven’t been keeping track. How long ago did this mess start?”

“Two days, I think.” Cochrane pulled a tricorder from his pant pocket and scanned Kelley, “Your blood pressure is up, blood sugar is down, and you’re dehydrated. At least take a break and eat something.”

“I’m a former drug addict,” Kelley said, “This state used to be natural for me.”

Ste groaned on the bed next to them, “You’re telling me.”

“Thanks for the support,” Kelley chided. She placed a comforting hand on Ste’s chest, feeling her weak heartbeat, “You need to rest.”

“Then stop talking right next to me,” Ste said quietly. She coughed and then moaned in pain.

Cochrane bumped Kelley out of the way and placed a hand on each of Ste’s shoulders, “Janel, you need to relax. Your diaphragm is still healing, you need to breath gently.” He coached her, “Just in and out, slowly, there we go.” Janel closed her eyes and rolled her head to the side, breathing steadily. Cochrane silently motioned for Kelley to follow him away from the sleeping Trill.

Kelley followed him into the corridor, “What are her chances?”

“She could go either way right now,” Cochrane said, “It’s all dependent on the symbiont. If it goes down it’ll take Janel with it.”

Kelley shook her head, “I’m glad I can’t have a symbiont of my own.”

“Actually, you can,” Cochrane said, “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’m not that crazy,” Kelley said. She activated the light on her wrist and shone it around the corridor, illuminating dark bloodstains on the deck and lower bulkheads, “This is crazy.”

Cochrane sighed, “No, this is war.”

23:46 Hours, May 7th, 2380
Stardate 57349.701161

Clark walked onto the bridge, tapping at the display of a large PADD. He looked up at Toq’bae, “Report.”

The Bolian glanced over the curved display of his science station, “The Kunari have continued their advances, all we’ve got left is Decks 4, 5, and 6. I’m going to wager that we won’t be able to hold them back for more than five hours, six if we’re lucky. And your science officer is hungry enough to eat a sehlat.”

“I’ve got some field rations in the briefing room,” Clark half kidded.

“I’ll take the sehlat,” Toq’bae growled.

“Have you heard anything from John?”

“Nothing since twenty hundred hours.” Toq’bae looked to a schematic of Deck 6 on his console, “It looks like he’s hanging out with Checkpoint Alpha; the central access well.”

Clark tapped his combadge, “Clark to Murphy.” Met with silence, he repeated, “Clark to Murphy.”

Toq’bae tapped his own combadge, “Toq’bae to Checkpoint Alpha.”

Clark moved up the ramp to Toq’bae’s side, “Who all is down there?”

“Looks like Crenson, Skon, Sogik, and Murphy. Lifesigns are stable; all their equipment looks to be operating within normal parameters.”

“Ramp up the local resolution,” Clark ordered. He slipped behind Toq’bae and tapped his PADD while observing the results on the console.

“Increasing resolution to 150%,” Toq’bae reported. “No change.”

Clark studied his PADD, “Oh shit.” He worked a set of controls on the console, overlaying power relays on the deck schematic. He pointed at an illuminated conduit and traced his finger along the power flow path, “This is the power relay to the nearest sensor node,” The illumination stopped a few meters short of the rear of the checkpoint, “The sensor node in is up here.” He moved his finger up past the checkpoint.

“I’ll try rerouting the flow,” Toq’bae said quietly. His blue fingers danced on the console and the illumination snaked around the checkpoint and came at the sensor node from the other end of the corridor. Again, the flow stopped meters short of the node. “That’s not good.”

“No, that’s not good,” Clark said. He looked over the deck schematic, “Increase the resolution and range of sensor node 4D.” The power flow brightened to a nearby node.

Toq’bae read over the information streaming from those sensors, “There’s a localized dampening field around the checkpoint.”

“Can you cut through it?”

“Give me just one minute,” Toq’bae said slowly as he worked the controls. “And… go.” He tapped a virtual button and the console beeped. The four lifesign-indicators at the checkpoint disappeared.

Clark stared at the empty corridor, “Where are they?”

Toq’bae manipulated the controls, redirecting power to sensor nodes across the deck, “There’s nobody down there.”

Clark checked the power level of his hand phaser, “Oh, there are definitely people down there. Just none of ours.”

“You don’t believe the sensors?” Toq’bae questioned.

“Not tonight,” Clark said. “Time to go.”

Toq’bae looked up at Clark, “And just where do you propose we go?”

Clark started unplugging cables from the science station, tricorder circuitry, and power module, “We’re going down.” He pulled out his phaser and fired it into the power module, spraying sparks across the deck and killing the console.

Toq’bae sighed, “Down?” He grabbed the tricorder circuitry they’d used to operate the console and threw it to the front of the bridge.

Clark nodded, “Down. Let’s go.” He moved across the raised aft platform and crouched by a hatch in the deck. He popped the handle up from the carpeted deck and pulled, flipping the hatch over its hinge with a thud. Clark dropped to his stomach and looked down through the open hatch. He grabbed the edge of the hatch and pulled himself over, flipping down into the corridor behind the mess hall.

Toq’bae peered down into the corridor, “I spent twelve years teaching at the Vulcan Science Academy and this is what I get?”

[Captain_Hair]

10

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
02:26 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.004743

R’Mor relaxed as the last of the Kunari withdrew from the latest failed attempt at taking their corridor fortification. She pushed off the meter-high embankment, stood, and looked over the wreckage left behind. The corridors to her front and left were littered with smoking debris and shattered bulkheads. She turned around, crouched next to Bennett, and looked over Jensen’s body, “How’s she doing?”

Bennett turned off her tricorder, “Not well. The commander has suffered mild brain trauma, lost hearing in both ears, and the arteries and nerve bundles into her right arm have been severed and severely burned.”

“Is her bleeding under control?”

“For the most part,” Bennett nodded, “The disruptor cauterized the wounds.” She laughed, “It saved her life, but her arm is another story.”

R’Mor bent over and examined the charred pit in Jensen’s shoulder up close, “Is there anything you can do?”

Bennett moved from a crouch to sitting cross-legged next to the unconscious Bajoran, “I’ve done everything I can. If we had managed to get her to sickbay a few hours ago…” She drifted off, looking at Jensen’s bruised face, “All I can do know is keep her sedated.”

“Can’t you just give her some pain suppressants?”

“Trust me, you don’t want her to be awake right now,” Bennett said, “No amount of painkiller will make the commander comfortable – or tolerable – right now.”

R’Mor nodded, “And how’s Seong fairing?”

Bennett placed her tricorder in an empty spot in the open medical kit by her side. She sighed, “He’s gone.”

R’Mor looked past Jensen and saw a body in the far corner of their position, draped under a burned and torn gray sheet. She sat up and looked over her shoulder, “Lieutenant Eastport?”

Eastport stood and held her rifle to the side, “Ensign?”

R’Mor sighed, “It appears you’re in command.”

Eastport ran a hand through her short blond hair and grumbled, “Great.”

“Orders?” R’Mor inquired.

“Right now,” Eastport turned around in a full circle, surveying the surroundings, “I guess we wait.”

03:58 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.178354

Clark and Toq’bae crawled out of a Jefferies tube hatch into a corridor on Deck 9. Toq’bae fumbled with his wristlight in the dark corridor, finally giving up and turning on his rifle’s spotlight, “Subspace tunneling phenomenon.”

Clark stepped out behind him, flipping on his wristlight and shining it down the opposite direction of the corridor, “Wormholes. What about them?”

“That’s what I taught,” Toq’bae said, “Subspace tunneling phenomenon. Not advanced tactical scenarios.”

“I don’t recall this sort of grumbling with the Romulans,” Clark pulled out a tricorder and scanned the corridor.

“That was different.”

Clark slowly walked past Toq’bae, holding his hand phaser at the ready, “How so?”

Toq’bae shrugged, “They were Romulans.” He followed behind Clark.

“Okay. I don’t really like the Star Empire either, but how are they different?”

“The Romulans attempted to annex Bolias sixty years ago,” Toq’bae said. “My parents had sent me to the Surak School on Vulcan just a year earlier, they were killed when a warbird made a suicide dive into Harfau.”

“Harfau,” Clark nodded, “The capital city?”

Toq’bae said, “It used to be. Twenty million Bolians were wiped out in the blink of an eye. It was a parting shot from the Romulans after we fought of their invasion.”

Clark moved to a bulkhead and opened an equipment locker, its racks for rifles and engineering and medical kits had been emptied, “I didn’t know that. I want you to keep this in mind: the Romulans aren’t trying to kill you right now, the Kunari are.”

“That’s comforting,” Toq’bae said sarcastically, “Federation schools tend not to really teach much history about member planets before they joined.”

Clark closed the locker, “Well, no offense, but the Bolians haven’t really had much of a history.”

“Offense taken,” Toq’bae said lowly, “Just because we haven’t been members for two centuries doesn’t mean we don’t have a history worthy of recounting.” They arrived at a corridor intersection, each sweeping a separate branch.

“I’m sorry, that was worded poorly,” Clark slowly continued down the corridor, “You haven’t been part of the UFP for long enough to have a significant impact.”

Toq’bae turned around, checking their rear, “Did you learn about Klingon history in grade school?”

“Yes,” Clark said. He checked another equipment locker, finding it empty.

“Romulan history?”

“Well, as much as we know about them, yes.”

Toq’bae peered into an open door, finding a deserted engineering lab, “Vulcan?”

Clark rolled his eyes, “Of course.”

“Bolarus has a much more interesting history than the Vulcans.”

“So you had blood-thirsty warlords that set off a nuclear winter that turned your planet into a vast desert and killed off billions in a modern Darwinian extinction?” Clark said dryly.

“Not quite,” Toq’bae said, “Bolian history is even more entertaining.”

“You’re going to have to fill me in on that,” Clark said. He looked through an open door, finding that a ruptured conduit in the overhead had destroyed the room.

“Captain, I’ve got a question.”

Clark continued down the corridor, “Go ahead.”

Toq’bae lowered his rifle and looked straight at Clark, “What are we doing down here?”

“Right now,” Clark looked over his shoulder, “Staying alive, and trying to find any advantage we can get.”

“Okay,” He raised his rifle back to the ready and followed behind Clark, “Where do you suppose all the Kunari are?”

“I’m guessing that they’re busy sweeping through the bow sections of the ship,” Clark said, “It’s an old Tzenkethi strategy.”

“Ignoring occupied territories?” Toq’bae questioned.

“The Tzenkethi never have to occupy territories,” Clark said slowly, “There’s usually nothing left worth occupying. They kill everyone who gets in their way and strip out all the resources they can as fast as they can.”

Toq’bae nodded, “I can see the similarities. Though I hope you’re wrong.”

Clark turned at a corridor intersection, “As do I.”

Toq’bae froze, “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“It’s,” The Bolian tilted his head to the side, “It’s an EPS conduit warm-up sequence.”

Clark looked back at Toq’bae, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Give it a second.” A low rumbling hum came down the corridor and the deckplate shuddered lightly. Toq’bae smiled and held a hand up to an ear, “Sometimes it pays to be Bolian.” He smiled.

“Well, I guess that they’ve–” The overhead lighting turned on throughout the corridor. Clark winced at the bright light, “They’ve got the fusion reactors running again.” He looked over at Toq’bae, noting that he was still squinting, “What was that about being Bolian?”

“Shut up.”

“This means we’ve got a new set of problems,” Clark said, “Primarily that the Kunari now have access to the internal sensors.”

“We’ve got power,” Toq’bae smiled, “But they still need to get the main computer working before they can use the internal sensors.”

Clark sighed, “They’ve got Vorik on hand, it won’t take him too long.”

Toq’bae looked around the debris-strewn corridors, “I think we need a plan.”

“I think you’re right.”

04:04 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.189738

R’Mor slowly stood to take in the illuminated corridors. All but a few of the light sources in the overhead and the kick plate by the deck had been knocked out. The corridors were strewn with bits of smoldering debris and the deck, bulkheads, and overhead were all buckled and cracked. Eastport stood next to her, “Is that an arm?”

“Uhm,” R’Mor looked at the same point as Eastport, “Do you really want to know?”

“Not really.”

R’Mor nodded, “It’s not an arm.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe the image of the lone limb out of her mind.

Eastport nodded slowly, “Okay.” She turned around and looked down at Jensen, “Sara, how’s the Commander?”

“Stable,” Bennett slumped against the corner of a bulkhead, “Do you suppose they’ll be turning up the heat soon?”

Eastport shivered, “I hope so.”

R’Mor smiled, “It’s just like Romulus.”

“In the winter,” Carlt added.

“There are no seasons on Romulus, we’ve got a nice zero degree axis,” R’Mor said. She turned and looked over another corridor.

“Oh, come on,” Bennett rolled her eyes, “It’s got to be seven or eight degrees in here!”

R’Mor unclipped a tricorder from her hip. She turned it on, let it beep a few times, and said, “Eight point four degrees.”

“Cold!” Bennett declared.

“That’s pretty average for Romii,” R’Mor shrugged.

“No wonder the Breen wanted Romulus,” Eastport joked.

R’Mor rolled her eyes, “I don’t think they’d be able to handle us.” She winked at Eastport, “I heard a rumor that those refrigeration suits of theirs are just for show.”

“Yeah,” Carlt chuckled, “And so’s my phaser rifle.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” R’Mor said. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Weapons fire streaked through the air as she instinctively dropped to the deck. Eastport remained standing, blindly firing her phaser rifle into the onslaught. On her back, R’Mor kicked out on of Eastport’s legs, knocking her to the deck.

She landed hard on the deck and rolled over to face R’Mor, drawing a short knife as she moved. Anger and fear filled Eastport’s eyes as she yelled, “Who do you think you are?”

R’Mor shouted back, “The one who’s watching your ass!” She pushed of the deck to a crouch and fired the oncoming Kunari.

Eastport slipped the knife back into the sheath on her belt, “You are out of line, Ensign.”

R’Mor shot off three rapid bursts and turned towards Eastport, “And you are incompetent, Sir!”

Eastport sat up and saw more Kunari coming down the aft-facing corridor. She grabbed her rifle from the deck and fired it into the advancing soldiers, then turned to face the pairs of Starfleet officers guarding the corridors facing to the bow and into the saucer section, “Get over here and reinforce the lines!”

R’Mor watched in astonishment as they left their positions unguarded. She moved to object, but Kunari disruptor beams screamed through the air to her side. She crouched behind the four officers facing each of the advancing Kunari phalanxes, firing over their heads and glancing back to the rear every few seconds. After a minute of fighting the onslaught she moved down next to Eastport, “Lieutenant, you’ve left our rear completely exposed!”

“Nonsense!” Eastport shouted over the din of weapons fire, “The Kunari are in front of us!”

“And we know we’re surrounded!”

Eastport fired off several shots, “Why would they come back here?”

R’Mor slid back, acknowledging that her superior was a lost cause. She looked over her shoulder, saw a lone Kunari standing in the empty corridor, and then looked back to the fight at her front. She froze, realizing what she had seen, “Lieutenant!”

Eastport dropped her rifle against the embankment and spun on her heals to face R’Mor, “Ensign, we need the reinforcements up here, now. I don’t care what you–”

R’Mor delivered a sudden sharp left hook into Eastport’s jaw. The lieutenant’s head whipped back and she fell against the deck, letting out a gasp of air as she passed out. R’Mor rose to a half-crouch, “Carlt, Tory, get back to the rear!” She turned around and fired a phaser blast into the Kunari’s chest, knocking it back into a bulkhead. A flood of Kunari took its place, filling the corridor with disruptor fire. R’Mor fired at Kunari after Kunari, growing more and more frustrated as the soldiers kept up their advance. She looked to the right, into the only remaining empty corridor, finding more Kunari advancing. R’Mor pivoted on her heals, realizing that they were completely surrounded.

Bennett saw them too, “Oh shit.”

[Captain_Hair]

11

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
04:12 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.210357

Clark ran through the empty corridors of Deck 12 with Toq’bae following close behind. With main power restored, there was little use in their trying to remain hidden in the shadows. Clark arrived at a corridor intersection and checked his tricorder for lifesigns. There were at least a dozen Kunari within 20 meters of their current position, but the scanner was having difficulty locking onto their location. Toq’bae stepped into the intersection and observed each direction of the other corridor, finding it empty. He kicked aside a twisted chunk of conduit, “All clear.”

Clark slipped the tricorder back into his pocket and walked into the intersection. He pointed towards the aft, “This way.”

“What’s back there?”

“I intend to find that out myself,” Clark said, struggling not to let the fear he felt show in his voice. He held his rifle at the ready and walked down the corridor, briefly pausing at open doors or exploded bulkheads.

“David,” Toq’bae called for him, “Something’s going on.”

Clark stopped and turned to face the Bolian, “Something?”

“I think that somebody is trying to dock at the starboard hatch.” He turned his head back down the corridor, listening intently, “It’s hard to tell.”

“Starboard docking port, are you sure?”

Toq’bae nodded, “Positive.”

Clark smiled, “Let’s go, it’s not far from here.” He ran past Toq’bae, and rounded a corner in the corridor. Toq’bae rolled his eyes and followed, arriving at the docking port about thirty seconds later. Clark was standing by the airlock control panel, poking at various red-colored controls, “It’s been years since I’ve tried to operate one of these manually. I can’t even tell who is out there.”

“Sensors are still down?”

“Very much so,” Clark didn’t look away from the console, “I’m trying to at least just access an external visual feed, but I can’t say I’m having much success.”

Toq’bae moved to his side and looked over the panel. He reached around Clark and touched a control in the far corner, replacing half of the control panel with a view from the outside of the ship. “There you go.”

Clark stepped back and looked at the Bolian, “How’d you do that?”

“This button,” Toq’bae tapped the control again and the external feed was replaced with the controls.

Clark cast a quick glare at Toq’bae and tapped the control. He studied the image displayed: a primitive looking blue circular hatch – complete with an external wheel lock and fist-sized deadbolts – dominated the screen. Clark tapped a button along the side and zoomed out, revealing the Norax vessel. He laughed, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t like this,” Toq’bae said.

“Come on, they’re a ship full of pacifists,” Clark tapped a few controls, “Engaging automatic docking procedures.” After a few seconds of mechanical noise, the airlock extended several meters through space so it could join with the Norax ship’s airlock. A few seconds later the magnetic docking constrictors had realigned themselves to their best match with the Norax hatch and with a loud thump connected to their hull and sealed out the vacuum.

The Aldrin rocked as the Norax ship adjusted its position, tugging the listing ship with it. Clark braced himself against the bulkhead, “I’m guessing that inertial dampeners are still offline.” The Aldrin shuddered again and the control panel beeped twice and turned to green.

