"Mayday, mayday." the voice of Ensign Braveheart came through the shuttle's speakers. "We've been hit by the ionic interference. Controls are not responding. We're going down. Repeat, we're going..."
All of a sudden the channel burst into static, before it was broken. "We've lost contact Sir." Brim reported.
"Damnit." Captain McMillan tapped the shuttle controls. "Lieutenant, find out where they crashed. I am going up to the Gibraltar to get help."
"Aye Sir." the Engineer worked at her console for a moment, and then nodded. "Got the position as best as I could Sir."
McMillan was about to respond, when a gigantic shock when through the shuttle, throwing everyone from their places. "Intertial stabilisors offline!" McMillan shouted as the shuttle rocked. "Controls won't respond!" He turned around, where Crewman Brim and Lieutenant Weintraub were holding on for dear life. Literally. "Lieutenant! Send a distress call to the Gibraltar!"
"Sending." The Engineer reported a moment later. "But I'm not sure it will get through the ionic interference."
"We'd better hope it did." Captain McMillan grumbled, as he looked out the main window. They were no longer horizontal. . . instead, they were falling down, and falling down fast. The planet's ocean could now be seen through the clouds. "Because we're going down."
About an hour earlier...
Captain McMillan sat in his chair at the Bridge of the USS Gibraltar. The Intrepid class starship was sent to patrol one of the many areas of what used to be Romulan space. Just a patrol mission. . . no sign of Slade whatsoever.
She's not been showing herself lately. McMillan thought with a smile on his face. Perhaps we persuaded her to stop her destructive actions. His face sobered, and he slowly shook his head. Or, more likely, we're just not aware of what she's doing. . . Ah well... the Gibraltar was on a peaceful, relaxing mission for a change. This area of space wasn't going to give them any trouble, for once. Perhaps, McMillan surmised, he should let his crew get some off-time in the holodeck. They needed a break, especially since the entire crew had been on patrol for a while already. This was getting monotonous.
That however, would soon change, as the Operations Console started to beep. "Captain." the voice of Crewman Brim, newly assigned to the Gibraltar's OPS console, echoed through the Bridge which had, until then, been silent. "We are receiving a distress call."
Before McMillan could react, Commander Arado already did. "Source?"
"It appears to be coming from a planet roughly two lightyears from here." Mr. Brim reported. "It's audio only: the signal's too weak to carry visual." He paused. "Shall I patch it through?"
At McMillan's nod, an alien voice came through the Bridge speakers. "War broke out." the voice stated. "Please send help. I repeat, war broke out." The rest was merely static, but the message had gotten through. Though this did put the crew in quite a bind.
McMillan wasted not a second. "Helm." He said to Lieutenant Junior Grade Clawtooth. "Set in a course to the source of that distress call and engage at maximum warp."
Clawtooth quickly responded, and soon, the Gibraltar was on its way. But to do what? "Captain," Arado spoke up, "Whatever we do, we must abide by the Prime Directive. We cannot interfere, or chose sides."
"We can if they're in trouble." Lieutenant Weintraub at Engineering stated. "You heard them: they require immediate help. That sounds like a distress call to me, and we're obliged to come to their aid."
"We are if they were directly talking to us." Ensign Westland at Tactical corrected Weintraub. "From what I've heard, that was a general distress call. Granted, we should help if we can, but not if it breaks the Prime Directive."
Ah yes, the Prime Directive. Starfleet's most sacred rule. If whoever was raging this war did not have warp capability, the Gibraltar crew couldn't even contact them. And even if these people did, the crew would be unable to chose sides. They had to distribute whatever aid they could give to both sides. So much for a relaxing mission. McMillan thought.
"Arriving at the planet." Clawtooth announced after a while of discussing the situation. It was clear that this entire crew was anxious to help, but unsure if the rules allowed them to do so. "Going into standard orbit."
"Captain," Mr. Brim said, his voice surprised, "I'm receiving another message. This time directed at us, Sir."
"Let's hear it." McMillan said, standing up. He wondered who could have seen that they had entered orbit. If 'they' were people without warp capability, the Prime Directive would be broken already. From there on, it would be 'damage control'...
Static filled the Bridge, but slowly, a male voice was heard. "... am a Romulan..." the voice said. "... here in be.... fire. I ...peat. I am a Romulan citizen. I am trapped here in between crossfire. Two sides have gone to war, and we're stuck in the middle. Please! You've got to help us!"
"The signal's breaking up Sir." Brim stated quickly. "If you're going to respond, you'd have to do that quickly."
"This is Captain McMillan." Since this was a Romulan he was talking to, McMillan realised he could act. "State your location and your purpose there."
But there came no response. "The signal's dead Sir, but I do have the co-ordinates." Brim reported. "We could transport down."
"I wouldn't recommend that." Ensign Kieran Braveheart, the Chief Science Officer, swivveled around in his chair. "There is a lot of ionic interference covering the planet's atmosphere. Transporting down would be inadvisable, to say the least."
"He's right." Lieutenant Weintraub added. "Our transporters aren't strong enough to get through that interference... unless you don't want to materialise at all, down there."
McMillan bit his lip. This was a setback he couldn't afford. If they could rescue this Romulan -or more, if those were there- then the relations between the Federation and whatever Romulan factions there were in this area of space would be greatly improved. Plus, there were humanoid lives at stake. "Can we use a shuttle?" He finally asked.
"We could," Lt. Clawtooth spoke up, "But it would be a rough ride."
"And we would have to be very careful not to get spotted by whoever is fighting that war." Commander Arado said, reminding everyone about the dire situation they were facing. "If the situation was anything different, I would not send out a shuttle if I had the choice."
"It's going to be difficult anyway." Braveheart spoke his mind. "The ionic interference is particularly dense out there. I am not certain what is causing it, but I can tell you one thing: this is not naturally ocurring."
"Confirmed." Ensign Westland at Tactical added. "The natural patterns are missing. This could be a weapon of some sort."
"Would be worth a study." McMillan mused, and then nodded. He had his mind made up. "Right. Here's what we do. We'll send out two shuttles. One will go down to the surface to those co-ordinates we have from the Romulan's transmission, and try to beam them up. After that, you return to the Gibraltar. Commander Arado, you're in charge of that mission."
"Aye Sir." The Commander said, standing up from his chair. "Braveheart, Clawtooth, Westland, you're with me."
"The second team will be lead by me." McMillan continued. "Mr. Brim, Ms. Weintraub, you'll be with me. We will go down as well to accompany the first shuttle, but we will also be taking whatever readings of this ionic interference that we can. A probe wouldn't be suitable because of the interference, but hopefully a heavier shuttle will."
As the Gibraltar Crew left their stations, McMillan looked at the viewscreen again, wondering what the mystery of the Ionic Interference had in store for them.
An hour later... with the crashed crew.
Ensigns Braveheart and Westland, Lieutenant Clawtooth and Commander Arado had been lucky to find a floating platform not far from where they crashed into the water.
"Do you think they got our message?" Westland asked.
"I don't know." Braveheart answered. "The interference is quite strong. But I hope so." He smiled faintly. "I try to remain positive."
"That's rather difficult while seeing that." Clawtooth suddenly spoke up, pointing at the sky. There, a burning shuttlecraft made its way down to the ocean. It was the Captain's shuttle. It had to be. With a gigantic *splash*, it pierced the water, sending waves to rattle the platform. It didn't take long until the three inhabitants of the shuttle emerged from the water, onto the platform. Luckily, nobody was hurt...
"So what do we do now?" Weintraub asked. "I mean, I did send a message to the Gibraltar, but if they received it..."
McMillan took a deep breath, wiped a string of wet hair out of his eyes, and spoke up. "If they have recieved it, they'll be looking for us. And if they haven't..." He paused. "That Romulan we were looking for had a transmitting device. We might be able to use that."
"Then we'd have to find the Romulan first." Westland pointed out. "Locigally speaking, the chances of that happening are slim."
"Perhaps." McMillan answered. "But we do have his last recorded position on our tricorders. And I think that wherever he is, there'd be land too." He looked out over the open sea. "Brace yourself crew... we're going swimming."
He just hoped that it wouldn't take them too long to find this Romulan...
To be continued...
Friday 12 December 2008
Saturday 29 November 2008
Episode 15: "A huntin' we will go"
The transport was complete. "Set a course for Starfleet Command, maximum warp." Captain McMillan said, eager to get this over with. Why the Gibraltar had been assigned to this rather mundane -or dare he say, boring- task, the Captain didn't know. They had to be looking for Slade, not transporting some xenobiological experiment to Command. But yet, they were busy doing the latter, not the former.
One would wonder if Starfleet is mad at us for not getting Slade yet.
McMillan shook his head. He couldn't afford to think like this. He knew full well that the life of a starship crew couldn't be action all the time. Still, if Starfleet wanted results, they should keep the Gibraltar out there, where Slade was last sighted, not doing some convoy duty.
Still, this mission was deemed 'top secret', which bothered McMillan. And not just him. The nature of this mission worried the entire crew. Speculations about this 'experiment' could not be avoided, even with an experienced crew such as this one. Lt. Weintraub for instance thought this experiment was a *genetic* experiment: something which was outlawed by the Federation alltogether.
Finally, Captain McMillan spoke up. "Folks, let's concentrate on the task at hand, and trust that Starfleet knows what it's doing. Perhaps they just found a new kind of creature they have to have transported to Earth. Who knows."