Toq’bae tapped the control to open the door and stepped into the gangway to the Norax ship. Without inertial dampeners and thruster control, the cylindrical gangway oscillated between the two ships as they jockeyed for a stable pairing. He slowly made his way down the constantly twisting tunnel, “You don’t suppose they have adjusted their pressure to match ours?”

“I hope they have,” Clark took his rifle from his shoulder and came in behind Toq’bae. Ahead of them sat the circular hatch of the Norax ship. As they came closer, alien text on the light-blue panel became visible and a series of lights around the edge of the hatch illuminated. Clark stopped at about a meter distant and looked over the text, “Doc, you wouldn’t happen to know how to open this, would you?”

Toq’bae leaned in close, almost touching the undoubtedly frigid external hull of the Norax ship, “I think we just have to turn the wheel.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Why not?” Toq’bae looked over at Clark, “Occam’s Razor is a pretty good guiding principle.”

“I take it you’re not a fan of conspiracy theories?” Clark joked.

Toq’bae returned his attention to the hatch, particularly the wheel, “Not particularly.”

Clark smiled, “I think you’d enjoy debating Ensign Mullhaney. She’s a conspiracy theory buff.”

“Uh huh,” Toq’bae stepped back from the hatch, then reached out and grabbed the wheel. He yelled and jumped back, “Damn, that’s cold!” He shoved his hands under his armpits and groaned, “That was stupid.”

Clark nodded, “Yes it was.” He unzipped his gray-shouldered uniform jacket and slipped it off, using it to insulate his hands from the frigid metal of the hatch. Clark grabbed the wheel with the jacket and twisted to the right, then to the left. It ground against the locking mechanisms and finally slipped, spinning free as the locks all around the hatch released. Clark stepped back as the hatch shifted off the hull with a hiss of adjusting air pressure. He raised his rifle and pointed at the slowly opening hatch. The circular hatch swung to the right, crashing against the side of gangway.

Eight short furry Norax stood on the other side of the hatch, pointing primitive-looking projectile rifles at Clark and Toq’bae. The rotund Commander Kire stood at the center of the Norax, “Captain?”

Clark smiled, “Commander Kire, welcome aboard the Aldrin.”

Kire slowly lowered his rifle, “We, we didn’t detect any lifesigns aboard.”

“It’s the ship,” Clark shrugged, “I’d recommend you undock and leave immediately.” He looked over his shoulder, fearing that the sound of the docking would draw the Kunari.

“But you clearly need assistance,” Kire said, “We were ready to salvage your vessel, but if you need some help I’d be more than willing to oblige.”

“I assume you saw the other vessel floating out there,” Clark pointed in the general direction of the damaged Kunari ship. The gangway shifted and he fell against the curved bulkhead, “They have boarded this ship and we haven’t been able to hold them back.”

Kire smiled, “Then you definitely need our help.”

“No,” Clark objected, “I can’t ask you to put yourselves in harm’s way for my crew.”

“You don’t have to ask,” Kire gestured for his officers to cross the gangway and secure the corridor, “I insist.”

Clark nodded and extended a hand, “Thank you.”

Kire awkwardly reached out and grabbed Clark’s wrist, “I hope this will be the start of a strong friendship.”

Clark shook Kire’s arm, “So do I. Let’s get to work.”

04:32 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.244510

Kelley tended to the wounded that lay around the sickbay, applying the dermal regenerator where needed or simply checking their vital signs and administering pain medication to keep those on their deathbeds comfortable as possible. Cochrane came through the doors to the overflow ward, “We just lost Croal.” He sighed and leaned back against the curve window into his office.

“Paro Croal?” Kelley looked up from her tricorder.

Cochrane simply nodded in reply. Kelley dropped the tricorder on the deck and collapsed against the bulkhead behind her. She slid to the deck as Cochrane came to her, “Are you alright?” He kneeled in front of her.

Kelley choked back tears, “Paro and I, we were.” She looked up at the overhead, “God dammit.”

“Friends?” Cochrane offered.

“More than,” Kelley shook her head. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Cochrane took her hand, and guided Kelley up from the deck. He knew that right now nothing he could say would make a difference, that all she needed right now was somebody to talk to, “Come with me.”

Kelley wiped away the trail left by the tear, only to have another follow in its place, “We hit it off so well, and Paro was somebody I could actually take home to my parents.”

Cochrane guided her towards his office, “How long?”

“Just over a month,” Kelley sniffed. She shook loose Cochrane’s arm, “I want to go see him.”

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” Cochrane said. He tried to stop her, but she had already moved beyond his reach. “Janice…” She walked quickly through the doors into the overflow ward, Cochrane sighed and followed after her.

Kelley stood over the still body of a young Andorian male, Paro Croal. She gently stroked his short white hair and stared longingly into his face, “He was the one; I could feel it. I knew it. And I didn’t even know he was in here.” She looked up at Cochrane, “Do you have any clue what it’s like?”

The doctor shook his head, “I don’t, but I do know somebody that does. And when this is all over you and him are going to have a nice long talk. You’ve both got some healing to do.”

A loud bang reverberated through the overflow ward. Kelley left Croal’s body and walked towards the main sickbay, “Did you hear that?”

Cochrane followed after her and grumbled, “I’m old, not deaf.” Another sharp bang punctuated the air.

Kelley looked around the sickbay, “Where’s Dal?”

“I don’t know.”

There was yelling in the corridor, followed by the sounds of phaser and disruptor fire, along with multiple bangs. Cochrane shuffled towards the jammed-open door, “What the hell?” A Kunari backed through the door, firing its rifle into the corridor. Streams of phaser fire shot past him, drilling into the already damaged surgical bay. Cochrane threw his hands up in the air, “Not in my sickbay!” Suddenly another loud bang sounded and the Kunari’s chest armor split, spraying red blood into the air. Cochrane and Kelley backed away in shock as the soldier collapsed to the deck and blood gurgled up from the massive wound. With a white sparkle the Kunari’s body was transported away.

Cochrane looked back to the door as Clark stepped through and Kire waddled in behind. Clark cleared his throat, “Are you okay, Doctor?”

Cochrane indignantly straightened his uniform, “I am, but I can’t say the same for my sickbay.” As if on cue, a conduit behind the surgical bay ruptured in a spray of sparks and emptied a burst of searing plasma. After a second the plasma dissipated, leaving behind partially melted diagnostic and surgical equipment surrounded by heat-distorted luminescent bulkheads. The single bed in the bay buckled and fell onto its side. Cochrane turned to Kire, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Commander Kire, of the Norax Space Agency.” He curtly nodded, lowering his rifle to the side.

Cochrane returned the gesture, “Now, would somebody care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Well,” Clark glanced down at the void in the blood spatter left by the transported Kunari, “It turns out that our new friends have an edge on the Kunari: their armor is great with phasers, but it doesn’t take projectiles too well.” Several more Norax entered the sickbay and swept through to the overflow ward.

“So that thing,” Cochrane pointed at Kire’s rifle, “Shoots bullets?”

Kire snorted, “Simple, but effective.”

Kelley recalled the image of the mortally wounded Kunari as she stared at the rifle, “I’ll say.”

Clark looked around at the bodies occupying the biobeds, “How’s everybody doing?”

“All things considered, we could be in a lot better shape,” Cochrane said, “We’ve lost eleven in sickbay alone.”

Toq’bae came through the door, with Gorat hanging off his shoulder, “For a Cardassian, you play dead pretty well.”

Gorat grunted as he limped along on his good leg, “Please, that was more than ‘pretty well.’ ” He smiled through the pain, “I’m a pro.” Kelley moved to his other side to help him into the overflow ward.

Clark returned his attention to Cochrane, “Eleven?”

“Eleven,” Cochrane confirmed. He watched Toq’bae, Gorat, and Kelley disappear into the overflow ward, “You’re going to have to talk with Janice when this is all over. She’s going to need a counselor and you’re the only one that’ll understand what she’s going through.”

“What?” Clark cocked and eyebrow. “Me? A counselor?”

Cochrane nodded, “You.”

Clark suddenly realized what Cochrane was saying, “Oh. Damn. How’s she doing?”

“I think she’s just going to try to keep busy,” Cochrane said, “She wants us to all think that she’s a tough cookie, but just below the surface she’s all torn up.”

The captain nodded, “Okay, I’ll talk to her when we’re done.”

Kire moved to Clark’s side and looked up at him, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a personal matter.” Clark brushed the topic aside, “Let’s go, we’ve got a ship to clear.” The Norax came out of the overflow ward and moved straight into the corridor. As soon as they were out of sight, gunshots immediately sounded along with the scream of disruptor fire. Cochrane grabbed a medical kit and ran towards the fight.

[Captain_Hair]

12

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
05:07 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.309274

Bennett’s phaser ran dry. She rolled back to avoid the inevitable Kunari disruptor onslaught and R’Mor moved in to take her place, firing her phaser rifle as she moved. Bennett cracked a panel on her rifle’s stock, pulled out the discharged power cell, and slipped a new one from off the deck in its place. With the flick of her wrist the stock snapped back closed and the rifle cycled back to life. She rolled back onto her knees and resumed the defensive against the Kunari returning from inside the Aldrin’s saucer section.

R’Mor paused and yelled over the din of the disruptors and phasers, “Do you hear that?”

“No!” Bennett shouted back, not even thinking about what she might not be hearing.

Gunshots echoed through the corridors and the Kunari ahead of them began to drop. R’Mor lowered her profile against the embankment and held her eye to the rifle’s scope, “What’s going on?”

Bennett slowly moved back, “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

The last of the Kunari before them fell and they all disappeared in a shimmering white transporter beam. Clark, Kire, and a contingent of Norax and Starfleet officers plowed through, firing old-fashioned projectile rifles over the heads of the fortification. R’Mor and Bennett cheered and turned their attention to the Kunari on either side, watching as those advancing from the bow were mowed down by more Norax soldiers.

Clark jumped over the embankment and landed next to R’Mor, “Ensign, who’s in charge here?”

“I am, Sir,” R’Mor answered. The Norax slowly climbed over the fortifications, taking turns providing cover fire and helping each other over.

Clark nodded, “You’ve done well.” He placed a comforting hand on R’Mor’s shoulder, “I’ll see to it that you all get shore leave when we get out of here.”

R’Mor smiled weakly, “Thank you, Captain.”

The Kunari in the corridors to the reactor control room were starting to withdraw in he face of the Norax weapons. They dragged their fallen comrades behind them, retreating around the turns in the corridors. Clark stood and surveyed the battered corridors, “To say you did a ‘bang-up job’ would be an understatement.”

Jensen groaned on the deck and reached for Clark’s leg. Bennett moved towards her with a hypospray, but the Commander motioned for her to stop.

Clark dropped to his knees next to her, “Loy?”

“Hello, David,” Jensen managed a meager smile as she stared at his face. Clark’s eye was drawn towards the dark burned hole in her right shoulder, and Jensen grimaced, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Clark looked away from the wound, “I certainly hope it isn’t. We’ll get you up to sickbay and Doc will have you better in no time.”

She closed her eyes, struggling to shut out the growing pain, “I’ll hold him to that. ‘The Captain said…’ ” Her eyes opened again, the pain clear in her eyes. She reached up with her left hand and held it to Clark’s face, “Promise you’ll never leave me.”

“I promise.”

Bennett shuffled so that she was opposite Clark, “Sir, do you know if they way to sickbay is clear?”

Clark nodded, “It is.” He took Jensen’s hand from his face and held it between his own, “I’ll meet you up there.”

Jensen dropped her hand to her chest as Bennett pressed the hypospray to her neck. A Norax officer kneeled next to the trio and unrolled a battlefield stretcher. He looked over Jensen’s body, “Is she okay to move?”

Bennett indicated her shoulder, “Just be careful with the arm.” Together they slowly slid Jensen onto the stretcher.

A communicator on Kire’s shoulder crackled, “Commander, we’ve found the hostages; they’re in the cargo bay.”

Kire looked up to Clark, “Do you want us to proceed?”

Clark stood, drawing his hand phaser, “Be my guest.”

Kire smiled and turned his head to his shoulder, “Take them out.”

“Acknowledged.”

Kire looked back to Clark, “I believe we are almost done.”

Clark nodded, “Let’s go.”

Captain’s Log
Stardate 57350.55

I owe a lot to our new Norax friends. I never would have expected to be in a position of owing them a favor, let alone a big favor. In less than two hours they managed to sweep through all of the Aldrin and clear our all of the Kunari. I’ve been very impressed by their tactics and professionalism. Commander Kire has promised to give us whatever aid he can, in exchange we are allowing his repair teams to work side-by-side with our own so that they can learn about our more advanced technology.

On the repairs front, Vorik has advised me that the port side impulse fusion reactors are operating at 65%, and won’t be getting any better in the short term future. Life support is also functional, but all functions controlled by the main computer – navigation, propulsion, sensors, shields, weapons, transporters, etcetera – are all down for the count. It seems that the explosion sent a backflow through the EPS relays and straight into the computer core. It could be several days before it’s operational again. Until then, we likely won’t be able to determine just what happen three days ago. In the meantime, Vorik and I are working on routing controls through auxiliary processor stations, but it’s slow work just finding functional ones. Warp drive is another story. Our antimatter supply is gone, and the quality of antimatter required by our injectors rules out the generous offer by Kire. We’ve lost the port nacelle and warp core, the starboard nacelle has suffered extensive damage and that engineering still has a hole into space, in addition to being saturated with gamma radiation. We’ll be lucky to even get the warp core online, let alone achieve a stable subspace bubble.

We’ve completed a head count. So far we have 124 missing, 27 confirmed dead, and 98 injured. Doc Cochrane is struggling to keep up with the wounded, but most of his medical staff is among the 153 missing or killed. The Norax have sent over their medical staff, but they have no experience treating aliens, so this is just a learning experience for them. I can’t think of a better teacher than Richard.

The Kunari ship is still holding position at about forty kilometers off our, well, right now it’s the port bow. The Norax are still having trouble stabilizing the Aldrin, even with our current damage we’re significantly more massive than them. The Kunari have not responded to Kire’s hails, and that is just as well, given the beating they got from the Norax. That shuttle that they sent over departed right before we cleared the port reactor bay, and they took the two spare fusion reactors – the good ones – that we had.


Clark walked out of his ready room and onto the bridge, Murphy was sitting in the lone captain’s chair, he stood and moved to where the first officer’s chair used to be, “Captain.”

He nodded in return, “John.” Murphy handed Clark a PADD as he approached. Clark looked down at the screen, “What’s this?” He brushed a few bits of debris off the captain’s chair and sat.

“That would be the TR500,” Murphy said. He smiled, “Starfleet Munitions has been working on projectile weapons for some time now. This puppy magnetically fires seven centimeter long tritanium rods – replicated onboard, and up to ten a second – at fifteen thousand meters a second.”

Clark repeated, “Fifteen thousand meters a second.” He whistled with amazement.

Murphy nodded, “Effective killing range is 28 kilometers, and she can fire chemically accelerated rounds if in a dampening field.”

Clark nodded solemnly, “As soon as we get the replicators online, start fabricating these. I’m afraid we’ll need them again before long.” He handed the PADD back to Murphy.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘Sir.’ ” Clark stood and straightened his uniform. He walked over towards the turbolift.

Murphy smiled, “Yes, Ma’am.”

R’Mor, quietly working behind him at the operations station, suppressed a laugh.

Clark froze, staring straight ahead at the turbolift door. The door split open and Clark walked through silently. He turned crisply in the center and ordered, “Sickbay.” The door closed, sealing Clark alone inside. The almost entirely vertical ride the five decks down to sickbay seemed entirely too long. Clark paced the cylindrical turbolift, impatiently drumming his fingers against his thighs. The lift opened into a debris-filled corridor, the bulkheads bore phaser burns, projectile dents, and blood stains. Clark found himself distressed to sickness by the matter, just three days ago this corridor was clear and clean, bustling with medical and sciences staff, now it was a conquered and conquered again war zone. He braced himself against a bulkhead until the wave of nausea passed.

Just ahead was sickbay. He hadn’t taken notice of the area’s condition two hours earlier when fighting back the Kunari, there was too much adrenaline flowing to bother. Clark pushed off the bulkhead and continued on down the corridor, kicking aside a stray conduit spilled from a broken access panel. Cochrane seemed to have been waiting for him, he nodded, “Captain.”

Clark looked into Cochrane’s eyes and saw a sadness he hadn’t seen before, “Doctor. What’s your status?”

“I could stand a trip to Risa,” Cochrane offered with false cheerfulness. He cleared his throat on Clark’s non-reaction, “We’ve managed to get everybody out of critical and they’re holding stable. They’ll all alive; unfortunately there’ve been some pretty grave injuries; a lot of counseling will be needed when we get back.”

Clark looked around at the various bodies on the biobeds in the sickbay: Bolian Lieutenant Er’rahn with a pressure cast around her right leg, Human Ensign Erin Namara with a wide bandage around her stomach, and Vulcan Lieutenant S’hark lay seemingly undamaged, but a quick glance at his vitals monitor revealed he was recovering from severe internal bleeding. At the far end of the four biobeds, seemingly tucked away in a corner of sickbay, lay Jensen. Clark left Cochrane and walked to her still body, thanking her Prophets for keeping her safe.

Cochrane followed him, “I’ve managed to restore most of her hearing and corrected her dehydration and minor malnutrition, but…” Clark stopped upon sighting her right shoulder. Her white post operation tunic had the right shoulder and sleeve cut off to allow access to the smooth patch of skin that had been her arm and shoulder. Cochrane arrived at the stunned Clark’s side, “She took a Kunari disruptor at nearly point-blank range. It obliterated her scapula, upper and lower clavicles, subclavian artery, axillary vein, and brachial plexus. With how long she was stuck down there, there was nothing I could do.” The doctor placed a comforting hand on his captain’s shoulder, “She’s going to have a long hard recovery.”

“Can’t you make a biosynthetic replacement onboard?” Clark didn’t turn away, “I thought that the equipment for that became standard issue after the war.”

“It did, and I could,” Cochrane nodded, “But it was all installed in the surgical bay.” He pointed at the melted and scorched biobed and bulkheads, “I’ve tried picking it apart, it’s a complete loss.”

Clark nodded, “Does she know?”

“I told her going in that I’d do my best, but that the odds weren’t in her favor. I haven’t woken her since.” He sighed, “There’s nothing I can do until we get back to Deep Space 9.”

“That,” Clark paused, “That will be a while. We have no way of restoring warp power.”

“We’re what, forty light-years from Idran?”

“Sixty two.”

Cochrane looked at Clark with that ‘you’re kidding’ look in his eyes, “Sixty two?”