It wasn't long after that, that it was time to beam the experiment down to the surface. The crew went to watch the transport, but something went wrong... the hidious creature let out a loud cry at the moment the forcefields dropped, and it beamed down itself!
Damn. McMillan thought. There is an unknown alien creature loose at Starfleet Command...
There was only one option: The Gibraltar crew quickly armed themselves, warned all Starfleet personnel on the ground to stand clear, and then they beamed down themselves, searching for this creature. It was quite a hunt: this creature seemed more intelligent than first thought.
The folks at the Xenobiology department have quite something to explain. McMillan figured, as he recieved reports that the creature had taken another transporter to the old medical building.
"All units, converge at my position." the Captain ordered. Moments later, the moment was there. It was time to enter the medical building. The doors opened. . . and the creature lay there, under the couch, unconscious. Apparently it had been hit by a phaser blast anyway: it just took longer to take effect. Could this have been what Xenobiology had wanted to research?
"Looks like we got it." Commander Arado stated. "Now let's deliver this to the Science boys, and be done with it, shall we?"
McMillan couldn't agree more.
Episode 14: "Sightings of Slade"
Whilst Captain McMillan was discussing the Slade issue with Starfleet Command in person, Ensign Braveheart was ordered to take the USS Gibraltar to Nimbus III (The Planet of Galactic Peace) to investigate potential sightings of Slade
Following a 'cold reception' communique on arrival at Nimbus III, the crew were authorised to beam down to investigate the reports.
Upon arrival to what seemed like a market place, the crew found themselves in a sky city, with an unusual transport system, which took them to the surface. One there, they happened upon what seemed like a castle, but turned out to be a village named KoS
Speaking for many minutes with a local lady knight, Jordina McGinnis, we were given permission to enter the village whilst at the same time encountering another helpful local named Dinky Wingtips.
The away team split up with Ensign Westland and Crewman Turbo checking one area, whilst Petty Officer Menkez and Crewman Loire checked another. Team 1 found nothing, however team 2 had found an alchemy shop, which they believed could be a cover, but with no proof, we couldn't make any claims. Braveheart, Westland and Turbo had followed Commander Arado deeper into the village, where we were being followed by another local who kept showing for us not to touch anything.
Upon finding nothing, the team had returned to the sky city by the same method, and despite a minor EMP field, the crew managed to return to the ship where they set a course to Starbase 314 to rendezvous with Captain McMillan
At that moment, Commander Arado asked for the computer to end the simulation, congratulating Ensign Braveheart on passing the bridge officer's exam
What is Slade really up to?
Following a 'cold reception' communique on arrival at Nimbus III, the crew were authorised to beam down to investigate the reports.
Upon arrival to what seemed like a market place, the crew found themselves in a sky city, with an unusual transport system, which took them to the surface. One there, they happened upon what seemed like a castle, but turned out to be a village named KoS
Speaking for many minutes with a local lady knight, Jordina McGinnis, we were given permission to enter the village whilst at the same time encountering another helpful local named Dinky Wingtips.
The away team split up with Ensign Westland and Crewman Turbo checking one area, whilst Petty Officer Menkez and Crewman Loire checked another. Team 1 found nothing, however team 2 had found an alchemy shop, which they believed could be a cover, but with no proof, we couldn't make any claims. Braveheart, Westland and Turbo had followed Commander Arado deeper into the village, where we were being followed by another local who kept showing for us not to touch anything.
Upon finding nothing, the team had returned to the sky city by the same method, and despite a minor EMP field, the crew managed to return to the ship where they set a course to Starbase 314 to rendezvous with Captain McMillan
At that moment, Commander Arado asked for the computer to end the simulation, congratulating Ensign Braveheart on passing the bridge officer's exam
What is Slade really up to?
Episode 13: "Kelley's Heroes"
The USS Gibraltar was steady on course to a nearby nebula for scientific research... when all of a sudden, a ball of energy was heading towards them. Without any word of warning, it impacted with the Gibraltar, sending a blinding light through the Intrepid class vessel.
When the light dimmed, Captain McMillan looked around. He was sitting in a Captain's Chair, on the bridge of a Miranda class Starship. His crew were all in their normal positions, dressed in the uniform of this time. Everything seemed normal to him, and his crew. Nobody seemed to notice that they had in fact just been at the Intrepid class ship. Nobody... but Lt. Heron.
The mission of this Miranda-class Gibraltar was clear: defeat the Klingons in one all-decisive battle. Heron knew that this was not how history had gone... and she suspected Q to be responsible for this. The very same Q whom she had hit, a few months ago. Could the superbeing be holding a grudge?
When Heron confronted the Captain and crew, she was first thought to be crazy... but when more and more evidence started to appear, McMillan realised that they didn't belong here. But by that time, they had already started fighting the Klingons. How to get out of here?