Clark nodded solemnly and Cochrane looked down at the deck, “If I remember my ship’s systems correctly, that means at impulse it’ll take us… 220 years to get to the wormhole?”

“Give or take a decade,” Clark said quietly.

Just then his combadge beeped, it was Murphy, “Bridge to Captain Clark.”

He tapped the badge, “Clark here.”

“Commander Kire was kind enough to route his sensor data through to our bridge. And I have to report that the Kunari have main power back online.”

“What’s our weapons status?”

“Nothing,” Murphy audibly sighed.

Clark couldn’t keep the dejection out of his posture, “Shields?”

“Not even navigational deflectors.”

“Can what about the Kunari?”

Murphy paused, “It looks like they’re getting weapons online, and they’re running off our fusion reactors.”

“Isn’t that just peachy,” Cochrane rolled his eyes.

Clark nodded, “John, tell Kire to get his crew out of here as fast as he can. We don’t need their deaths on our hands. Clark out.”

[Captain_Hair]

13

Armstrong Medical Center
Tycho City
Luna, Earth, Sol System, Sector 001
21:04 Hours, July 8th, 2375
Stardate 52517.474840

The Denobulan chief lay on a bio-bed, quietly staring at the ceiling. His right leg and arm had been amputated and white bandages covered the majority of his face and body. Watkins approached slowly, “Chief?”

“It’s me,” the Denobulan answered, “And to answer your next question, I feel like crap.”

Watkins smiled, glancing down at his left arm, which was cradled in a stark white sling, “You look like crap.”

He laughed, and then coughed, “Don’t make me laugh; I’ve got three broken ribs.”

“I think that’s the least of your worries,” Watkins said seriously.

The Denobulan turned and looked at the stump of his shoulder, “This? It’s just a scratch.”

Watkins leaned against the bio-bed next to the Denobulan, “The doctors tell me that they’re already fabricating replacements.”

He smiled, “Maybe I’ll finally be able to beat you in arm-wrestling.”

Watkins couldn’t resist laughing. He collected himself with a deep breath, “Chief, did you see the damage?”

“I was in it.”

“Okay,” Watkins nodded, “I know it’s kind of early, but can you give me a preliminary briefing?”

The Denobulan blinked several times, “Based on the simulations of what would happen if the antimatter generator was breached, I’d say that eighty-percent of the manufacturing components were damaged, and half of those will be unsalvageable. We’re looking at a minimum half an Earth year for repairs.”

“That’s manageable,” Watkins said, “Our big problem is on the surface.”

“What?”

“The Breen hit Command hard,” Watkins said, “Initial reports are that it’s a total loss.”

The Denobulan cringed, “That’s not good.”

Watkins nodded solemnly, “Don’t worry, Chief, they’ll pay soon enough.”

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
07:28 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.576806

Hanging silently in space, the Kunari ship slowly awakened. The few portholes on the hull lit up, followed by the orange glow of its massive engines and the gradually increasing luminosity of the large blue disk at the bow of the cigar-shaped hull. Thrusters sputtered to life along with the crackle of energy bleeding through the gaping wounds in its side. At less than fifty kilometers away – too close for comfort – the Aldrin and the Norax ship leisurely tumbled through space, joined at the hip. The lights were on in the forward half of the Aldrin’s saucer, but the deflector dish and impulse engines still lay dark.

The Kunari’s thrusters fired, pivoting its bright blue maw towards the entwined pair. The impulse engines roared to life, quite literally spewing fire into space. The movement was painfully slow at first, as if it were an ancient chemically-propelled rocket struggling to break free of a planet’s immense gravity, but just the same it quickly built momentum. It bore down on the two ships from above like a hawk sighting field mouse.

Clark burst out of the turbolift onto the bridge, “Report!” He looked at R’Mor and Murphy, still the only two on the command deck.

R’Mor looked down at her console, “The Kunari have restored power to all systems. They are approaching us at low impulse.”

“Weapons?” Clark questioned.

“They’ve targeted the Norax, Captain.” Murphy stood from the captain’s chair, “They don’t stand a chance.”

Clark positioned himself in his place, “Nor do we, Mr. Murphy. What’s the Norax evacuation status?”

“They’re sealing the airlock right now,” R’Mor said.

“ETA to Kunari?”

“We’ve been in range the whole time, Sir,” R’Mor said with a hint of disbelief over the question.

Clark rolled his eyes, “Of course. How long until they’re here?”

“Thirty seconds.” A sensor feed of the oncoming Kunari ship appeared, its menacing maw glowing almost white. Murphy had moved from the command area back to his security station.

“Shit.” Clark tapped the comm controls on his armrest, “Aldrin to Commander Kire.”

Kire’s ever cheerful voice came on the other end of the, “Kire here, how are you tod–”

Clark abruptly cut him off, “Kire, get the hell out of here. Now!” He looked up to R’Mor, “Clear all moorings, right now.” She started to protest and Clark stood, “I said now, Ensign! Damn the regulations!”

R’Mor’s fingers danced over the controls of the ops station and a series of trembles swept through the bridge. The viewscreen went blank with the connection to the Norax’s sensors cut. “Moorings cleared. Leakage reported in–”

Clark sat back down in his chair, “Kire, you still there?”

“Yes, Captain,” The Norax commander seemed to have noticed the seriousness of the situation.

“Commander,” Clark swallowed, “Go as fast as you can for as long as you can.”

“Understood. I hope we’ll meet again, Captain.”

R’Mor wiped a bead of sweat off her brow, despite the chilly air, “Impact in five seconds.”

Clark nodded, “As do I, Commander. Aldrin, out.” He looked back at Murphy, “Any luck getting sensors back online?” Murphy shook his head, so Clark turned his chair all the way back to R’Mor, “Sorry about that. How long?”

R’Mor swallowed hard and a hand went up to the tip of her ear, “Now.”

Clark froze, waiting for any sign that the Norax had made it. The bridge suddenly heaved to port, throwing the trio off their positions and to the deck. R’Mor tumbled to the side, rolling down the ramp towards the ready room. Clark flipped out of his chair and was smashed against the lower edge of the ops arc before falling to the deck. Murphy simply fell from his seat at the tactical station and slid across the bridge into the science station. The lights flickered and the Aldrin’s superstructure groaned as the matter-antimatter explosion engulfed across the hull, immediately followed by smaller pieces of debris from the Norax ship.

Murphy was the first to recover; he jumped to his feet and ran down the ramp to R’Mor. She pushed herself up to her knees and begrudgingly accepted Murphy’s help getting her on her feet. Clark grabbed the base of the slowly swiveling captain’s chair and pulled himself away from the nook he was crammed into. He groaned, “I’m going to need to see a chiropractor after that one.”

R’Mor moved up to her station, “I’ve got nothing.” The ship shuddered as a large chunk of the Norax vessel rebounded off the hardened duranium hull. R’Mor tapped a few controls, “I’ve got damage reports coming in from all decks, starboard side only.”

Clark sat up on the deck and heard his back crack several times, “How bad is it?”

“Can it get much worse?” R’Mor said grimly. The bridge was plunged into darkness. R’Mor cursed, “That was not a challenge, oh Elements.”

As if mocking her, the Aldrin jolted and rumbled against another large piece of the Norax ship. Clark stood, “I’m guessing we aren’t next?”

Murphy found a wristlight on the deck and flipped it one, “I guess not.”

R’Mor’s voice came from the darkness, “Why not?”

Clark steadied himself on the back of his chair, “Because they need somebody to go back home and tell of what happened here.”

“If we ever get back,” Murphy tossed another wristlight to Clark.

“We’ll get back,” Clark slapped the light onto his wrist and turned it on, “I’ll see to that.” He tapped his combadge, “Clark to Vorik.”

“Vorik here.”

“I assume you know why I’m calling.”

“We’re working on it,” Vorik said, “The fusion reactors are off the rails.”

Clark looked around the bridge, “Literally, or figuratively?”

“Most literally, Captain. Without inertial dampeners there was nothing holding the reactors down. I estimate it will be another hour before minimal power can be restored.” A loud metallic groan sounded through the combadge.

“Thank you, Vorik. Clark out.” The captain sighed, “Nevala?”

R’Mor activated a wristlight of her own, “Captain?”

“Let’s go down to the shuttlebay and assess the damage,” Clark said. Murphy started to protest and Clark raised a hand, “I know the regulations about away missions, but this is strictly a structural systems assessment. Ensign, let’s go. Commander, you have the bridge.” As they left, Murphy dropped into the captain’s chair.

07:41 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.601472

Jensen’s eyes fluttered open to darkness. She sighed and turned her head to the left, finding S’hark quietly sleeping, his face as Vulcanly stoic as if he were conscious. Jensen briefly marveled at the power of the Vulcan mind before calling out, “Hello?” She raised her back off the biobed ever so slightly to look around.

Cochrane, merely a shadow in the darkened sickbay, came to her, “Commander?”

Jensen fell back onto the bed, “I can hear.” Her smile was uncharacteristically broad.

“That you can,” Cochrane patted her on her left shoulder, “Your hearing is at about eighty percent right now, it’ll be a few days before your ears heal fully.”

She nodded, “That’s fine. I’m just glad to hear again.”

Cochrane moved closer to her, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jensen moved to sit up, but Cochrane placed a resisting hand on her chest. “I was down on Deck 8. We were just attacked by the Kunari, again. I threw two grenades and hit my head on the deck.”

“Good, then what?”

“I,” Jensen looked straight up, “I stood up and I couldn’t hear, and then… I was shot. After that, everything’s a blur.”

Cochrane nodded and Kelley came up to his side, “Doc, I found the wristlights.” She handed one to him and walked away.

Jensen looked back to Cochrane, “What is it?”

He turned on the wristlight, set it pointing up on a small console to the left of Jensen’s head, and sighed, “There’s never an easy way to say this.”

“Richard,” Jensen shook her head, “I was born on Bajor. I was forced to watch my parents’ execution. I’m used to bad news; just give it to me.”

Cochrane nodded slowly, “Okay, the damage caused by the disruptor was too severe. I had no choice but to amputate your right arm.”

“Nonsense,” Jensen laughed, “I can feel it right–” She froze and squinted her eyes in concentration, “I can’t move my arm.”

“I know,” Cochrane grabbed the wristlight and pointed it at her right shoulder.

Jensen twisted her neck so that she could see where it pointed. She barely gasped at the sight of the light gray biobed sheets, “Prophets be… Can’t you fabricate a replacement?”

Cochrane pulled the light away and leaned against S’hark’s bed, “The equipment was destroyed. I’ve told Vorik that we need to build new biogenerators, but he already has a list three kilometers long of things that come first.”

Anger began to grow on Jensen’s face, “This is Sara Bennett’s fault, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. She went above and beyond with you. If it hadn’t been for her we wouldn’t even be having this discussion.”

“That’s my point,” Jensen growled.

“No it isn’t,” Cochrane said sternly, “She saved your life, Loy. If it weren’t for her you would be dead. Bennett did everything in her power to save your skin; you owe her big time.”

“Do I?”

Cochrane nodded, “She’s easily one of the finest medics sent my way by the Academy in a long time. If I were you, I’d put her in for a commendation.”

“I’m sure you would,” Jensen said sarcastically.

“Look, this is not her fault,” Cochrane said, “It’s an unfortunate set of circumstances, but nobody’s fault.”

“Unfortunate,” Jensen said roughly.

Cochrane stood and slapped the light onto his wrist, “I’m not going to play this game with you. Vorik and I will do our best to build a new biogenerators, but I’m not going to make any promises on results. We’ve got a long trip back to the Alpha Quadrant ahead, so you best get used to writing with your left hand. In the meantime, I’d suggest that you think about how you’re going to treat those who are doing their best to keep your ass alive.” He walked away. Jensen tried to brush away an errant lock of hair with her right arm, then sighed and used her left. She growled lightly and cursed the unfortunate circumstances.

07:46 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.610959

R’Mor struggled to get into the white trousers of her environmental suit, “They never design these damned things to be easy, do they?” She sat down on the bench behind her in the shuttlebay airlock prep room and continued her fight with the pants.

Clark already had his trousers on and easily slipped the maroon-trimmed upper shell on over his shoulders, locking it into place, “Come on, as skinny as you are?”

She cast him a whimsical glance and kicked into the trousers, managing to get her left leg in knee deep, “What are you trying to say, Captain?”

“Uhm,” Clark looked around the airlock, “That you’re in good shape?”

R’Mor kicked into the trousers again, this time dislodging her entire leg. She glared at the pants, “If only my brain was operational too; I was able to this three months ago.”

Clark grabbed a pair of white gloves out of an environmental suit locker and dropped them on the bench, “You’re really going about it all the wrong way.” He stepped over the bench to R’Mor’s side.

She looked up at him, “Okay, how do I do this?”

Clark took the trousers and positioned them on the deck, “Working with the Corp of Engineers gets you a lot of EVA time; everybody eventually comes up with their own method for getting into these.” He adjusted the legs so that they could be stepped straight into, and then looked up at R’Mor, “Let me see your shell.” She handed him the shell, and Clark turned it around until he found a label on its backside, then handed it back to R’Mor, “Get one, uh,” He looked over her body, “One size bigger.”

“One size?” R’Mor questioned.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve,” Clark stammered, “Uh… The shell size is for your chest.”

“Am I not skinny anymore?” R’Mor teased.

Clark blushed and busied himself with adjusting the trouser legs, “You, uh, you have a very, uh, a… bosom.” He bit his lip and kept looking down.

R’Mor fell off the back of the bench laughing. She looked under the bench at Clark’s face and laughed even harder, “Bosom!”

“Well, the shells themselves aren’t flexible,” Clark tried to recover himself, but couldn’t help laughing, “If you go by the standard size it’s not comfortable for women!”

R’Mor grabbed the bench and pulled herself off the deck, “Bosom? I’ve never heard that word outside of those ancient 2-D Earth films that Gagun watches all the time!” She laughed again, this time buckling over onto her knees.

Clark shook his head, “What? It’s just another one of those things you learn in SCE!”

R’Mor sat up despite the dark olive flush of her cheeks, “Proper use of the word ‘bosom’?” When Clark moved to defend himself, she laughed, “Sir, I’m kidding.” She looked down at her breasts, “And I guess you’re right, I do have a bosom. Not that you should have noticed.”

Clark felt his blush returning, “You are not to breath a word of this to Commander Jensen.”

“I won’t say a thing.”

“That’s an order,” Clark winked.

R’Mor held her right fist to her chest, “On the Elements I swear, Commander Jensen will know nothing of what happened here.” She stood, “Now, can we get this thing on me?”

Clark shook his head, “Oh, of course.” He pointed an open hand to the neatly arranged trousers with the overboots pointing away from him, “Step in.”

She carefully slipped one booted foot into the pant leg, sliding down to the overboot at the bottom. “That was too easy.”

“Next foot,” Clark said. He adjusted the opening at the top of the open leg.

R’Mor stepped in easily this time, and then noticed the shells on top of the lockers to her right, “I think the right size is right there.” She reached up and grabbed one, read the label on the back, then dropped it onto the bench, “Got it.” She looked down at Clark and smiled.

Clark looked back up at her, and then back to the trousers, “Now, you have to keep your legs straight while putting these on, otherwise it’ll take you forever and a day.” He grabbed the top edge of the trousers and stood, pulling them up R’Mor’s legs as he went. Clark reached around from behind her and fastened the trousers front, and then moved closer and looked over her shoulder to find the constrictor switch.

She put her hands on top of his and looked over into Clark’s face, which was only a few centimeters from her own. She said gently, “I think I’ve got it from here.”

Clark immediately let go and stepped back, “I’m, I’m so sorry.” He held a suddenly shaking hand to his mouth, “I don’t know what I was thinking, Nevala. I mean, Ensign.”

R’Mor found the constrictor switch and pressed it, shrinking the trousers close to her legs. She looked up at Clark and smiled, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry, that was completely entirely inappropriate of me,” Clark leaned against a locker and closed his eyes, “And very very stupid.”

R’Mor slipped the shell over her head and put on a sympathetic smile, “You look like a man with a lot on his mind.”

“To say the least.” Clark sighed, “I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. Besides, I seem to remember you telling me that I had ‘an attractive body.’ ” She locked the shell into place and pressed the constrictor switch on it, sealing it against her slender waist and arms.

Clark started to blush, so he turned around and grabbed a helmet out of a nearby locker, “When did I do that?” He set the helmet on the bench and put on his gloves.

“It was our first mission,” she grabbed a helmet for herself, “We were on our way from Earth to DS9, and I was having an allergic reaction.” She looked over at Clark, and when he registered a look of memory loss, she added, “You walked in on me naked in sickbay.”

“Oh!” Clark exclaimed. He involuntarily smiled devilishly, and then quickly wiped the smile away, “Yes, I remember that. But, I said that?”

“You sure did.” R’Mor winked, “It was kind of cute.”

Clark put on his helmet and locked it into the shell. The suit whirred to life and lit up in various place, “Well, I certainly wasn’t lying if I said that.” He thanked the cold air and blue lights that diminished the hotness in his cheeks.

R’Mor pulled on her gloves, “Of course you weren’t.” She smiled with a bit of humor, “I’ve seen that look many times before.” She grabbed her helmet from the bench and put it on. The lights came on and cool air blew into the helmet. R’Mor looked up at Clark, seeing the embarrassment etched into his face, “Don’t worry, you were the perfect gentlemen the whole time. Even now.”

Clark managed a weak smile, “Let’s get to work.” He turned around and headed into the airlock. R’Mor paused and watched him go, struggling to suppress the attraction she felt rising inside.

[Captain_Hair]

14

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
08:01 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57350.639420

With a slight puff of air and crystallized water vapor, the airlock opened into the dark shuttlebay. Normally filled with light and a breathable atmosphere, the shuttlebay was only illuminated by a few emergency lights and the starlight filtering through the windows of the control room. A massive scorched slice of the weapons pod hull stuck through the overhead two decks above and buckled the expansive deck below. The words U.S.S. ALDRIN NCC-89465 were visible on the heavily marred hull piece. Crushed under it was the Avenger, a captured Dominion attack ship, and three Type-XIA shuttlecraft: the Braga, Eleuthera, and Etna. To their side were more shuttlecraft shoved aside by the impact: the Carpathia, Herman, Kamal, and Soma. On this side of the shuttlebay, the Magellan sat furthest from the hull section, apparently unharmed. Large and small pieces of the ship were scattered away from the hole in the overhead, including a broken couch and bed from somebody’s quarters.

R’Mor whistled in amazement and her voice was transmitted into Clark’s suit, “Wow.”

Clark nodded inside his helmet, “Wow indeed. My favorite shuttle survived.” He started across the rippled deck towards the Magellan.

R’Mor unclipped a tricorder from the side of her environmental suit and read off the screen, “Gamma radiation levels in here are exorbitant. I recommend that you not breathe the air.”

“Noted.” Clark smiled as he crossed the shuttlebay, slowed by the bulk of the suit.

“I’m surprised that gravity plating is still online,” R’Mor snapped the tricorder back onto her hip and followed Clark.

“Be glad it isn’t,” Clark said, “The deckplating in here is a plastic to avoid an static discharges. Unfortunately, it’s also amagnetic.”

R’Mor agreed, “That would be bad.”

Clark tapped a code into a control panel by the Magellan’s aft hatch and the shuttle powered up, spilling light from its large forward windows into the dark shuttlebay. R’Mor winced at the sudden brightness as she came around, “Is it in good shape?”

“Yes she is,” Clark smiled and entered more commands into the panel, “I’ve got transporter control.” With the tap of a button the pair dematerialized and reformed inside the shuttle.

R’Mor unclipped the tricorder again and scanned the interior space, “All clear.” She set it on a console and then unlocked and removed her helmet, “Ah, clean air.”

Clark followed suit and set his helmet on the deck, “Computer, recognize voiceprint Captain David Clark.”

“Voiceprint recognized, Captain David Clark, commanding.” The console at the bow of the shuttle came to life.

Clark took off his gloves and moved across the shuttle’s small deck, “Computer, are sensors operational?”

“Sensors are operating at full efficiency.”

“They can always be better,” Clark sat in the pilots seat and called up a schematic of the Aldrin, “Computer, overlay lifesigns readings on this schematic.” More than three hundred red dots appeared on the screen, most concentrated in the saucer section. Clark looked over the schematic, “Are any of these Kunari?”

“Designation unknown. Please elaborate.”

R’Mor laughed, “Of course, the computer’s been down the whole time we’ve known who they were.”

Clark nodded, “Of course. Computer, are there any unidentified lifesigns aboard?”

“Negative, all lifesigns conform to those registered as Aldrin crewmembers.”

“Okay, are there any dampening fields in place?”

“Negative.”

R’Mor leaned over Clark’s shoulder and examined the schematic, “Computer, display marginal lifesigns.” A tight cluster of dots brightened in the ship’s sickbay. A Clark’s quizzical look, she explained, “Checking to see if the search parties missed anybody.”

Clark nodded, “Good idea.” He looked over the controls, “Computer, do you have readings on the vessels that have occupied nearspace?”

“Affirmative. Sensor records dating to Stardate 56008 are available.”

“Excellent, display path of any vessels in our vicinity over the past day,” Clark ordered.

The schematic disappeared and was replaced with a map of the space surrounding the Aldrin. The Norax ship arced in and docked as the Kunari ship sat fifty kilometers away. The Kunari suddenly moved towards the Aldrin, rammed through the Norax ship, and turned away.

“Tag the unknown vessel as a design utilized by the Kunari,” Clark said. The computer beeped to confirm, and he continued, “Where is the Kunari vessel now?”

“The Kunari vessel left sensor range twenty two minutes ago.”

R’Mor moved into the copilots chair, “Are there any others?”

“Negative. There are no other vessels within sensor range.”

R’Mor worked the console, “There’s no comm traffic out there. I think we might be in a dead zone.”

Clark shook his head, “I don’t think so. There wasn’t anything on the way in that indicated that. Computer, did the Kunari vessel leave anything behind?”

“Two hundred eleven damaged structural elements between one and ten cubic meters. Fourteen damaged structural elements between ten and one hundred cubic meters. One heavily damaged small craft measuring three meters in length with a hull composed of–”

Clark cut the computer off, “Were there any active power sources left behind?”

“One buoy measuring one meter in length. Purpose unknown.”

R’Mor looked at the map displayed, “Computer, where is that buoy now?”

“Unknown.”

“Alright, plot estimated path based on available data.” R’Mor tapped a few controls and a dashed line appeared on the map, terminating in a pulsating dot.

Clark leaned over and examined the map, “Let’s get out there and see what it is. Environmental systems?”

R’Mor turned to face the status display to her right, “Check.”

“Communications?”

“Online.”

“Thrusters?”

“Check.”

“Impulse drive?”

“Check. Deuterium at maximum.”

“Warp drive?”

“Operational. Antimatter levels at 90%.”

“Shields?”

“Standing by.”

“Weapons?”

“Also standing by.”

“Transporters?”

“Online.”

Clark nodded, “All systems are go. Do you concur?”

R’Mor turned to face the front again, “I concur. Shuttlecraft Magellan is prepped for launch. Computer?”

“All systems are operating within established parameters.”

Clark smiled, “Excellent. Where’s that buoy?”

“Bearing one zero one mark one seven two, forty kilometers,” R’Mor said. With the light rumble of thrusters working against the gravity plating, the shuttle rose a meter off the deck and pivoted to face the aft launch doors.

Clark leaned forward towards the window, peering into the dark shuttlebay, “Computer, activate forward spotlights.” Bright beams of light shone from the forward edge of the shuttlecraft, illuminating the sealed space doors.

“I don’t suppose we can open those?” R’Mor asked.

“Not without phasers,” Clark sighed.

R’Mor nodded, “Bringing phasers online.”

“No!” Clark put a hand on her shoulder, “We’ve already got enough holes in her, and I’d rather not make another if we can avoid it.”

“Okay… Do we beam a shuttle out? Kelley said she did that.”

Clark shook his head, “No, she fried the buffer and Starfleet saw it fit to lower the maximum buffer capacity after that stunt. Beaming a shuttlecraft fully fueled with deuterium and antideuterium wasn’t all that bright.”

R’Mor shrugged, “I suppose so.” She looked back out the window, “Open, in the name of the Elements.”

Clark leaned forward and looked up where the hull fragment stuck through the overhead, “Computer, please do a high resolution scan of the hull breach in the shuttlebay.”

“Scan complete.”

“Are there any paths through which this shuttle can fit safely?”

“Affirmative. There are two possible paths through which a Type-XI shuttlecraft could fit. Margin of clearance is ten centimeters in all directions.”

R’Mor blinked several times, “You can’t be serious.”

“Activate the heads-up display and overlay with scan grid,” Clark ordered. A green holographic grid was projected onto the forward window, curving to conform to the twisted metal that was the hull breach. Clark leaned back, “I wish Kelley was with us right now.”

“She’d try to beam the shuttle again,” R’Mor half-joked. She leaned forward and looked up at the breach, “You’re crazy.”

Clark slowly worked the controls, “Thank you, Ensign.”

“I didn’t say it was a good crazy,” She smiled and the shuttle rose away from the deck and rotated so that the bow was pointing nearly straight up. Clark edged the shuttle towards the hull plate and the spotlights shined into the breach.

“I know,” Clark nodded. “Adjust thruster control to close-quarters maneuvering.”

R’Mor tapped a few buttons on the console, “Done.”

Clark took a moment to look up into the twisted maw of the hull breach, “It just looks evil.”

R’Mor nodded, “It reminds me of the Gal Gath’thong Firefalls. Without the lava.” She sighed, “Not that I’ll ever see them again.”

“Someday.” Clark edged the shuttle up into the breach, “But today, let’s just get the shuttle through this hole.”

“I don’t see any stars,” R’Mor sighed, “This is not going to be fun.”

“Spoil sport,” Clark teased. “Computer, display path on heads-up.” A series of dots appeared, leading forward for several meters, then turning along the path. Clark took a deep breath, “Here goes.” He nudged the shuttle forward and proximity alarms started to sound. Without looking away, he said, “Ensign, could you turn that off please?”

She nodded, “I’ll turn it down to five centimeters. She held up a hand, spreading her thumb and index finger about five centimeters, “Damn.”

Clark slowly piloted the shuttle up and around the first curve, following the dots on the heads-up and hugging close to the hull panel. The next curve had him executing a sharp turn, as he straightened the shuttle into the next passageway the stars came into view. R’Mor sighed with relief and the proximity alarm blared loudly. Clark backed off the thrusters, but the adjustment came too late and the shuttle’s ventral side scraped against the hull plate. As the shuttle rebounded, he struggled with the thrusters to keep the Magellan from careening into the twisted edge of the breach above. The shuttle suddenly arrested, floating squarely between the hull plate and the bent and burned remains of a science lab on Deck 7. Clark cautiously lifted his hands off the controls, “What happened?”

R’Mor smiled, “The collision sensors automatically raised the shields, so I tuned them to ten centimeters off the hull.”

“Good thinking.” The shields sparked brightly as the shuttle came to rest back on the hull plate. Clark let himself relax a bit, “A few more meters.” The shuttle easily slid through the remaining path and was soon in free space behind the Aldrin’s briefing room. Clark slumped in his chair, “Computer, damage assessment.”

“Hull deformation on the center ventral panel of three centimeters. All other systems operating within established parameters.”

Clark sat up, “Are you sure?”

“All systems are operating within established parameters.”

R’Mor smiled, “You heard the lady.”

Clark spun the shuttle so it faced the bridge, “Time for a damage survey.” He slowly piloted the shuttle around the Aldrin, pausing in various spots to survey the damage.

As they passed over the remains of the starboard engineering hull, R’Mor asked, “Is that the warp plasma conduit?”

“Sure is, we’ll have to seal that breach to even think about doing warp travel.”

R’Mor sighed, “Vorik is going to have to balance that warp field. I don’t want to try super-light with only one nacelle.”

Clark shrugged, “I don’t blame you.” He looked up past the hull breach, “At least our other nacelle is still floating nearby.” He turned the shuttle away from the engineering hull and moved down towards the attached nacelle, “You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Yeah…” R’Mor tucked a loose lock of hair back behind her ear, “So what about that buoy?”

“Computer, turn off the heads-up display,” Clark ordered. The shuttle turned to face up from the Aldrin, a space filled with pieces of debris from the size of a fist to larger than the Magellan, “You said forty kilometers, right?”

R’Mor nodded, “Four zero.” Clark pushed the shuttle forward on thrusters and the shields flashed repeatedly as larger chunks of debris, a mix from the Aldrin, Kunari, and Norax ships, were pushed to the side.

After several seconds, Clark slowed the shuttle to a dead stop, “Where is it?”

“It should be right here.” R’Mor looked puzzled through the porthole, “The Kunari have cloaking technology, don’t they?”

Clark nodded, “They do. Computer, how much neon gas do we have aboard?”

“Forty compressed cubic meters.”

Clark smiled, “Vent it all into space.” The computer beeped in response. He turned to R’Mor, “Lower the shields, I’ll ionize the hull.”

R’Mor nodded slowly, “Will do. Shields down.”

“Ionizing the hull.” The space around the Magellan gradually illuminated in a white fog. Clark leaned forward, “Look for any disturbances.”

R’Mor looked through the triangular window to her right, “I think I’ve got it: zero seven one, mark zero one three.”

“Arm phasers.”

“Phasers online,” R’Mor reported, “Targeting scanners are locked.”

“Fire.” A single phaser beam shot from the port side of the shuttle and the empty space in the glowing neon exploded, throwing little bits of molten metal against the Magellan’s hull.

“I’ve got subspace traffic,” R’Mor said, “Nobody in range, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Can you make contact with the last relay buoy we dropped?” Clark asked.

R’Mor shook her head, “I’m not reading any.”

“Try again.”

She tapped the console a few times, “Echo Six and Echo Five aren’t responding.”

Clark nodded, “Broadcast on all bands.”

“Ready.”

Clark closed his eyes for a brief moment, “To any vessel within range, this is the Federation Starship Aldrin. We have suffered serious damage and require immediate assistance. I repeat; this is the Federation Starship Aldrin, hailing any vessel within range. We require immediate assistance.” He tapped a button on the console to close the channel.

[Captain_Hair]

15

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
12:01 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57351.094793

The briefing room doors parted and Vorik came through, “I apologize for my tardiness.”

Clark, standing by the windows across the briefing room, looked over the Vulcan’s uniform, which was stained and torn in numerous places, “You look like you put your clothes through a meat grinder. And you’re only a minute late. I think. Lord only knows if our chronometer is still in sync.”

Vorik took his seat, “Why would I put my uniform through a meat grinder?”

Toq’bae rolled his eyes and looked around the table, “Will Commander Jensen be joining us?”

Clark shook his head, “She will not.”

“Jensen’s going to need at least another 24 hours of rest in sickbay before I release her,” Cochrane said, “Beyond that she’s going to need many many hours of rehabilitation therapy.”

“How’s the rest of the crew?” Clark asked.

Cochrane sighed and leaned forward, propping himself up on the table, “I’ve discharged Ensign Namara, Lieutenant Gau, and Ensign Treketh.” He looked down at a PADD by his elbow, “Arels, Drask’ta, Mason, Warren, and Wright will be ready for duty within the next twelve hours. The rest of the crew,” Cochrane sighed and looked back up at the assembled staff, “How much sleep have any of you had in the past 48 hours?”

They all glanced around, waiting for anybody to speak up.

Cochrane nodded, “That’s what I thought. I’ll bet that you haven’t eaten in just as long. Look, I don’t care what race you are, the crew cannot keep operating like this. I can keep pumping you up with stimulants and nutritional injections, but eventually you’ll still crash, and you’re going to crash hard.”

Murphy yawned from across the table. He rubbed his eyes and looked back over to Cochrane.

The doctor smiled, “Thank you, John. This whole crew has been on edge for sixty hours. I know that there are a lot of repairs that need to be completed, but the crew’s efficiency is going to drop quickly and mistakes are going to be made. We need to get back onto a rotating shift system as soon as possible. We need to eat. We need to sleep.” He held up a preemptive silencing hand, “Yes, I know, I haven’t been setting a great example. I’m a doctor, not a saint.”

Clark laughed lightly, “Why’d you have to bring up sleep? I think I’m going to have to start drinking coffee, I gave it up after Quark tried to make some.” He took a deep breath and blinked hard, “I’ll see that we get onto a three shift routine within the next twelve hours. Vorik?”

“The list of damage is obviously extensive,” Vorik said, “Suffice to say, environmental control is the only system operating at higher than fifty percent. Even if the main computer were online we would still have no weapons, shields, subspace communications, or propulsion.”

“Replicators?” Kelley asked optimistically.

“I suggest you stock up on your favorite emergency rations, Lieutenant,” Vorik said flatly. “Damage to all systems is extensive. I have three teams working on restoring the main computer, but repairs are progressing slower than I anticipated.”

Cochrane nodded his head with a slight patronizing smile.

“And before Doctor Cochrane says ‘I told you so,’ work has been slowed because we do not have enough bio-neural gel packs available to replace all those that were ruptured by the feedback pulse. We are working on redistributing the gel packs we have for maximum efficiency,” Vorik said.

Kelley rapped her fingers on the table, “The Type-XI shuttles use gel packs. We’ve got eight damaged shuttles down there we can salvage from.”

Vorik nodded subtly, “Excellent suggestion. As for the shuttlebay, given the extreme hull breaches throughout the ship, I have determined that we do not have enough duranium in the cargo holds to seal the breaches in vital areas. The emergency forcefield emitters in Engineering-B were not designed to work this long under these conditions and have burned out. Also, the anti-matter pod storage bay has been compromised; the pods themselves have not been ruptured, but the transfer system has been severed in several locations and the bio-neural gel packs have burst in the vacuum.”

Clark dropped his head and shook it, “You’re going to have to come up with something to plug these holes. I don’t care if it’s chewing gum and duct tape, but we need something.”

Vorik nodded and Toq’bae cleared his throat, “I’ve been reviewing the sensor logs you retrieved from the Magellan. Without the subspace relay buoys out there’s no way a signal from our shuttles’ transceivers can be boosted to reach the Idran relay station. We know that Echo Five and Six are down, Echo Four is out of range – twenty two light-years.”

Clark let out a sigh, “How long would it take a shuttle to get that far?”

Kelley thought for a moment, “The XI’s can maintain Warp 9.6 for 14 hours before they have to drop down to Warp 6, and then they’ll need some serious maintenance. It’ll take, uh, nineteen days to get within comm range of the Idran relay.”

“How many shuttles do we have?” Clark asked.

R’Mor read off a PADD, “Right now, four: the Atlantis, Magellan, Mayweather, and Newton. The Job and Soma can be repaired with resources on hand, but I think those would better be used elsewhere.”

Clark nodded, “We’ll send the Atlantis and Mayweather out with three personnel on each. I want to keep two shuttles here to assist with repairs.”

“I’ll make sure they’re prepped,” R’Mor said, “Any suggestions for crew?”

“We should put a tactical officer on each,” Murphy said, “Lieutenant S’hark and Ensign Foshan.”

“ ‘The Shark’ won’t be leaving sickbay for at least another three days,” Cochrane said, “I’d prefer not to send him out on a shuttle.

Murphy nodded, “No Shark. Lieutenant Calem, then.”

“Before we push out, I want you and Vorik to go over those shuttles with a fine-toothed comb,” Clark said, “Check over everything, we need those shuttles to make it to Idran in one piece. Okay, so priority number one is getting those shuttles out. Number two: patch up the Aldrin. Toq’bae, work with engineering on developing a new sealing method. Third, get the main computer back online. After that…” Clark sighed, “Shields, weapons, propulsion, build a new long-range subspace transceiver, and at some point in there get some sleep and lunch. Let’s get to work.”

As everybody started to rise, R’Mor called out, “Captain?”

Clark slipped back into his chair at the end of the table, “Ensign.”

“I was talking to Lieutenant Wright, down in sickbay,” R’Mor swallowed, “His quarters were demolished in the explosion. If my count is correct, a full third of our crew quarters are gone or uninhabitable. We need to double up on beds.”

Kelley sighed, “I’m in that group, my quarters are spread over 250,000 cubic kilometers.”

Clark nodded, “Nevala, compile a new rooming list. I think we’re going to get a little cramped in here. Oh, and have a talk with Louie. We’re going to have to conserve power, so the replicators will be on restricted access. The emergency rations aren’t going to last forever, so the galley is going to have to be our primary source of food.”

“Sir, have you read the Voyager briefings?” Vorik asked. Clark nodded, so the Vulcan continued, “When we first took Mr. Neelix on board I assisted him in expanding and maintaining the Voyager galley.”

Toq’bae chuckled, “Was that a hint of annoyance I heard there?”

Vorik put his elbows on the table and moved his fingers into a steeple under his chin, “Mr. Neelix was a trying individual, from an engineering standpoint.”

Clark smiled, “I know the type.” Vorik cast a skeptical glance at Clark, who smiled even wider, “Make sure that Louie has enough help downstairs. If we have to assign people to KP duty, do it.”