Heron provided the answer. Using a late 24th century technique, she incapaticated the Klingon ship. The Miranda class Gibraltar was on its way again... only to encounter the bridge light once more. A flash... and everyone was back on board the Intrepid class Gibraltar. Everyone... but Lt. Heron.
Moments later, she appeared too, as if she was a Q herself too. She informed the crew that she had to leave the Gibraltar. Q had given her little choice. But she would be back. Somehow, someday, somewhere, somewhen. With a flash, she disappeared again, only after letting the Captain promise that they'd get Slade... before she'd get them.
And so, without Heron, the Gibraltar followed her way... to unknowns, awaiting them.
When the light dimmed, Captain McMillan looked around. He was sitting in a Captain's Chair, on the bridge of a Miranda class Starship. His crew were all in their normal positions, dressed in the uniform of this time. Everything seemed normal to him, and his crew. Nobody seemed to notice that they had in fact just been at the Intrepid class ship. Nobody... but Lt. Heron.
The mission of this Miranda-class Gibraltar was clear: defeat the Klingons in one all-decisive battle. Heron knew that this was not how history had gone... and she suspected Q to be responsible for this. The very same Q whom she had hit, a few months ago. Could the superbeing be holding a grudge?
When Heron confronted the Captain and crew, she was first thought to be crazy... but when more and more evidence started to appear, McMillan realised that they didn't belong here. But by that time, they had already started fighting the Klingons. How to get out of here?
Heron provided the answer. Using a late 24th century technique, she incapaticated the Klingon ship. The Miranda class Gibraltar was on its way again... only to encounter the bridge light once more. A flash... and everyone was back on board the Intrepid class Gibraltar. Everyone... but Lt. Heron.
Moments later, she appeared too, as if she was a Q herself too. She informed the crew that she had to leave the Gibraltar. Q had given her little choice. But she would be back. Somehow, someday, somewhere, somewhen. With a flash, she disappeared again, only after letting the Captain promise that they'd get Slade... before she'd get them.
And so, without Heron, the Gibraltar followed her way... to unknowns, awaiting them.
Episode 12: "In the middle of nowhere"
The Gibraltar was still in orbit of Nedra, a Klingon moon close to the Federation/Klingon border. Less than 24 hours ago, the crew had already beamed down, and found out that Nedra had been attacked: its population either killed or escaped, its buildings in ruins. New sensor scans showed an underground city though. . . perhaps there, new information could be found on *who* attacked the planet.
Just as the crew was ready to beam down, an unexpected guest appeared via a temporal rift: this could only mean one person. Auer. Colonel Auer was an old aquintance of the Gibraltar crew. . . of Lt. Heron especially, even though Captain McMillan didn't quite know all of the history between the two. He made it a point to find out though... later. Now, under observation of Colonel Auer or not, he felt it was time to beam down to Nedra once again... in order to get some answers.
Their beaming down raised more questions than answers. Where less than 24 hours ago there was a destroyed city, there now was... absolutely nothing. For as far as the eye could see, there was emptiness. A sandy wasteland. No buildings, no ruins, no underground city. Nothing.
In the distance though, there was a shimmer of... something. Could it be a building? The Gibraltar crew started walking through the wasteland, all the time wondering what could have happened to this planet.
What they found was almost impossible. A small house, surrounded by water, protected by a forcefield... in the middle of this wasteland. How could this be? Q? A natural development? Did the weapons of the attack cause this? Or was it perhaps an entity similar to the chrystaline entity discovered by the Enterprise-D so many years ago?
After returning to the Gibraltar, the latter was seen as the best option. This could very well be a new lifeform! But one with an appitite for planets... and what about the attack on Nedra, before the Gibraltar got there? Could whoever attacked Nedra, work together with that lifeform? The possibilities were endless... and terrifying.
The Gibraltar sent all the information they had to both Starfleet Science and the Klingon High Command, before leaving the area again. Perhaps though... they'd come back here, one day...
Just as the crew was ready to beam down, an unexpected guest appeared via a temporal rift: this could only mean one person. Auer. Colonel Auer was an old aquintance of the Gibraltar crew. . . of Lt. Heron especially, even though Captain McMillan didn't quite know all of the history between the two. He made it a point to find out though... later. Now, under observation of Colonel Auer or not, he felt it was time to beam down to Nedra once again... in order to get some answers.
Their beaming down raised more questions than answers. Where less than 24 hours ago there was a destroyed city, there now was... absolutely nothing. For as far as the eye could see, there was emptiness. A sandy wasteland. No buildings, no ruins, no underground city. Nothing.
In the distance though, there was a shimmer of... something. Could it be a building? The Gibraltar crew started walking through the wasteland, all the time wondering what could have happened to this planet.