“KP?” Murphy questioned. He looked around the table, finding more confused faces.

“I guess I was the only one of us that went to a military academy,” Clark’s smiled faded, “Kitchen patrol. Nevala, find out who can cook and once we get under way assign them additional duties in the galley.”

“Do we have potatoes to peel?” Cochrane asked, half joking.

Clark dropped his arms against the table, “And as soon as possible we need to make a complete inventory of foodstuffs. We’re going to have to ration what we’ve got.” He looked out at the officers, “Is there anything else?”

R’Mor forced a smile, “I think that just about covers it.”

“Thank you, everyone. This ship isn’t going to fix itself,” Clark stood, pushing his chair back, “Dismissed.”

15:19 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57351.470476

The air in the middle of sickbay wavered and a Human woman in a Starfleet science uniform materialized. Her skin was a deep tan and she had curly brown hair and bright blue eyes, and no rank. She turned around the face Cochrane, “Please state the nature of the medical emergency.”

Cochrane smiled and looked her over, “Boy, oh boy, those boys a Jupiter Station must have worked overtime on you.”

The EMH smiled back, “More than you know. The EMH Mark VII is quite possibly the most advanced piece of holography ever produced.” She laughed lightly and winked, “Not that I’m letting that go to my head.”

“Of course not,” Cochrane walked in a circle around the EMH, “I could swear that you’re real.”

She turned to face Cochrane as he came around behind her, “Doctor Cochrane, you were around for the birth of holography. You’ve watched it evolve of the years, and you obviously have an appreciation for the level the technology has achieved recently.”

“I thought you weren’t letting it go to your head.”

“I’m just saying,” The EMH smiled again, then the smile quickly faded. She looked up at the overhead, “Is the main computer offline?”

Cochrane nodded, “It is. You’re stored in an autonomous dedicated processing core.”

“I know where I’m stored,” her eyes landed on the demolished surgical bay, “Good god, what happened here.”

“It’s a long story,” Cochrane sighed at the site of the destruction, “Suffice to say, we’ve suffered severe damage and fought off a very dedicated boarding party. And now we have a sickbay full of patients.”

“How many?”

“Right now, we have eighty three in sickbay, including most of my medical staff,” Cochrane walked over to a freestanding computer console and read over the screen.

The EMH clapped her hands together and spun around to face Cochrane, “Let’s get started.”

Cochrane handed her a PADD, “They’re all stable for now.”

“Then why was I activated?” She grabbed the PADD and quickly read it over, “None of the patients need immediate care, only observation and medication.”

“I need to get some sleep,” Cochrane said. He tapped a few more controls on the console, “I’ve been awake for nearly 72 hours and at my age I just can’t hold out as long as I used to.”

The EMH nodded, “Uh huh, at your age you’re lucky if you can get out of bed in the morning.” She set the PADD down on the console, “So I suppose you want me to monitor everybody while you catch some shut eye?”

“That’s the plan.” The last of Cochrane’s smile faded, “And I think dragging my age into this is a little out of line.”

“I apologize,” The EMH said courteously, “But I’m a doctor, not a walking vitals monitor.”

Cochrane nodded, “Fine. I’ll just deactivate you and get somebody with basic field medicine training to do the job.”

She nodded indignantly, “Fine.”

“Computer, deactive Emergency Med–”

“Wait!”

Cochrane looked into her holographic eyes, “What?”

The EMH sighed and rolled her eyes, “I’ll do it. It’ll,” she paused, looking for an excuse, “give me a chance to get to know some of the crew.”

“Thank you,” Cochrane smiled, “And goodnight.” He turned and walked towards the corridor.

She picked up the PADD, “Pleasant dreams, Doctor.” Cochrane waved as he left sickbay. The EMH looked around at the officer on the biobeds and sighed, “It would certainly be easier to get to know you all if you weren’t all sleeping too.”

15:47 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57351.470476

Clark finished a yawn and then walked into the engineering lab next to him, “You called?”

Toq’bae, Ensign Planni, a female Rigelian, and Lieutenant Kazako Izi, a Japanese Human woman, all stood behind a clear cylinder a meter tall and half a meter wide on a short table. A conglomerate of hoses, power relays, and canisters sat next to the cylinder and spilled onto the deck. Toq’bae smiled, “We’ve got a solution to the hull breach problem.”

Clark shook his head, attempting to fight off the wave of exhaustion, “Really?”

The Bolian nodded, “Really. Kazako?”

She grabbed a wand attached to one of the hoses, “Captain, your hand please.” Clark cautiously extended his hand and Izi squeezed a trigger at the top of the wand. It slowly ejected expanding pink foam into Clark’s hand.

Clark lifted his hand to study the slowly growing mound of foam more closely. He sniffed it, blinked a few times, and then asked, “What is it?”

“Vacuum inured colloidal aero-suspended chromium iron carbide alloy,” Izi said proudly.

Clark looked back down at the foam in his hand, jiggled it, then looked back up at Izi, “It hasn’t been that long since I was in engineering school, but you’ve really lost me.”

“It’s steel,” Toq’bae said, “In a foam suspension. It uses ninety five percent less material for the same volume as its solid form.”

“Okay, that’s the colloidal aero-suspended chromium iron carbide alloy part,” Clark nodded. “Vacuum inured?”

Izi handed the wand to Planni, “Would you do the honors?”

Planni quietly took the wand, and pushed it through a valve on the top of the cylinder in front of her. The valve hissed and Toq’bae tapped a control and the hissing stopped. Planni maneuvered the end of the wand towards the base of the cylinder then squeezed the trigger. She moved the wand across the base of the cylinder, spraying a short wall of the foam inside.

Clark crouched next to the cylinder and peered inside, “Vacuum chamber.”

“That it is,” Toq’bae said.

“It doesn’t look to be spreading as much in there,” Clark moved closer and examined the assembled hoses and canisters.

“That’s not all,” Izi said. Toq’bae twisted the cylinder and after a loud hiss pulled it up.

Clark stood at looked down at the line of foam, “Okay?

Planni grabbed a small aluminum-handle hammer from the table, lifted it above her head, and swung it down onto the foam. She held up the hammer, making sure Clark could clearly see the extreme bend in its arm and the scarring on its head. Clark blinked, “That’s quite an arm you’ve got.” Planni nodded crisply.

Izi smiled, “The colloidal lattice evenly distributes applied energy across the entire mass. And we’ve got enough iron and chromium aboard to fill the entire ship with this stuff.”

“Radiation resistance?”

“Two hundred centimeters worth is equivalent to the standard ten centimeters of duranium,” Toq’bae said. He grabbed the hardened foam from the table, and struggled to wrench it free, “And it bonds at the molecular level once it is inured. We can build a portable version of this if you give us a few hours.”

Clark nodded, “Get a sample of this to Vorik, I want his approval on it before we proceed.” He wiped the foam from his hand onto Toq’bae’s shoulder and smiled a bit, “You look good in pink.”

[Captain_Hair]

16

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
17:52 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57351.094793

Clark walked into sickbay, pausing on the sight of Jensen sitting up and talking to a young human woman. He stood by the door, his presence holding it open, and studied the woman and realized that he didn’t recognize her as a member of the crew, “Excuse me?”

Jensen looked over at him, “David!” She smiled broadly and tried to move off the table, but grimaced when she moved her legs.

Clark smiled back and walked towards her, “Hey there.” He turned his attention to the woman and dropped the smile, “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Emergency Medical Hologram Mark 7,” she held out a hand in greeting, “You must be Captain Clark.”

He returned the hand shake, “Nice to meet you, but where’s Doc Cochrane?”

The EMH rolled her eyes, “Sleeping. You look like hell.”

“I take that back,” Clark stifled a yawn, “But if I look half as bad as I…” He blinked and rubbed his scruffy cheek, “Uh, never mind.”

Jensen chuckled, “She’s right, you know.”

Clark nodded, “Yep, I am the Captain. She got that right.” He smiled, “How are you doing?”

“As good as can be expected, I guess.” She shook her head, “I’m still in denial somewhat about it, constantly checking to see if it’s all been a dream.”

Clark sat to her left on the bed, “I wish it was.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his shoulder.

Jensen sighed, “Doc tells me he wants me to spend another 20 hours in here. I feel fine.”

“I’m sure you do, but even I can’t override his orders,” Clark looked behind her head at the EMH, who shook her own head in veto. Clark rolled his eyes and nuzzled his mouth up against Jensen’s ear, “But I’ll see what I can do.”

She turned to face Clark and gently kissed him, he continued, “I’ve got some bad news.”

Jensen looked over at her right shoulder, then back at Clark, “Do you?”

“Okay, it’s somewhat trivial in comparison. We’ve had to evacuate the section of the ship where your quarters are, and there just aren’t any cabins available.”

“Okay,” Jensen nodded, “Do I get a spot in the corridor, or will I have to settle for a warm little EPS junction?”

“Well,” Clark’s eyebrows bounced, “I was thinking think I found a spot in cabin 08-1067.”

“Hmmm, aren’t those your quarters?”

Clark looked up at the overhead, “You know what, I think they are.”

Jensen’s smile faded slightly, “Do you think we’re ready for this?”

“You did say ‘we.’ And we’ll never know if we don’t try.”

The EMH dramatically rolled her eyes and walked away. Jensen nodded, “I suppose you’ve already tweaked the rooming list to ensure that this happens?”

Clark feigned innocence, “Maybe.”

Jensen gently punched him in the chest, “Well, I guess I have no choice.”

“I was hoping I would get to order you to, being Captain and all,” Clark smiled.

“I wouldn’t grant you that pleasure,” She turned the fist into a single pointed finger, which she pressed against his sternum, “But I can think of a few other pleasures that I might be willing to grant.”

“Oh,” Clark said slowly. He looked to his left, and met S’hark’s eyes.

The Vulcan was lay on his back, silently observing the couple. He nodded subtly, “Captain.”

Clark nodded slowly, “Good evening, Ensign.”

Jensen put her hand on Clark’s far cheek and turned his head back towards her face, “Over here.”

Clark smiled, “Of course.” He looked at S’hark through the corner of his eye, “As you were, Ensign.”

S’hark returned to a meditative pose, facing up at the overhead, “Yes, Sir.”

Jensen lowered her head so she could glare at Clark, “David.”

He gently lifted her head with a finger, “I’m sorry. You know how I feel when I know I’m being watched.”

“You’re a poor actor,” Jensen laughed, “It’s a good thing you don’t have time to audition for a part in Lieutenant Durajja’s plays.”

“Hey now, you know I didn’t have time as a kid to hone my acting skills.”

“You were too anxious to grow up,” she jokingly waved a patronizing finger.

Clark sighed, “Well, I’ve got grown up things to do now.”

Jensen gently pushed him off the bed, “Yeah, you better get out of here before Cochrane wakes up and finds you disrupting my recuperation.”

Clark slipped off the biobed and straightened his uniform, “Duty calls.” He kissed Jensen one more time before walking out into the corridor.

The EMH was leaning against the window into Cochrane’s empty office, “That was disturbing.”

S’hark spoke from his own bed, “I concur.”

Jensen smiled, “I take it neither of you has ever been in love.”

“I’m a hologram,” The EMH pushed off from the bulkhead, “And I’ve only been online for all of two and a half hours.” She shrugged and grabbed a hypospray from the freestanding console nearby.

“Love is a most dangerous of emotions,” S’hark said calmly, still staring at the overhead, “It draws out the worst personality traits in those who choose to dabble.”

Jensen rolled her eyes, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

18:44 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57351.860168

Vorik stood at the operations station on the bridge, facing towards the large master systems display on the aft bulkhead. He had downloaded the data obtained about the damage from the scans done by the Magellan into a PADD and was running the display off its database. He had set several snapshots of specific damaged areas to the side of the overall schematic and was now focusing on the hull breach caused by what was now designated ‘Fragment 1’, the largest fragment of the weapons pod, which now protruded from the aft dorsal side of the saucer. For several long seconds he silently studied a graph of the massive sheet of duranium, then Man’tA’el walked out of the turbolift.

The Andorian approached Vorik, “Commander?”

He calmly put his arms behind his back and turned to face the Lieutenant, “Yes?”

Man’tA’el held out a small PADD, “Here is the structural integrity analysis you requested.” His eyes drifted up to the display, “Ouch. How are we going to plug that and keep it all stable?”

“I am not certain,” Vorik took the PADD and activated the screen, “The fluid dynamics of such a protrusion undoubtedly will apply significant stresses to the spaceframe.”

“Why don’t we just remove it?” Man’tA’el’s antennae twitched as he leaned close to the display.

Vorik placed the PADD on the metal curve of the operations arc, “Removing the hull fragment would cause even more damage to the Aldrin. It must be stabilized.”

Man’tA’el looked away from the display and his antennae pointed at Vorik, “Have you ever had a splinter, Commander? Like in your finger.”

“Yes.”

“You know, if you get one right in the tip of your finger,” he tapped the ends of his index fingers together, “It doesn’t really bother you when you’re just standing around, but as soon as you touch a table or turn on a hyperspanner, it hurts like hell. You can leave it in and deal with the pain, satisfied that your body will eventually push the splinter out. But you’ll have to deal with the pain in the meantime, right?”

“I fail to see the point in this discussion.”

Man’tA’el pointed a finger at Vorik, “Splinters are nasty little things; they’re just covered in all kinds of little spines, that’s why they hurt so much when you leave them in. If you pull it out, those little spines are going to dig into your skin and create even more damage for your body to fix, and once it’s out you’re probably going to bleed. But at least you got the splinter out and can go about your day touching tables and consoles and hyperspanners.”

One of Vorik’s eyebrows arched, “Your analogy is most intriguing.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Man’tA’el smiled and returned his attention to the display, “And here we have a massive splinter. Pulling this thing out will definitely being tricky.”

“I have learned that the most efficient method of removing splinters is to pull it out as quickly as possible,” Vorik said, “There is less time for the surrounding material to rebound the initial force and return to a resistive state.”

“Are the shuttles’ tractor beams strong enough to pull something that size out quickly?” Man’tA’el asked.

Vorik stared at the display for a second, “I am uncertain.” He tapped his combadge, “Vorik to Skon.”

Skon’s nervous voice came through the communicator, “Skon here, Sir.”

“Lieutenant, please report to the bridge immediately.”

“Yes, Sir.” Skon could be heard rushing in the background, “I’m on my way–”

Vorik tapped his combadge to terminate the link. He returned his attention to the display, “Once we have removed this hull fragment we will have near enough duranium to repair the hull breaches.”

“What about Lieutenant Toq’bae’s pink stuff?” Man’tA’el asked.

“It is an innovative solution,” Vorik said, “It will be utilized in sealing these duranium panels to the more irregular breaches. I also intend to recommend its use to the Corps of Engineers for use in future starship designs.”

Man’tA’el nodded, “Put it between hull layers. If the hull is fractured the pink stuff will automatically seal the breach.”

Vorik nodded slightly, “Precisely. They may have made a significant contribution to starship engineering.”

Vorik’s combadge beeped, “Larway to Vorik.”

“Go ahead, Ensign.”

“Sir, we’ve completed the gel pack redistribution in the computer core.” Larway’s deep Caitian voice literally purred with delight, “We’re ready to go online.”

Man’tA’el smiled and Vorik ordered, “Start at minimal capacity and observe for any stress points in the ODN systems. If everything is in order, go to full power.”

“Yes, Sir.” A moment later the screens and consoles all around the bridge came to life and resumed their familiar beeping and chirping.

Vorik turned around and tested the operations console, nodding satisfactorily, “Status, Ensign?”

Purring came through the combadge, “ODN relays and gel packs are functioning properly. No signs of stress.”

“Excellent. Go to full power.”

A few seconds later Larway reported, “We’re up!”

“Thank you, Ensign. Vorik, out.” He tapped his combadge again, “Vorik to Clark.”

“I’m here, what’s up?”

“Captain, the main computer is now online.”

Clark clapped in the background, “Great news, Vorik. Great! Clark out.”

The turbolift doors parted and Skon came onto the bridge, “You wanted to see me, Sir?”

21:56 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57351.860168

Clark had removed both his black uniform jacket and the red division shirt below, leaving him with just his black uniform pants and a sleeveless gray undershirt. He sat behind the desk in his dimly lit quarters, intently reading from a PADD. He leaned back and kicked his legs up onto the shiny black desk, holding the PADD up by his knees. The door beeped and he looked up, “Come.”

The door split and R’Mor walked through, “Captain?”

“Come in, come in,” Clark waved her in, “What can I do for you?”

She handed him a PADD, “The final rooming list for your approval.” She produced another PADD, “And the additional duties roster.”

Clark grabbed the PADDs and scanned over the lists. After a few seconds he handed them back to her, “Looks good to me. Do you have a report of the shuttles?”

“The supplies are all prepped,” R’Mor said, “Doctor Cochrane demanded that he give everyone going a complete physical.”

Clark rolled his eyes, “I can understand that. Will they be ready to go tomorrow?” He returned his attention to the PADD in his hands

“Yes, Sir.”

“Captain,” Clark absently corrected.

R’Mor nodded, “Is there anything else?”

“No,” he looked up, “Actually, are you busy?”

“Not at the moment.” R’Mor tapped the screen of each PADD, uploading the contents into the computer.

Clark pulled his legs off the desk and sat up. He grabbed a PADD from his desk and handed it to R’Mor, “Sensor logs and computer reports. I’m trying to figure out what exactly went wrong.”

She took the PADD, “What do you know so far?”

“It was a faulty quantum torpedo,” Clark set his own PADD on the desk and reached for a steaming black mug to his right. He grabbed it and took a sip. “It’s casing had a deformation that was exacerbated by the rapid-fire launchers; it skewed off course and jammed into the launch tube. What I can’t figure out is why the dozens of safety interlocks failed.”

“Coffee?” R’Mor asked, pointing her PADD at the mug.

“Want some?”

“No thanks.” She turned on the PADD and read over the screen, “I see you’ve narrowed it down to the specific torpedo.”

“Number 52713-104,” Clark nodded and set the mug back on the desk.

R’Mor turned and slowly walked away, “If I remember correctly, the first five digits are the stardate that manufacturing began on.”

Clark nodded and leaned back, “Right. 52713. That date sounds familiar.”

R’Mor sat on a couch under the windows into space, “It does.” Her angled eyebrows bounced up, “That’s the day before the Breen attacked Earth.”

Clark thought for a second, “I think you’re right. Computer, when did the Breen attack Earth?”

“Stardate 52717.3.”

“Must be a coincidence,” R’Mor looked at her PADD, “There aren’t any weapons facilities on Earth.”

“No…” Clark trailed off, “But there are on Luna.”

[Captain_Hair]

17

Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, California
Earth, Sol System, Sector 001
13:45 Hours, December 13th, 2375
Stardate 52949.442922

Watkins stood behind a podium, positioned a few meters from the entrance of the newly reconstructed Starfleet Headquarters. His command of the SAPF, located on the mottled white moon above, was coming to an end. Watkins finished his statement to the press, “All structural damage to the quantum torpedo facilities has been repaired and all torpedoes in production have been completed. Normal operation is scheduled to resume in two days. The phaser emitter production unit is still undergoing repairs, completion and reactivation are expected within the month. That concludes this briefing,” He dropped the PADD he’d been reading onto the podium, “I’ll take questions now.”

A human reporter standing near the platform raised his hand and Watkins pointed his way. “Jerome Tirey, Federation News Service. You said that all torpedoes in production were finished. Were any damaged by the attack?”

Watkins nodded, “Yes. We inspected every surviving weapons component for damage. Twenty-three quantum torpedoes were deemed unrepairable and their components were recycled.”

A Bolian raised his hand, “Is there any chance that a damaged torpedo made it into the supply system?”

“Our safety precautions caught every faulty device,” Watkins answered, “Every torpedo we have shipped was well within Starfleet design tolerances.”

The Bolian shot back, “You’re essentially saying that you caught every torpedo you found. Is there any possibility–”

Watkins cut him off, “We thoroughly scanned every single torpedo. Twenty three faulty or defective torpedoes were taken from the supply and recycled.”

“Will you acknowledge the fact that such a torpedo may have slipped by?” The Bolian asked.

“Without any proof that is not a fact. And I cannot confirm nor deny such hypothetical scenarios. Next question.”

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
22:04 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57352.238919

Clark stared silently as the recorded press briefing continued on the meter-wide display behind his desk. R’Mor dropped her PADD on the low table in front of her, “You have got to be kidding me.”

Clark struggled for words, “Oh my god.”

“How could that happen?” R’Mor shook her head, “How could a torpedo with that many flaws get through?”

“I guess it was inevitable,” Clark turned from the display and grabbed his coffee. He sighed and looked into the mug, “A mistake made five years ago has cost 153 lives today.”

“Does it make any difference?” R’Mor asked.

Clark took a drink of the coffee and cradled the mug with both hands, “The rapid-fire torpedo launchers run so fast that the computer doesn’t have time to react to a malfunction.”

R’Mor slowly walked towards Clark’s desk, “You mean this could have been prevented?”

“They load five torpedoes at a time and the launch sequence for each takes one fortieth of a second. The computer knew what was happening, but by design the launch impellers cannot be stopped once they are activated.” He laughed lightly, “They did that so that torpedoes wouldn’t get stuck in the rapid-fires.” The door beeped and Clark set his coffee on the desk, “Come.”

The door opened and Cochrane stepped through, “Why am I not surprised?”

“We’re just doing some research,” Clark said. R’Mor nodded in agreement.

“I don’t care what you’re doing,” Cochrane said, “But I know that neither of you have been to bed.”

“You do?” R’Mor questioned.

Cochrane stared at her, “All I have to do is look at you to see that you haven’t slept in days. At least you haven’t picked up old crutches to get through the night.”

Clark grabbed the steaming coffee, “Hey. What I drink is my own business.”

“And mine,” Cochrane took a step into Clark’s quarters, letting the door close behind him. “You told me that we would be getting onto a three-shift day this morning. I just got six hours of sleep, why haven’t you?”

“I’m busy,” Clark said defiantly, “Unless you want to take over coordinating damage control.”

Cochrane shook his head, “No thanks, but I do want you both to sleep. I don’t care if you two have to share a bed if that’s what it takes.”

Clark and R’Mor exchanged amused glances then returned their attention to Cochrane. The doctor cleared his throat, “Don’t make me order you to bed.”

R’Mor nodded and set her PADDs on Clark’s desk. “Goodnight, Captain.”

Clark smiled and nodded slightly in response, “You too, Ensign.”

She exited into the corridor and Cochrane remained behind. The doctor walked towards Clark’s desk, “There’s not anything going on between you two, is there?”

“No!” Clark instinctively went on the defensive. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Not that I wouldn’t be flattered if she wanted to, but I’m… no. Just no.”

Cochrane chuckled to himself, “That was too easy.” He looked down at the PADDs on the desk, “So what happened?”

Clark took a drink of his coffee, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“To the ship.” Cochrane rolled his eyes.

“Oh,” Clark set the drink back on the desk, “Faulty quantum torpedo. Jammed and detonated in the launch tube.” He put his hands together and then pulled them apart, imitating an explosion.

Cochrane’s eyebrow went up, “Well that answers a lot of questions.”

“And it opens up a dozen new questions for each one it answered.”

“Like how this could happen in the first place,” Cochrane said grimly.

“That’s the big one,” Clark said, “And I’m afraid that the answer isn’t going to be easy. To find or to stomach.”

Cochrane nodded, “Then you better get some sleep.” He turned and headed back towards the door.

“But I’m all hyped up on caffeine!” Clark protested. He pointed a hand at the coffee mug.

The door split and Cochrane smiled over his shoulder, “That’s your problem, not mine.” He left, closing Clark his dark quarters.

08:21 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57353.409608

The internal communications speakers throughout the Aldrin chimed and Clark’s voice came over the intercom, “All hands, this is the Captain speaking. The past three days have been nothing short of extraordinarily trying. But in the midst of all this madness, I have witnessed untold acts of bravery and heroism from this crew. Words cannot describe the pride that I feel for this crew; you are all the epitome of Starfleet.

“Given what we have all been subjected to recently, I felt it right that you know the facts of what has occurred and what we yet have to face. On Stardate 57341.8 we engaged what we now know to be a Kunari vessel in battle. I ordered the firing of a full spread of quantum torpedoes from our rapid-fire launchers. The Kunari vessel never penetrated our shields. A quantum torpedo jammed and detonated inside the launch tube.

“We never stood a chance. In an instant one hundred nineteen of our friends and colleagues were killed. We lost another thirty-four fighting the Kunari and sixty-three are still under the care of our medical staff. I want you to keep the families of our fallen comrades and the health of our wounded in your thoughts.

“Now that we have reclaimed our ship from the Kunari we are continuing repairs. To be perfectly frank, the outlook is bleak. Given our remaining resources, some systems, will be impossible to repair. Our current position puts us at just over sixty-two light-years from the Idran terminus of the Bajoran Wormhole. Without warp drive it will take us approximately two hundred twenty years at full impulse to get there. Our subspace relay buoys between here and Idran are not responding to our hails; I am assuming that they have also been destroyed.

“Obviously this is not an ideal situation. In an effort to contact Starfleet, I have ordered two shuttlecraft to Idran. Lieutenants Horatio Calem, Shannon Crowe, and Ensigns Foshan, V’kar Ogwen, Umarhock’t’shanan, and Ya Zhang will be taking the Atlantis and Mayweather out. They will be out of comm range with us after just six hours of warp flight and will be out of contact for nearly three weeks before they will be able to contact Starfleet. I hesitate to order them out into the darkness like this, but they have all agreed that this is the best course of action for the good of the entire crew.

“You are all without a doubt part of the best crew in Starfleet. You have proven that time and again, and I have no doubt that you will continue to do so. I’m not going to lie; the coming days are not going to be easy. We are all going to have to make sacrifices for the good of the crew, but in the end this will all pass. We will survive. We will all get home.”

Clark tapped a control on the console in his ready room and terminated the announcement. He grabbed his black coffee mug from the desk and took a sip, and then his combadge beeped, “Vorik to Clark.”

“Clark here,” he put the mug back on the desk.

“Captain, we are ready to begin removal of Fragment 1,” Vorik said.

Clark nodded and stood, “Have you evacuated all of the adjoining sections?”

“The bridge module is all that remains.”

“Thank you, Vorik. I’ll call you back when we’re clear and shut down. Clark out.” He walked out onto the bridge, finding Valerio and Toq’bae, “Time to go.” They followed him into the turbolift.

Shuttlecraft Newton
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
08:29 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57353.424787

The communications system on the Newton beeped twice and Clark’s voice came over the shuttle’s speakers, “Vorik, we’re out.”

Vorik nodded and tapped controls on his console at the front of the cabin, “Thank you, Captain. I will alert you when removal is complete. Newton out.” He pressed a control, “Newton to Magellan.”

“Magellan here, Commander. All systems are go.” Lieutenant Klajad Aaf reported.

“Acknowledged.” Vorik looked out through the forward window of the shuttle. The rear of the Aldrin’s saucer sat ahead, punctured by the massive hull fragment. Holding position fifty meters above and ahead was the Magellan. “Activate tractor beam.”

Aquamarine attenuated linear graviton beams crossed the space from the shuttles to the hull fragment and latched on. The shuttles both shuddered briefly as the still drifting Aldrin adjusted to the new rotational axis. Aaf spoke, “Rotation with the Aldrin matched and holding steady. Graviton flux at zero.”

Vorik looked to Ensign Adèle Vignes to his side, “Ready thrusters.”

She responded with a soft French accent, “Thrusters ready.”

“Thrusters ready,” Aaf reported.

“Reverse, ten percent power,” Vorik ordered. He turned to face a console to his side. As the shuttles started to shake again, he called over the comm, “Are you reading any change?”

“Negative.”

Vorik nodded, “I concur. Increase to twenty five percent thruster power.”

As the shaking increased, Aaf reported, “Nothing, Commander.”

The thrusters were starting to whine under the stress. “Fifty percent,” Vorik ordered.

“Sir?”

“Are you experiencing communications problems?” He sternly questioned.

There was a pause, “Increasing to fifty percent.”

The inertial dampeners struggled to cope and Vorik and Vignes grabbed onto the edge of the control console to stay in their chairs. An alarm quietly sounded over the din of the thrusters. Vorik waited five seconds before ordering, “Deactivate thrusters.”

Vignes quickly tapped a control on the console and the shuttle rebounded against the strain of the tractor beam. She turned to face Vorik, “That did not work well.”

Vorik nodded subtly, “That would be correct.” He looked over the results from the sensor readings, “One point four centimeters of movement.”

“Great,” Vignes rolled her eyes, “At this rate we’ll get it out in…” she paused and thought.

“Eighteen point seven hours,” Vorik finished matter-of-factly. He tapped the comm controls, “Newton to Atlantis.”

Shuttlecraft Atlantis
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
08:33 Hours, May 8th, 2380
Stardate 57353.432377

Lieutenant Quaren, a two-meter tall female Gallamite sat in the pilot’s seat of the Atlantis. Her glistening transparent skull extended twenty centimeters behind her neck, inside dark red blood vessels pulsed with life as they branched across her six-lobed brain. Her skull turned opaque as it came closer to her face, growing a dark purple that closely matched the color of her brain matter. She looked out through the forward window, silently observing the massive rattling hull fragment that rested ahead on the shuttlebay deck. The Atlantis hovered several meters away; the rear end of the shuttlebay was still darkened, as power had been cut to avoid any accidents from the removal.

Ensign Fedotova couldn’t take his eyes off Quaren’s brain. He ran a hand through his slick blond hair and Quaren turned her red eyes towards Fedotova, “Is there a problem, Ensign?”

“No,” he forced his eyes to the computer console, “No, Sir.”

Quaren smiled, bearing two double rows of small serrated triangular teeth. She closed her eyes and her skull flushed with dark red and expanded several centimeters. Fedotova saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and stared as her skull quivered. His jaw fell open and he pushed his chair as far back as it would go. Quaren’s skull deflated in a second, but the excess blood still swirled around the lobes of her brain. She smiled again and turned her attention to the console, and then shook her long head, “They’re not getting anywhere.”

Fedotova was still staring at her head. His jaw moved as if he were trying to form words, but nothing came out.

Quaren looked towards him, “Ensign?”

“What?” He took a deep breath, “What the hell was that?”

She laughed lightly, “Natural defense mechanism. It’s meant to scare away predators.”

“It worked!” Fedotova didn’t move from his chair.

“Were you planning on eating me?”

He sighed half-heartedly, “Not anymore.”

“Glad to hear it.” Quaren smiled a little wider.

The comm beeped, “Newton to Atlantis.”

Quaren tapped the console, “Atlantis here. Having trouble, Commander?”

Vorik ignored the sarcasm, “We are moving to Plan B. Engage tractors beam.”

“Acknowledged,” Quaren nodded. Fedotova worked his side of the console, occasionally casting glances towards Quaren. A tractor beam shot from the bow of the Atlantis and attached to the lower end of the hull fragment, spreading across the expansive duranium surface. Quaren reported, “Tractor beam active and engaged.” Fedotova guided the shuttle close to the massive splinter.

“Push on my mark.” Vorik ordered, “Three. Two. One. Mark.” The Atlantis shuddered as it pushed with the tractor beam against the hull fragment. Vorik called over the comm, “Increase thrusters to twenty five percent.” Even with the added thrust of the Atlantis from inside, the hull fragment shook and groaned, but stayed in place.

Quaren shook her head over the growing noise, “This isn’t working.”

“Agreed. Deactivate thrusters.”

[Captain_Hair]

18

Shuttlecraft Newton
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
08:37 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57353.439966

Vorik leaned back in his chair and stared out at the hull fragment. As illogical as it sounded, it seemed as if it was taunting him. Vignes cleared her throat, “It’s like trying to pull a rat out of a Algolian snake. They’ve got these rings of teeth pointing down into…” She looked up at Vorik, “And you’re not paying attention.”

“Algolian snakes can grow up to two meters long and are chromatophores,” Vorik said quietly. He looked up past the Aldrin, observing the movement of the stars as the starship and two shuttles rotated through space. “Our efforts have perturbed the rotation of the Aldrin.”

Quaren chimed in over the comm, “Lieutenant Loren is still working on getting the thrusters online.”

Vignes put a boot against the console and pushed off, her chair sliding along its track towards the back on the shuttle’s cabin. Vorik watched her slide away, slowly sitting up straight. Vignes stopped herself by wedging a boot against a console at the rear of the shuttle. He lifted an eyebrow, “We need to brace.”

“Sir?” Vignes gave him a quizzical look.

“Come back here,” Vorik said. He offered out a hand as she slid close. She took the hand and Vorik lifted his feet off the deck, “Take your feet up.”

“Okay,” Vignes did as he did, “Now?”

“Pull me out of my chair,” Vorik ordered. Vignes pulled, but their two chairs just slid together and bounced apart. Vorik nodded, “Now brace yourself against my chair.” He held out his hand again and Vignes put a boot against the edge of his chair. She tugged and pulled Vorik to his feet.

Vignes rolled her eyes, “Sacré bleu, why didn’t we think of that before?”

“Think of what?” Aaf asked.

“Atlantis,” Vorik called, “Disengage tractor beam and stand down. Magellan, activate your secondary tractor emitters and target a secure anchor point on the Aldrin’s hull. Tune it to negative five.”

A second aqua beam appeared between the aft end of the Magellan and the shuttle launch doors at the rear of the Aldrin’s saucer. Aaf reported, “Tractor beam online.” Vorik tapped a few controls and the Newton did the same, anchoring itself near the shuttlebay.

The shuttle began to shake and Vignes read off her console, “Shearing hull stresses are increasing.”

Quaren excitedly called from the Atlantis, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have movement!” There was a loud bang, followed by her yelping.

“Are you okay?” Vorik asked. He looked out the forward window to see Fragment 1 slowly edging out of the Aldrin.

“We’re fine. There’s just some large debris falling out of there.”

“Back off to a safe distance,” Vorik advised. A white puff of air burst out at the edge of the moving hull fragment.

“We have a breach,” Vignes said, “Cabin 641 and Corridor 6G have decompressed.”

“Casualties?”

“None reported,” She sighed, “Damage control teams are responding.”

“That’s ten meters,” Aaf said excitedly.

“We’re losing sight of Fragment 1,” Quaren reported.

Vignes looked over her console, “Shearing stresses are falling. I think we’re through the worst of it.”

The Newton suddenly bucked hard. Outside, the Magellan did the same. Vorik and Vignes were thrown to the deck before the inertial dampeners could compensate. Vorik yelled, “Computer, disengage tractor beams!”

The shuttle ceased shaking and Quaren’s voice came over the comm, “You appear to have hit a snag. Literally.”

Vorik pulled himself up with his chair and helped Vignes to her feet. He looked out the window at the slowly spinning mass of the Aldrin, “Elaborate.”

“It looks like one of the ablative armor generators on exterior of Fragment 1 is caught on a protruding structural girder,” Quaren said.

Vignes sat and looked over the scans, “There’s no wiggle room there. Something has to give.”
Vorik cast her a glance at the term ‘wiggle room’ and sat, “We do not have a clear shot. Atlantis, do you have a direct shot?”

Fedotova spoke with disbelief, “You don’t want us to use shuttle phasers on the Aldrin, Do you?”

“I do,” Vorik said plainly. “This hull fragment must be removed. The use of hand tools would not only take too long, it would also put the engineer crew in extreme danger. Do you have a direct shot?”

“Yes,” Quaren said, “We’re moving into position now.”

“Magellan, reactivate tractor beams at fifty percent previous power level. Lieutenant Quaren, minimal phasers.” Vorik reactivated the Newton’s tractor beams.

“Of course, Sir.”

After a few seconds, Fedotova reported, “Firing phasers.”

The spaces between the fragment and the hull flashed with red light and the shuttles jerked back. Vorik tweaked the tractor beams, “Thank you, Ensign.”

It took ten more seconds of pulling and grinding to completely remove Fragment 1. The shuttles guided it a safe distance from the Aldrin and released their tractor beam grip. Vignes started working her controls, “Performing damage survey.”

“Doing the same,” Aaf reported.

Quaren chimed in, “As are we.”

Aaf finished first, “Apart from the breach on Deck 6, I’m reading no significant additional damage.”

“I concur.”

“As do I,” Vignes said.

Vorik tapped the comm control, “Vorik to Clark.”

“Good morning Vorik. What’s up?”

“Fragment 1 has been removed. Scans indicate that it is safe to return to the evacuated sections.”

“Thank you, Vorik. I’ll spread the word. Clark out.”

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
11:56 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57353.817547

Kelley took a step forward as the line advanced. She stood in Cargo Bay 1, a deck below the forward half of the shuttlebay. Ahead of her was Lieutenant Morth, one of the first Selay to join Starfleet after their admittance to the Federation, behind was a short female Arbazan, Ensign Ialco. Morth turned to face Kelley and nearly hissed as he talked, “I wonder what Louie is cooking up with these field rations.”