What they found was almost impossible. A small house, surrounded by water, protected by a forcefield... in the middle of this wasteland. How could this be? Q? A natural development? Did the weapons of the attack cause this? Or was it perhaps an entity similar to the chrystaline entity discovered by the Enterprise-D so many years ago?
After returning to the Gibraltar, the latter was seen as the best option. This could very well be a new lifeform! But one with an appitite for planets... and what about the attack on Nedra, before the Gibraltar got there? Could whoever attacked Nedra, work together with that lifeform? The possibilities were endless... and terrifying.
The Gibraltar sent all the information they had to both Starfleet Science and the Klingon High Command, before leaving the area again. Perhaps though... they'd come back here, one day...
Episode 11: "Nedra"
With the Gibraltar having been repaired from the last attack by Slade, Captain McMillan decided to finally go to the Klingon borderworld Ku'Vat. The last two times the Gibraltar had been on its way in that direction, they had been attacked: first by unknown aliens, and the next time by Slade. Perhaps three was the charm here?
It seemed it was. Without all that much interruptions -save from a Klingon ship checking in on the Gibraltar- the crew arrived in Klingon space... only to find out that there were some anomulous readings coming from a planet nearby Ku'Vat... called Nedra. Quickly, the Gibraltar altered course, and soon arrived at Nedra.
Because of the atmospheric conditions down on the volcanic planet, Captain McMillan called in the help of the Air Corps: Lt.Cmdr. Tao and Lt.jg Sheridan quickly left the ship in their fighter. When they sent back information about the planet, Captain McMillan ordered the crew to beam down in Environmental Suits.
The search of the city of Nedra went quickly with the help of the Air Support. Everything looked fine... until the team discovered an abandoned, destroyed part of the city. It looked like it had been attacked, not all that long ago. Who could this have been? Scans of a portal that the crew encountered found traces of Klingon DNA, which was to be expected... and some unknown DNA, which the scanners couldn't identify. Could this have been the unknown aliens who attacked the Gibraltar earlier?
Quickly, the crew returned to the Gibraltar, to see if their computer might know more...
Thursday 9 October 2008
Episode 10: "The Visitor"
Gently, with an almost graceful movement, the USS Gibraltar slid out of the Starbase's spacedock after having completed repairs. The attack by those unknown aliens had left the Intrepid class Starship damaged, but quick repairs soon fixed that.
Our mission to Ku'Vat can continue. Captain McMillan thought to himself as he sat in his chair, more relaxed than he had felt in a long time. Perhaps we'll finally find out why those aliens were so interested in that place. The Gibraltar had been on a diplomatic mission to this colony -recently given to the Klingons to preserve good relations- anyway, but the interruption of the unknown aliens had interfered with that. Now, they were good to go.
Or were they?
"Captain." Ms. Sereana Westland, the Vulcan now manning OPS, stated. "We are receiving a message from Starfleet." An eyebrow perked up, showing as much surprise as McMillan would ever see from the Vulcan. "We are ordered to hold our position, to await the arrival of a new crewmember."
The Captain showed more than just a perked up eyebrow at this reaction. "I wasn't aware of any new crew... send me the transfer orders please." Just as it appeared on the Captain's console, and just as McMillan read the name -being unable to suppress a shudder of recognition- all hell broke lose. In the middle of the Bridge, space seemed to twist into itself. Air was sucked out of the lungs of anyone unfortunate to be near this phenomanon, and a blinding flash blinded all who dared to gaze into it. It lasted only a few seconds, but they were seconds the Gibraltar crew could easily have gone without.
When the phenomanon -a spatial rift, it would seem- had vanished, a man stood there, armed to the teeth. A man who McMillan had met before, during a mission on the Connecticut where he had been asked to observe. Slowly, McMillan rose from his seat, and took the two steps towards this man. "So this is the Gibraltar." The man said, looking around. "How disappointing."
"Colonel Serp Auer." McMillan uttered with as much respect as he could muster for this man. He didn't envy Captain Seelowe, the former Captain of the Connecticut, for having to deal with this man day in, day out. Auer was a menace. Lack of respect for any rules but his own. And apparently, Starfleet simply let him get away with it. Mostly because they needed him. And they couldn't stop him if they wanted to. In many aspects, this man reminded McMillan of Slade, the renegade officer. Though Slade was more elusive, more deadly... and, McMillan couldn't help but think, definitely better looking.
"The same." Auer responded, looking down at the petit Captain with the lack of respect piercing from his eyes. "Let me get to the point, Captain. I'm here to observe the Gibraltar crew on this mission of yours to see if they're worthy of a special mission." He huffed. "And I do hope your crew fares better than the crews of the ships I've recently visited. So far though, I must admit, I'm rather disappointed."
McMillan didn't know what stung more: the lack of respect, or the insults the man dared to utter. "Colonel Auer," he merely responded, looking up at the man while still making sure Auer knew who was in charge, "Let me make one thing clear. If you are here to observe, then I expect you to do just that. Don't interfere... just watch." He paused, and looked into the man's eyes. "From the *back* of the Bridge. Do I make myself clear?"
Auer merely smiled a toothy little smile. "I like you Captain. You've got guts." And with that, he moved on to the back, stopping at the Tactical console. "Kelly, fancy meeting you here."
Lt. Kelly Heron merely looked at her old aquintance. "You've got some nerve coming here. If you're planning to do the same to this ship as you've done to the Carolina and Connecticut, forget it."
McMillan had to admit: he was thrown off balance by this sudden arrival of this special Starfleet envoy... but he couldn't show it. They were under 'observation', after all. Better do what they went out there to do. "Helm." He said to Angelis Bourne, who was sitting dutyfully at the helm. "Set a course for Ku'Vat, warp 6, and engage."
"Aye Captain." the Ensign said in response. "Course laid in, engaging at warp 6." He paused, as the starfield at the main viewscreen changed to the view of stars flashing by in a beautiful hue of colours. The Gibraltar was on her way.
-----
"Captain, we're entering the Ku'Vat system." Ensign Bourne reported. "Dropping out of warp, engaging impulse engines." The planet was in visual range already, thanks to some excellent piloting from the Ensign at the Helm.
McMillan nodded, and turned to Ms. Westland at OPS. "Let's let them know we're here. Open a channel."
But the response was not how the Captain had envisioned it. "No response Captain." The Vulcan at OPS answered. "In fact... it would seem communications are being jammed."
Who could that be? "Science, scan for any ships in orbit." McMillan ordered, having a very bad feeling about this. He glanced at Counselor Giffen, who merely looked at him with a worried look on his face. This sudden observation from Colonel Auer who was armed to the teeth, was enough to make anyone feel ill at ease. This sudden jamming of communications... it could not be a good sign, that was for sure.
"Sir, I'm detecting a Cardassian freighter leaving the planet." Ensign Braveheart, the Chief Science Officer, spoke up. "It's heading..." He then paused. "No wait... it's gone!" The man seemed surprised himself. "It's like... it was there, and all of a sudden it vanished!"
"Cloak?" Heron suggested.
"I didn't know Cardassian freighters *had* a cloaking device?" McMillan responded. While he enjoyed a mystery holo-novel like any other man, there could also be a thing as too much mystery.
"Not much is known about the Cardassians' techological advances since the end of the Domionion Wars." Ms. Westland responded dutyfully. "Generally, it is assumed that..." But she couldn't finish her sentence. All of a sudden, consoles flickered and shut down, the constant humming of generators silenced, and the Bridge was plunged into darkness. Only the emergency lighting and the immediate Red Alert signals which were activated, illuminated the darkness.
And then, an orange transporterbeam delivered the answer to the un-asked questions in McMillan's mind as to how this could have happened. The person materialising smiled, and spoke up immediately. "Please state the nature of the Command emergency." The silence which greeted her only made her smile more. "Hello Gentlemen. You don't know how long I've been waiting to say that line."
McMillan stood up from his chair, as he watched Security react almost as fast as he did. "Slade." He spoke.
With mock surprise and genuine sarcasm, the Gibraltar's public enemy nr. 1 responded. "Oh my god, Captain Obvious. You recognised me!" From the corner of his eyes, McMillan saw the counselor react... no doubt responding to the surge of anger irradiating from the Captain himself. Again, Slade had caught them completely by surprise.
"What do you want Slade?" He demanded.
The scourne in the Captain's side responded casually. "Oh, nothing really, Captain. Just... playing a bit of hide and seek. I've got 45 disruptors aimed at you, and you don't want to find them. So I suggest you start working on your lovely little boat..."
The cruel reality of the situation began to sink in. "You want us to repair our ship after you've disabled it... and if we don't do it quick enough, you'll blow us to bits?" McMillan summarised, not caring for a nanosecond if his nickname 'Captain Obvious' given by Slade was only reinforced now.
"Well, I must admit," Slade commented casually, "I do enjoy being followed. Though I do have work to do: doing all those dirty jobs that Starfleet is afraid to." She smiled another smile. "But my brave Captain... that isn't your concern." She leaned forward ever so slightly, and said in a lowered voice: "By the way, if I were you, I'd change my command codes." With that, she stood up straight again, and concluded her visit. "If you'd all please excuse me... I've got a job to do."
Recognising too late what was going on, McMillan bellowed "Security! Transporter inhi..." but by the time he had finished his half-sentence, Slade was gone again... disappeared in a beam of light and energy.