Ialco leaned to a side so she could see him, “Nothing. If he were cooking we’d see smoke and flames and stuff.”

“Great,” Morth sneered, “I’m going to get stuck with gree-worm in pesto. I can feel it.”

“You’re going to make me sick,” Ialco tapped her fist against her chest.

Kelley rolled her eyes, “The line’s moving.”

Morth looked back to the front and stepped forward, then turned back to Ialco, “Would you prefer steamed Andorian tuber root?”

Ialco shook her head, “Not a chance. Not steamed, not boiled, not fried or poached or sautéed or baked or broiled or irrad–”

Kelley cut her off, “Will you two shut up?” After a second of stunned silence, she curtly added, “Please.”

Morth stepped forward with the line, “Aren’t we a little snappy today?”

Kelley silently glared at the Selay and Ialco stepped up to her side, “Lieutenant, we’re just trying to unwind; it’s been a long few days.”

“Unwind somewhere else,” Kelley said with measured restraint. She repeatedly flexed her hands into fists at her side.

“Can do,” Morth said with mock cheer. He executed an abrupt about-face and faced back into the line. A quiet minute passed between the three before they had reached the top of the line and received their lunch – standard field rations.

Kelley read the label on her silver envelope: SFR-121 Bularian canapés, Delovian soufflé, strawberry cheesecake. She sighed and muttered to herself, “At least I got cheesecake.” She squeezed the ration pack in her hands, feeling the nutritional paste ooze through the three tubes inside. Kelley walked out of the cargo bay, passing by several small clusters of crewmen eating their lunch and conversing on the cargo bay deck. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she was sickened by the displays of socialization. She made her way towards the nearest turbolift, “Sickbay.”

The lift whisked her up four decks and opened at the end of a corridor a few meters from the main entrance into the Aldrin’s sickbay. Holding her ration pack down at her side, she slowly walked down the corridor and turned into the sickbay, moving straight to a workstation near Cochrane’s dark office. Next to the small computer console was an array of pre-filled hypospray capsules. Kelley set down her ration pack and picked up a clear capsule: sonambutril. She replaced it and sorted through the rest: hydrocortilene, benjisisrinde, synaptizine, and cortolin. Kelley pulled out a container filled with a translucent red liquid, cordrazine.

She looked over her shoulder at the sleeping patients in the sickbay, then turned back to the workstation and grabbed an empty hypospray. She shoved the cordrazine into the end of the hypospray and paused, thinking about what she was doing. She stared at the hypospray, realizing the power of cordrazine – small amounts are enough to revive patients near death. With a sigh, Kelley recalled her past brushes with cordrazine; she hadn’t been near death when she took it the first time, at least not at first. She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Just once.” She moved the hypospray towards her neck, brushing her long blond hair out of the way.

The cold metal aero-suspension tip quivered against her neck. She pushed harder and winced at the pain, then pulled the hypospray away. Kelley looked down at the hypospray, wondering why the load nozzle was malfunctioning. It wasn’t; her arm nervously twitched as the hypospray rested in her open palm. She sighed and sat the hypospray on top of her ration pack, and then froze. She grabbed the ration pack and turned it over in her hands, again squeezing the tubes of enriched paste inside. Kelley grabbed the hypospray and pressed it against the center tube in the ration pack, triggering the aero-suspension mechanism and injecting a single milliliter of cordrazine. She ejected the cordrazine capsule, checked that it was still mostly full of the thin red liquid, then slipped it back into the array of medicines.

“Get anything good?” Cochrane came through the door into the overflow ward, catching Kelley in a position where she could not flee.

Kelley smiled, “Just some cordrazine.” She tapped on the red vial and winked, “I’ve just got a headache coming on; I’m looking for some hydrocortilene.”

Cochrane walked by her, unclipping his tricorder, “Do you mind?”

Kelley turned around and nodded, thankful that she hadn’t the nerve to inject herself with the cordrazine, “Go right ahead, but I’m pretty sure it’s just a headache.”

He ran the tricorder over her whole body, pausing for a moment by her head. He grunted and slapped the tricorder back on his belt, “You seem fine.”

“Tell that to my head,” Kelley added a slight groan into her voice.

Cochrane shrugged and reached around her, grabbing a capsule full of yellow hydrocortilene. He took the hypospray from her hand and slapped the medicine into its base, “Though next time I’d prefer that you ask first.” He pressed the hypospray to her neck and quickly released the painkillers into her system, “You may be a trained medic, but even I don’t self-medicate.” He smiled, “So did you get anything good?”

“What?”

He poked the silver ration pack, “Hasperat? Uttaberries? Gagh?”

Kelley shook her head, “Oh. I got the cheesecake.” She smiled, “Thanks for the shot, Doc.”

Cochrane placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

She managed to fake a cheerful smile, “Yep. Hydrocortilene’s already working.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine.” She ran a hand through her hair, “I’ve got to go run through the flight plan for the shuttles again. I’ll talk to you later.” She smiled and left the sickbay, swinging the spiked ration pack at her side.

Cochrane suspiciously grabbed the cordrazine capsule and looked at it for a moment. He couldn’t remember how much had been in it before – so much had been administered in the past few days that his records of restricted medicine distribution were fragmentary at best. He slowly turned it around in his fingers before returning it to its empty slot, along with the half-full hydrocortilene capsule.

14:02 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57354.056618

The officers selected for the shuttle mission stood in a circle around Clark in the shuttlebay mission room. The captain turned around to face Lieutenant Shannon Crowe, a tall dark-skinned human female with short black hair, “Crowe, you’re going to be in command of both shuttles. You’ve been stocked with enough fuel and provisions that you should be able to make it to Idran with supplies to spare. If you run into any friendlies, which I don’t think you will, do not hesitate to ask for help. If you so much as detect any enemy vessels, make every effort to avoid contact and conflict. I want you all to get to Idran safely.”

Crowe nodded, “Yes, Sir.”

Clark turned around, facing Calem, “I know you haven’t had much experience with the XIA shuttles, they fly just like the XI’s. Don’t be afraid to fire off a few mini transphasics if things get rough.”

“Of course, Captain,” Calem chuckled.

“Foshan?”

A female Andorian Ensign behind Clark cleared his throat, “Here, Sir.”

“Captain,” Clark corrected, “Same goes for you. This mission is vital to the survival of this crew, do not hesitate to fire.”

Foshan nodded, “Shoot first.”

Clark grimaced, “Well, not exactly, but yeah.” He looked to the short and muscular red-skinned Haradin – Ensign Ogwen – to Foshan’s side, “I personally inspected both of the shuttles; they shouldn’t give you any problems.”

Ogwen smiled, baring two rows of perfectly straight blue teeth, “Thank you, Captain.”

“But watch the deuterium injectors,” Clark warned, “I know that the ones on the Magellan like to act up every now and then.”

“I will watch them like a hawk.”

Clark let himself smile a bit, “Don’t forget about the rest of the shuttle too.” He turned around to Zhang, a short human female from the nation of China, “Doc prepped a complete medical suite for both shuttles, he says you should have everything you need.”

She nodded, “I’ve already gone over all of it, we’ve got enough to cure the next plague.”

“Glad to hear it. We’ve also installed an EMH on both shuttles, just in case. Umarhock’t’shanan?”

A slender female Nuvian spoke up, “Over here.”

“There you are,” Clark turned to face her, “You know, I spent ten minutes just trying to figure out how to pronounce your name. Did I get it right?”

“Close enough,” she smiled, “Umarhock is fine.”

Clark returned her warm smile, “I like that better. Lieutenant Kelley has prepped a course guide for both shuttles. It’s pretty much a straight shot from here to Idran,” he paused, “I’m an engineer, I can’t explain it. Kelley?”

Kelley stepped out of a corner in the small room, “As the captain said, the shortest route between two points is a straight line. There are no known navigational hazards along the planned course, nor are you likely to encounter any enemy vessels or trade hearts.”

Umarhock held up a hand, showing twelve of her slender fingers, “Trade hearts?”

“I’m sorry,” Kelley shook her head and closed her eyes for a second, “Trade routes.” She handed a PADD to Umarhock, “I’ve also compiled a list of habitable planets along the route should it become necessary to set down. They aren’t all Risa, but you’ll be able to survive if you have too.”

Umarhock looked over the PADD, “Class H, L, and…” She paused, “Not one Class M.”

“Like I said, they’re not Romulus.”

“Risa,” Foshan corrected with a wink.

Kelley shook her head again, “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”

“I’ve got a pot of coffee brewing in my ready room,” Clark offered cheerfully.

Kelley resisted the urge to forcibly wipe the smile from his face, “I’ll be fine. I’ve still got two tubes from lunch to take care of.”

“Good stuff,” Umarhock joked, “Though it never really sat well with me, I always end up with–”

Clark cut her off, fearing what digestion malady she was about to describe, “That should cover everything. Any questions?” He paused for a second while the officers thought. “No? Good, it’s about time for you to get underway.” Clark moved out from inside the circle to a small computer panel mounted on a bulkhead, “Computer, interface with the onboard computers of the Shuttlecrafts Atlantis and Mayweather.”

The pleasant female voice promptly responded, “Interface established.”

He turned back towards the six officers, “See you in eight weeks.”

Crowe returned to nod, “We’ll be back, Captain.”

“Computer, prepare to transport Lieutenant Calem, Ensign Umarhock’t’shanan, and Ensign Ogwen to the Atlantis, and transport Lieutenant Crowe, Ensign Zhang, and Ensign Foshan to the Mayweather,” Clark ordered.

“Ready for transport.”

“Energize.” They disappeared in the familiar aquamarine sparkle of a Starfleet transporter. As the last sounds of the transporter faded, Clark tapped his combadge, “Clark to Mayweather.”

Crowe responded, “We’re all here, Captain. Atlantis is reporting all present and ready for launch.”

Clark sighed and tapped the comm control on the computer panel, “Clark to Shuttlebay Control.”

“Shuttlebay Control, this is Skon. What can I do for you, Captain?”

“The Atlantis and Mayweather are prepared for launch. Open the forward launch doors.”

Crowe spoke, “Open sesame. And we’re open. Mayweather and Atlantis, requesting permission to launch.”

“Permission granted,” Clark said.

After a few seconds Skon reported, “Both shuttles have cleared the launch doors.”

Clark nodded, “Thank you, Lieutenant. Clark out.” He tapped a control on the computer panel. “Mayweather, are you still with me?”

“Yes, Captain,” Crowe said.

“Get out of here,” Clark ordered.

“Engaging at maximum warp, now.” The ramp-up of the shuttle’s compact warp engine sounded over the combadge, “We are underway, Captain.”

“Good,” Clark’s remaining smile faded completely, “We’ve only got a few more hours of communication left. Call back every hour with status reports.”

“Will do.”

“Talk to you in an hour, Clark out.” He tapped his combadge and looked over at Kelley. She was leaning in a dim corner of the small cabin, her arms were crossed and head down. “Janice?”

Kelley’s head jerked up, “Captain?” She blinked a few times, hoping to disguise the redness she knew was showing in her eyes.

Clark moved to stand close to her, “Are you okay? You seemed to be somewhere else during the briefing.”

“I’m not going to Romulus soon,” Kelley laughed, “It’s just been a long day. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Clark slowly nodded, “Are you sure you don’t want any coffee?”

“I try to stay away from stimulants,” she managed a smile, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to ruin my Delovian soufflé.”

“I’ve never had that one,” Clark stepped back and headed towards the door. It opened and he paused before entering the corridor, “Janice, if you ever need anybody to talk to, I’m always available.”

Kelley nodded subtly, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Clark left and Kelley thrust her hand into her pocket, pulling out a silver ration paste tube about the size of two fingers. She unrolled the open end and squeezed some of the tan paste inside into her mouth. The instant it hit her tongue she felt the slight burn of the cordrazine as it was absorbed through her tongue.

[Captain_Hair]

19

Captain’s Log
Stardate 57354.41

We just received another hourly update from the shuttles. They’ve been gone for three hours now; I know it hasn’t been all that long in the scheme of things, but we don’t have much time left until we lose contact. They’ve yet to run into anybody out there, but I’m keeping my hopes up. Right now they’re holding at Warp 9.15 on a direct course for Idran, current ETA is Stardate 57466 – forty days.

Vorik has also managed to get our fusion reactors running at twenty five percent capacity. The engineering team is working on getting that number up, but I’m not too optimistic on that front. I conducted a survey of the reactors myself and honestly we’re lucky to be at twenty five percent. On the topic of lucky, I was pleasantly surprised to realize that deuterium tanks were not breached, so we have more than enough fuel to get us underway. But… there’s always a but, isn’t there? Normally about fifty percent of the power output from the reactors goes towards running other ship systems, the sensors and other important things, like environmental systems. And we’ve only got twenty five percent total available. So, as soon as we fire up the impulse engines we’ll be going into grey mode. I’m still keeping my coffee pot.


The door to Clark’s darkened quarters chimed. He pulled his legs down off his desk and responded, “Enter.”

Jensen entered. She wore a clean new Starfleet uniform in place of her white post-op garb; the empty right arm of her jacket was folded and pinned up at the shoulder. She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the bright lights of the corridor, “Hey there.”

Clark stood, placing his PADD on the desk. He came around the end of the desk towards her, “Doc finally released you?”

She wrapped her left arm around his waist and pulled his body up against hers, locking her lips to his. She slowly pushed forward and the corridor door closed behind them. Clark backed up against his desk and broke the embrace. Jensen smiled, “He wanted to keep me for another twelve hours.”

“I don’t think I would be able to handle that,” Clark smiled, “How’d you talk him out of it?”

Jensen stepped back with a smirk, “I’m not going to reveal all of my secrets.”

Clark nodded, “Fine, be that way.”

“I’m glad I have your permission.” She reached around him and grabbed the black mug from his desk, “This isn’t coffee, is it?”

“It is.”

Jensen quietly stared at Clark. He shrugged, “You want some?” After another few seconds of silence he took the cup from her hand, “What?”

“I thought I knew you, but this…” She trailed off, “Coffee?”

Clark nodded slowly, “Yeah.” He set the mug back on his desk.

Jensen shook her head, “I don’t know you.”

“Good,” Clark winked, “I want there to still be some surprises down the road.”

“Oh?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

His combadge beeped, “Murphy to Clark.”

“Clark here.”

Jensen smiled, “Hi John.”

“Hello, Commander. How are you feeling?”

“Great. I’ve been trying to loose a few kilograms and loosing an arm seems to have done the trick.”

Clark cast her a glare, “What’s up, John?”

“I’ve replicated a TR500. I thought you would like to check it out.”

“Do I ever!” Clark smiled, “You’re in the armory, right?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“We’re on our way, Clark out.” He tapped the combadge, “Down to Deck 14?”

As they left his quarters, Jensen put her hand on his shoulder, “What was that look for?”

“What look?”

“After I joked about loosing weight.”

They arrived at a turbolift door, “Oh, that. I’m afraid you’re not taking this seriously enough.”

Jensen shrugged, “It’s just a scratch.”

Clark raised his eyebrows, “See?”

“What? I’ll have a new arm in a month.”

The lift arrived and opened, they stepped in and Clark ordered, “Deck 14.” The doors closed and the lift dropped. “Yes, a month. Isn’t it the least bit disturbing to you to not have your right arm?”

“I’m left-handed.”

“I know that,” Clark sighed, “You’re not,” he paused and recollected his thoughts, “You’re internalizing your emotions.”

Jensen looked over at him and slowly raised an eyebrow. She suddenly pushed Clark with her left arm against the side of the lift, and then pushed herself against him and locked him in a passionate kiss. After several seconds she broke the kiss but continued to pin Clark to the bulkhead, “Internalizing?”

Clark looked past her shoulder, “Good evening, Ensign.” His cheeks flushed bright red.

Jensen pushed off him and straightened her uniform. She sighted Ensign Marcus Turner and nodded crisply, “Ensign.”
Turner stepped to the side and let the couple pass into the corridor. Clark rubbed his forehead, “That wasn’t quite what I meant.”

The turbolift closed with Turner inside. Jensen stopped Clark with her arm and turned to face him, “Then what exactly do you mean?”

“I’m having a hard time believing that you’re not in any way traumatized by your injury,” he said.

“You’re making it sound like I’m disabled!”

Clark threw his arms out in frustration, “You’re missing an arm! It’s not like it’s just going to grow back on its own!”

Jensen clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, “I can still breath. I can eat and walk and talk and think as well as anybody else on this ship. Sure, I can’t play Parrises Squares, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job!”

“I never said that!” Clark shouted.

Jensen hollered back, “You didn’t have to!” She turned and brusquely walked away, leaving Clark behind.

Clark stayed in place, “Loy! Don’t do this!”

She stopped about four meters away and turned around, “Do what?”

“Don’t,” he paused to collect his thoughts and take a calming breath. He looked into her eyes, hoping that he could communicate his sincerity, “Don’t bottle yourself up like this; it’s not healthy.”

“Oh,” Jensen nodded slowly, “I see. Don’t worry, I’ll show you bottled up.” She glared at Clark for a long moment before turning back towards the armory. Clark sighed and bit his tongue, and the followed after her.

Murphy was waiting in the armory, cradling a meter-long TR500 rifle. He smiled broadly when Clark walked in, “I want one.” The mostly-cylindrical barrel measured a few centimeters across at the stock and tapered to an exit hole a centimeter-wide. A power cell pulled double duty as the extended stock and shock absorber, and the slender ammunition replicator was slung under the barrel in front of the trigger like an old-fashioned magazine. A large rectangular scope was mounted on the top and glowed a dull red.

“Go figure,” Clark stepped closer to examine the weapon.

“What?” Murphy handed him the rifle.

Clark took it and was surprised by it’s weight, “It’s lighter than a Type-3.”

“By twenty percent,” Murphy said, “What figures?”

Clark turned the rifle so that it pointed up and looked into the scope, “That you’d be turned on by a gun.”

“It’s not a ‘gun,’ ” Murphy took it from the captain, “And what I do in my free time is none of your business.” Clark and Jensen exchanged worried glances. “I’m kidding.”

Jensen nodded, “Sure. What’s the rate of fire on this?” She extended her hand and allowed Murphy to place it in her grasp.

“Ten rounds a second,” Murphy pointed at the replicator, “Right now this puppy uses a lot of power, you can get about four hundred shots off before the power cell will need to be recharged.”

Clark watched Jensen raise the rifle to her eye level and aim it at a meter-cube solid duranium target, “It’ll exhaust in forty seconds?”