-----
Captain's Log. There is no sign of Slade, although with the ship in this state, there is no way to be certain. She caught us completely by surprise. Sensors, warp drive, shields and weapons are offline. I cannot help but go over the conversation in my mind. She's got us out-gunned, that's for sure. 45 disruptorbanks would be more than a match for the Gibraltar's phaserbanks... even if they were working now. And what did she mean by 'doing Starfleet's dirty work'? Is she somehow working for Starfleet? I find that hard to believe... otherwise we've been sent on a fool's errand: a futile mission. Surely Starfleet wouldn't send us to capture one of their operatives? Nevertheless, there *is* the matter of the command codes to consider. Slade had them. Without a doubt. Otherwise she couldn't completely disable the ship without even firing a weapon. But how did she get it? I wouldn't put it past her that she'd be spying at us... but an even more frightening option is possible... could Starfleet have given her these codes? If she *is* working for Starfleet on a top secret mission, then would this actually be as far-fetched as I hope it is?
Sitting at his desk in his office just outside of the Birdge, Captain McMillan looked at Counselor Dolamite Giffen and Colonel Serp Auer. The latter he had asked to talk to in private... the former had asked to come along. McMillan had granted the Counselor this request: the man could be helpful in 'reading' Auer.
"I hardly find it a coincidence that you get assigned to our ship, just as Slade disables us again." McMillan started. He disliked falsely accusing people, but after Slade using the Gibraltar's command codes... well, it opened up some disturbing possibilities. "Why exactly did you come on board? What mission is it that you're testing us for?"
If Auer was insulted, he didn't show it. The same lack of respect came from his eyes. "I have nothing to do with Slade." He told the Captain and the Counselor. "But this... coincidence has shown me what I need to complete my observation. You want to know about this mission, Captain? Fine. But if you tell *anyone*, I have the authorisation by Starfleet Tactical to *terminate* the 'leak'." He leaned forward, his hands on the Captain's desk. "Do you understand?"
McMillan was horrified. To think that Starfleet Command would agree on such... terrible ways of keeping securicy. Nevertheless, he nodded. "I understand." He said, making sure not to sound apprehensive, even though he was. "What's the mission?"
Standing up straight again, Auer spoke up. "The Federation wants you to capture an alien warship: the Harbinger. They have a... crued, but effective way of propulsion that the Federation wants to posess."
This was too much for the good Captain. "Are you saying that the Federation wants us to *attack* and *capture* a ship of a race we haven't even had diplomatic contact with? A race which we don't even *know*, or even pose a threat to us?"
Here, Auer's face became more serious, if that was at all possible. "Oh, they form a threat alright." He activated a holographic display of what seemed to be a sleek fighter. "Behold. The fighters that this Harbinger carries. They're capable of destruction on an epic scale." He paused, and glanced at both Captain McMillan and Counselor Giffen. "These... aliens are on their way to Earth, Captain. They've targeted the very heart of the Federation. And what's worse: they have a way of propulsion which lets them travel around huge distances, instantly." Another pause, as he transferred information to the Captain's console. "Proof, Captain. All the data we have on them."
Looking at this data was enough to make anyone turn pale. "My god." McMillan winced.
"This is why we have this veil of secrecy, Captain." Auer continued. "This is why Starfleet wants one of their ships... to get a similar means of propulsion. To pretect the Federation."
For a moment, McMillan said nothing. Then though, he regained his composure. "Colonel Auer... what you have told me sounds terrifying. But my first duty *now*, is to this ship, this crew. And right now, we may very well have Slade out there, her disruptors aimed at us. We will deal with one situation at a time. First Slade... then the Harbinger." He paused. "Do I make myself clear, Colonel?"
"Perfectly." Auer answered, as he walked out the door. McMillan bit his lip, and turned to Counselor Giffen. "See what you can find on him." He whispered despite nobody else being in the room. "He might be telling the truth, but I want Starfleet's confirmation on this. In the meantime, I want to learn more about him." With a nod from the Counselor, both men exited the Captain's Office, and entered the Bridge.
"Captain," Ms. Westland spoke up, "I think we have something. Sensors indicated what seems to be a large mass, over 1100 meters, directly in front of us." she reported. "If it *is* Slade, we can disrupt her cloak by sending out a modified tachyon pulse."
"Well then?" McMillan could almost sense the 'but' coming. "Why haven't you done this yet?"
"It's not without risk." Braveheart answered for his colleage at OPS. "There's a serious chance we could blow out the Main Deflector Dish."
"A 76.5274 % chance of that happening." Westland pointed out.
Glancing at the viewscreen where the alleged cloaked ship seemed to be, McMillan thought of their previous encounters with Slade, and then shook his head. "How about we put it in a tractorbeam? And push it further away? That would at least give us a better chance of firing that pulse."
"Captain, we cannot move something that large with our tractorbeams." Braveheart spat out. "The chances of us succeeding are slim, at best."