“If you’re using it to cut through a tritanium blast door, sure.” Murphy gently took the rifle from Jensen and aimed at the same target. He talked himself through his actions, “Safety off, target sighted and locked. Ammunition loaded, magnetic impellers charged. Three. Two. One.” He squeezed the trigger and the target cube blossomed like a flower and smashed back against the reinforced bulkhead. The stand holding it buckled and the cube fell to the padded deck with a loud thud. He turned the safety back on and lowered the rifle, “As you can see, one round can do plenty of damage.”

Clark stared in disbelief, “Can it be calibrated to stun?”

“It’s a bullet,” Jensen said dryly.

Murphy nodded, “The Commander’s right. The TR500 can be calibrated to fire at a slower velocity, but it’ll only minimize the damage done. There’s no gentle setting on this one.”

Clark looked down at the muzzle, “Can a phaser be mounted on it?”

Murphy lifted the rifle and looked it over, “In theory, I suppose you could. It’ll add some weight, that’s for sure.”

“See what you can come up with,” Clark said, “Don’t build anything just yet, I want to see some draft designs by 1500 tomorrow.”

“Can do,” he turned around and set the rifle on a table.

Jensen asked, “How long until we have shields and weapons back online?”

“I can give you ventral phasers and the auxiliary forward torpedo launcher,” Murphy offered, “I’ve got my teams working with Vorik’s to get the dorsal phaser array back online, but it took a pretty big hit when the EPS relays overloaded.”

“And shields?”

“The control system works, and so does the grid, but every time we bring it online we blow a whole new set of relays.” He sighed, “It’s going to be a while.”

“How long is a while?” Jensen’s voice was edged with irritation.

“I really don’t know, three, maybe four days. It could take a week if we have to replace all of the relays.”

Clark nodded, “Shields are your priority. We’re going to be getting underway soon and I’d rather have shields than phasers.”

Jensen barely nodded, “I agree. Let me know as soon as you’re ready to power them up again.” She turned and left the armory.

As soon as the door closed, Murphy focused on Clark, “What’s going on with you two?”

“What?”

“I could hear you plain as day in here,” Murphy said, “They could probably hear you all the way up on Deck 11!”

“Was it really that bad?” Clark asked.

Murphy nodded, “It was, though I couldn’t really make out what you were yelling.”

Clark’s shoulders slumped and he walked around to the chair across the table, “It’s her arm; she’s just joking around and all happy like nothing’s happened. She told me that ‘it’s just a scratch.’ A scratch!”

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t easy for her either,” Murphy leaned forward on the table as Clark sat.

He rested his arms on the smooth metal tabletop, “Wanna bet?”

“She sounded a little defensive.”

Clark sighed, “She’s always defensive. Even in bed.”

“Didn’t need to know that,” Murphy stated.

“If you lost your arm, how do you think you’d feel?”

Murphy thought for a moment, “Depressed, angry, frustrated.”

Clark nodded, “That’s what I thought.” He reached out and grabbed the rifle, pulling it towards him.

“Do you remember the five stages of grief?” At Clark’s silence, he continued, “Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance; not necessarily in that order. Not everybody will get them all, but Kübler-Ross said that everybody experiences at least two. It sounds to me like she’s stuck in denial.”

“Since when were you a psychiatrist?”

“I’ve been through it myself,” Murphy said, “Tasha Yar and I both grew up on Turkana IV. We ran from the gangs, found food for each other, cared for the other’s wounds. We were inseparable. When we got off that forsaken rock we went to the Academy together. We both served on the Enterprise-D, and while the love wasn’t there anymore, we were still friends.”

“She was killed on Vagra III, right?”

“Two,” Murphy quietly corrected, “I’d never been through anything like that before. I was never close with my parents, and even though I’d watched them and a dozen other murders on Turkana, none hit me as hard as Tasha’s death. I was angry, I was depressed; I even thought about killing myself. I couldn’t bear the thought of living when Tasha couldn’t enjoy life anymore.”

Clark looked up from the rifle, “What changed your mind?”

“Counseling. Lots of counseling. It helped me through to acceptance. It was a senseless death, but there was nothing that could have been done to stop it.” He tapped his fingers on the table, “Kübler-Ross can be applied to just about any form of grief: loss of a loved one, your own impending death, your job, a divorce, even the Schooners loosing the hoverball championships.”

“That was a technicality and you know it,” Clark said about the hoverball game. He sighed, “I’m going to request that we get assigned a counselor.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Murphy said. “They get in the way sometimes, but if we’re going to be seeing more of the Kunari…”

“Yeah. So what do you think I should do about Loy?”

“Well, I’m no relationship expert.” He sat up, “But I think you might have to give her some space. Let her know that you’ll be there when she needs someone to talk to, but don’t force the issue.”

Clark let go of the rifle and sighed again, “She’s living in my quarters.”

Murphy chuckled, “I’d offer you my couch, but I’m afraid that I’m already taking space on Lieutenant Costa’s.” He smiled deviously and pulled the rifle away from Clark, “Good luck.” Clark jokingly glared at him and stood to leave. Murphy patted the stock of the TR500, “If you need some backup support, you know where to find me.” Clark rolled his eyes and left the armory.

[Captain_Hair]

20

U.S.S. Aldrin
Sector 3411, Gamma Quadrant
20:24 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57354.782559

Clark stood next to R’Mor at the operations station, cradling his coffee mug, “Nothing from the shuttles?”

She looked across her wide console and shook her head, “Nothing.”

Clark turned his mug upside down and drained the last few thick drops into his mouth. He swallowed and cringed, and then stomped his boot on the deck three times.

R’Mor chuckled, “Bottom of the pot?”

Clark shuddered, “I’ve got to get some cream before we hit grey mode. Anything on long range sensors?”

“Sensors are down again,” she sighed, “They were up an hour ago, but we didn’t have enough resolution that far out to see them.”

Clark sighed, “They’re on their own now.” He set the mug on the sloped metal surface of the ops arc, “You know, I was reading over a few of the after-action reports I’ve received.”

“I imagine you’ve got a lot of them,” R’Mor said. Her console beeped, “I’m reading a power drain. It looks like they’re trying to reactivate the shield grid again.”

“Keep an eye on it,” Clark nodded. “Anyway, yeah, a lot. With Loy out of commission it’s all coming straight to me.” He blinked a few times, “I’m going to need more coffee.”

R’Mor spoke flatly without looking up from her console, “Is there a point to this?”

Clark snatched the mug from the arc, “Yes, there is. You assaulted Lieutenant Eastport according to four different reports – not counting Eastport’s.”

“What did she have to say?”

“Something along the lines of it being a court martial offense,” Clark said nonchalantly. “Striking a superior officer and all.”

R’Mor looked up from her console at the starry viewscreen, “I did what I had to do. She was leaving our rear flank completely unguarded to fight a diversion. If I hadn’t taken her out we would all be dead right now and they would have taken the entire ship and¬–”

Clark put a hand on her shoulder, “You’re right.”

“–dumped us on some, wait, what?”

He smiled, “You did the right thing. I’m impressed that you actually recognized the problem and acted on it. You don’t see that that kind of tactical foresight and initiative in a most fresh ensigns.”

“I did graduate first in my Academy class,” she smiled.

“And you had four years of training from the Romulan Star Force before that,” Clark gently shook her shoulder.

“Sometimes it seems like a lot more than that.” She shrugged and Clark dropped his hand, “So I’m right, but I was wrong.”

“Yeah, decking the chain of command isn’t exactly the Starfleet way.” Clark walked behind her, “But it did show initiative. Just don’t knock me out; I might not take it well.” He disappeared into his ready room.

The lights flickered and Clark came back out, still carrying his empty mug, “Report.”

R’Mor looked over her console, “Good question.” Her brow furrowed and she tapped the controls. The intercom beeped, “Jensen to bridge.”

Clark moved to his chair and tapped the comm control on the armrest, “Clark here. What’s going on down there, Commander?”

“Not a whole lot, David,” Jensen said calmly, “We’re just draining power so we can run the shields.”

“Ah.” Clark nodded, “That explains the lights.”

“Sorry. They’re not exactly stable yet, but they work.” The lights flickered again.

“So I see,” Clark said dryly, “Stabilize the shields and get to work on the ventral phaser array.”

“Yes, Captain. Jensen out.”

Clark tapped another control on the armrest, “Clark to Vorik.”

He was greeted with a loud clang over the intercom, “Vorik here.”

“Just checking for a progress update.”

“Thrusters are online.” Vorik paused, “We should have impulse drive within the hour.”

“Can I hold you to that?”

Vorik paused again, “I would prefer you not, Captain.”

R’Mor chuckled and Clark looked up at her, returning her smile, “Okay, Vorik. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you. Clark out.” He closed the intercom with an angled tap of the mug’s bottom. He pointed his mug at R’Mor, “No more interruptions, I need to brew more coffee.”

R’Mor raised her eyebrows, “At twenty thirty hours?”

Clark froze, “Twenty thirty?”

R’Mor nodded slowly, “Thirty one, to be specific.”

“Well.” Clark blinked a few times and looked down into his mug. “Do you know how many cups I’ve had today?”

“No, Captain.”

“Good, because I lost count at five,” Clark looked around the bridge, “This morning.”

A wry smile came to R’Mor, “I think I’m going to have to cut you off, Sir, you’ve had enough.” Clark cast her a glare and she put her hands in the air, “Don’t make me call Doc, I’ll report you for substance abuse.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Clark said lowly. The confident look on her face led him to the conclusion that she was only half-joking. “Fine.” He put the mug on the deck by the captain’s chair.

The turbolift door opened and Toq’bae walked onto the bridge, “Good evening, Captain.”

Clark gruffly nodded, “Evening.”

The Bolian stopped before headed up to the science station, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sounds like you need a nice fresh cup of raktajino.” Toq’bae smiled meekly.

Clark glanced down at his mug, then up at R’Mor. He quietly returned his gaze to Toq’bae, “No.”

“Okay.” Toq’bae slowly moved across the bridge to his station.

The lights flickered again. Clark rolled his eyes, “I’m going to go downstairs and help out Vorik.”

“Didn’t your shift end four hours ago?” R’Mor asked of Clark.

Clark headed towards the turbolift, “Don’t tell Richard.”

R’Mor nodded slowly, “About what, Captain?”

He smiled back, “My coffee addiction. What else?”

“I don’t know what else there could be,” R’Mor said mockingly.

Clark let himself laugh, “You’re going to find yourself on the command track with that attitude, Ensign.”

She straightened to attention and nodded crisply. The turbolift opened and Clark stepped inside.

21:46 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57354.938081

Clark twisted the end of the deuterium injector into place, feeling it lock with a satisfying loud click. He stepped back from the large spherical fission reactor to survey his work. Vorik came from behind, “Impressive work.”

He couldn’t help but smirk, “Thank you, Commander.”

“Though,” Vorik hesitated slightly, “You might want to consider running the deuterium line to the injector assembly instead of the flow regulator.”

Clark blinked in astonishment at his error. If they had activated the reactor in this state the deuterium would have flooded the chamber in a matter of seconds and led to a painfully explosive breach.

“Captain?” Vorik startled him out of his thoughts, “Are you well?”

“I’m just a little winded,” Clark sighed, “It’s been a long day.” He stepped forward and disconnected the suspended deuterium line from the reactor and moved it to an identical port at the end of the injector he had just finished installing.

“Today has not been any longer than any other day,” Vorik said matter-of-factly, “Unless I was not briefed on a temporal anomaly we’ve encountered.”

Clark locked the flexible hose into place, “That would be the last thing I would want to deal with right now.” He wiped the beading sweat from his forehead with a sleeve.

“Commander!” Ensign Sunay called from across the reactor bay, “We’re done over here!”

Vorik moved so that he could have a clear line of sight, “Diagnostics?”

“The computer reports that Reactor 2 is good to go,”

Vorik nodded, “Proceed.”

Clark smiled as Sunay entered several commands into a console on the reactor’s side and then stepped back. The reactor hummed to life, shuddering visibly every few seconds, and then stabilized. Clark walked over to Sunay and read over the console – the reactor was holding at twenty percent capacity. “Good work, Ensign.”

Sunay’s face beamed with pride from under streaks of brown lubricant and plasma soot, “Thank you, Sir.”

The reactor started to tick loudly. Clark immediately recognized the stress of mounting pressure, “Turn it off!” He spun around and tackled Sunay to the deck. A second later, the reactor screamed and shot the console clean off its side, providing a release for the pressure. The console flew over Clark and Sunay and crashed to the deck a few meters away.

Clark rolled onto his back, “Are you okay?”

Sunay coughed, “I think you broke my rib.”

“Better than the alternative.” Clark looked at the crumpled console. He stood up and heard the reactor tick again. “I thought I told y–”

The breach exploded with bright green plasma, enveloping Clark’s upper torso. The flames quickly dissipated and Clark collapsed onto the deck. Yelling echoed through the reactor bay as Sunay crawled to Clark and rolled him onto his back. The captain lay smoking and unconscious at Sunay’s knees. Half his face was charred black and his smoldering uniform was melted around his chest and stomach. Sunay shouted over the commotion, “I need a medic! Now!”

21:52 Hours, May 9th, 2380
Stardate 57354.948391

Jensen ran into the sickbay just as Clark’s scorched body was laid onto a biobed. Cochrane was at his side, tricorder in hand. Vorik came behind Jensen, stoically watching as the doctor scanned Clark. Cochrane grimaced at the results, “Three ccs of cordrazine, now!”

Clark moaned as Wright came to his burned left side and began to cut away his uniform. Cochrane yelled, “Now, dammit!” Bennett slapped a hypospray into Cochrane’s open hand; he quickly pressed the hypospray to Clark’s neck. His eyes fluttered open and he gasped for air, the monitor over his biobed beeped to life, Clark’s heart rate ramped up to over 200 beats per minute and his blood pressure jumped around 70/50. “Lectrazine!” Cochrane dropped the hypospray of cordrazine to the deck put out his hand again.

Clark screamed in agony as Wright tugged at part of his uniform that had melted into his skin. Wright grabbed an oxygen ventilator from the bulkhead and held it over Clark’s mouth. Cochrane took another hypospray from Bennett and held it to Clark’s neck. His heart rate slowly slowed and his blood pressure stabilized, but still stayed low.

The vitals monitor suddenly started flashing. All eyes went to the screen as Wright said, “Neural activity dropping near critical.”

Cochrane tossed the hypospray to the deck, “Cortical stimulator!”

Bennett grabbed a small hexagonal disc from the equipment tray and tossed it the few meters to Cochrane. He grabbed it out the air and gracefully attached it to the unburned right side of Clark’s forehead. With a twist of a dial on the stimulator the lights around its edge lit up and pulsed gently. Clark’s neural activity slowly crawled up out of the danger zone on the monitor.

Murphy came in behind Jensen, “How’s he doing?”

The monitor started flashing again. “Cardiac arrest,” Cochrane called, “Cardiostimulators!”

Wright pulled two silver discs from a storage tray mounted under the biobed. He placed one on each side of Clark’s chest, pushing away flaking uniform and tissue to get a clean contact. “Clear!”

Cochrane pushed a control on the monitor and the cardiostimulators hummed and flashed with energy. The monitor paused its alarm for a moment, and then resumed. “Again,” Cochrane tapped the control again. The monitor again paused momentarily.

“Pushing to 250 joules,” Wright said. “Clear.”

Cochrane tapped the monitor and the cardiostimulators flashed. In spite of the dead line that the monitor displayed for heartbeat, he checked Clark’s pulse with a finger against his neck. He looked to Bennett, “I need a cardiac injector with four ccs of tricordrazine.” He turned to Wright, “Three hundred.”

Wright tapped a control on his side of the monitor, “Clear.”

“Cardiac injector?” Jensen questioned.

Cochrane tapped the control and the discs hummed loudly and flashed blue. He watched the monitor, only to be again disappointed.

“We’re loosing brain activity,” Wright twisted the dial on the neural stimulator and the pulsing quickened.

Bennett walked over to the biobed, carrying what looked like a hypospray melded with a giant hypodermic needle. She handed it to Cochrane just as R’Mor came in, taking a position to Jensen’s right. R’Mor stared in horror as Cochrane activated a purple sterilizing field across the several centimeter long needle at the end.

“I think that’s the cardiac injector,” Murphy said quietly. Wright scraped off burned skin from the center of Clark’s chest.

Cochrane placed the tip of the needle just to the left of the captain’s sternum and angled it towards his heart. In one swift motion he forced it through his chest and activated the injector, emptying four milliliters of potent tricordrazine emptied into Clark’s still heart. Jensen and R’Mor both visibly flinched at the sight. Cochrane pulled the needle out and ordered, “Three sixty joules.”

Wright hesitated, but with a quick sharp glare from Cochrane complied, “Three sixty, clear!”

Cochrane pounded his fist against the control and the cardiostimulators flashed bright blue again. The heart monitor sprung to life and Clark to a deep raspy breath. Cochrane sighed, “Sara, I need hydrocortilene, anetrizine, dermaline, and inaprovaline on standby.” He stepped back and watched the rise and fall of Clark’s burned chest, and then looked up at Wright, “Jeff, we need to get this uniform off of him.”

He shook his head, “It’s melted into his skin.”

“Uh,” Cochrane grabbed a tricorder, “The radiation is messing with my scans.” Wright grabbed the tricorder, adjusted a setting on its screen, handed it back to Cochrane, and grabbed an exoscalpel. Cochrane looked over the display, “Not good. I’m reading massive internal burns.”

Wright tossed aside a crispy slice of Clark’s uniform and pulled out his own tricorder, “My god.”

Jensen slowly moved towards the foot of the biobed, looking out at Clark’s mangled body. Cochrane put an arm across her shoulders and she looked into his eyes, “Be honest with me here; what are his chances?”

“We’re going to do the best that we can,” Cochrane said. He didn’t have to say it; Jensen could see the desperation in Cochrane’s eyes.

Jensen fought back the tears she felt welling up, “Can I talk to him.”

“I don’t know if he’ll hear you.” Cochrane stepped back, giving Jensen access to the less-burned side of Clark’s body.

She moved up near his head and reached across with her left arm to grab his hand, “David.” She paused as a tear broke through, cutting a path through the soot that was smeared on her cheek. “I can’t imagine what…” she gently lifted his arm from the bed, holding it to her chest, “We’re going to get you through this. You have to; We need you – I need you.” She couldn’t control the tears anymore, they streamed down her face and splashed against the biobed. “I’m so sorry about everything I said today. I didn’t mean it, I was just upset and confused and angry. David, I love you.”

Clark took a breath and squeezed Jensen’s hand with his. His right eye turned towards her as Vorik gently pulled the commander away. He led her out into the corridor where she leaned against a bulkhead and slid to the deck sobbing.