"The chances are 1.092 % of this working." Westland echoed. "The tractorbeam wasn't designed for this." This was true, of course. The Gibraltar wasn't a big ship... it would need a big ship to tow another big ship away. But, so McMillan figured, not just now.
"Thank you. Prepare the tractorbeam." McMillan ordered, sticking to his opinion. "At the very least, we'd be able to get an idea of the mass of that ship." If he knew Slade -and he did- then she wouldn't make this *that* easy for them. "Activate the tractorbeam, and run a detailed scan." He was fortunate that Engineer Clawtooth had worked so hard to put the sensors back online again, otherwise this wouldn't be possible.
As a blue beam emitted from the tractorbeam emitters at the front of the ship, Braveheart gasped. "The mass I'm getting from these readings isn't anything like that of a big ship." He looked up at the Captain. "This seems to be a Scorpion class attack shuttle, used by the Romulans."
"Bring it in." At least it was something. "And put a secure forcefield around it. I want a research team to go to the shuttlebay immediately." McMillan guessed that it was this shuttle which had given them false readings, letting them think that there'd been a big ship out there instead of this shuttlecraft. And well, it had worked. "Any *other* sign of Slade?"
"I'm detecing what could have been a warpfield being formed." Braveheart informed the crew. "I believe Slade has gone to warp."
"If we can trust those readings." McMillan responded quickly. "Alright. Lt. Clawtooth, I don't want to stay here too long. When can we go to warp?"
"Now would be good a time as any Sir." The Engineer said, tapping some commands on his console, "But we have warp 5, at the very best. You'll have to be careful."
"It's better than nothing." McMillan was unable to keep a sigh from escaping. "Slade's got us good... again. But we will be back. Twice already, we've not been able to beam down to Ku'Vat... first because of those aliens, and now Slade... I don't know about you people, but that only makes me more curious."
"First things' first though." The Captain quickly sat down in his chair, and nodded to the Helmsman. "Mr. Bourne... set a course back to the Starbase for repairs. Warp 5... engage."
-----
As the USS Gibraltar left the system, Slade sat in her personal Scimitar, shaking her head. She allowed herself a faint smile, before she focussed her attention on the other things that mattered. There was work be done... and no time to waste.
Our mission to Ku'Vat can continue. Captain McMillan thought to himself as he sat in his chair, more relaxed than he had felt in a long time. Perhaps we'll finally find out why those aliens were so interested in that place. The Gibraltar had been on a diplomatic mission to this colony -recently given to the Klingons to preserve good relations- anyway, but the interruption of the unknown aliens had interfered with that. Now, they were good to go.
Or were they?
"Captain." Ms. Sereana Westland, the Vulcan now manning OPS, stated. "We are receiving a message from Starfleet." An eyebrow perked up, showing as much surprise as McMillan would ever see from the Vulcan. "We are ordered to hold our position, to await the arrival of a new crewmember."
The Captain showed more than just a perked up eyebrow at this reaction. "I wasn't aware of any new crew... send me the transfer orders please." Just as it appeared on the Captain's console, and just as McMillan read the name -being unable to suppress a shudder of recognition- all hell broke lose. In the middle of the Bridge, space seemed to twist into itself. Air was sucked out of the lungs of anyone unfortunate to be near this phenomanon, and a blinding flash blinded all who dared to gaze into it. It lasted only a few seconds, but they were seconds the Gibraltar crew could easily have gone without.
When the phenomanon -a spatial rift, it would seem- had vanished, a man stood there, armed to the teeth. A man who McMillan had met before, during a mission on the Connecticut where he had been asked to observe. Slowly, McMillan rose from his seat, and took the two steps towards this man. "So this is the Gibraltar." The man said, looking around. "How disappointing."
"Colonel Serp Auer." McMillan uttered with as much respect as he could muster for this man. He didn't envy Captain Seelowe, the former Captain of the Connecticut, for having to deal with this man day in, day out. Auer was a menace. Lack of respect for any rules but his own. And apparently, Starfleet simply let him get away with it. Mostly because they needed him. And they couldn't stop him if they wanted to. In many aspects, this man reminded McMillan of Slade, the renegade officer. Though Slade was more elusive, more deadly... and, McMillan couldn't help but think, definitely better looking.
"The same." Auer responded, looking down at the petit Captain with the lack of respect piercing from his eyes. "Let me get to the point, Captain. I'm here to observe the Gibraltar crew on this mission of yours to see if they're worthy of a special mission." He huffed. "And I do hope your crew fares better than the crews of the ships I've recently visited. So far though, I must admit, I'm rather disappointed."
McMillan didn't know what stung more: the lack of respect, or the insults the man dared to utter. "Colonel Auer," he merely responded, looking up at the man while still making sure Auer knew who was in charge, "Let me make one thing clear. If you are here to observe, then I expect you to do just that. Don't interfere... just watch." He paused, and looked into the man's eyes. "From the *back* of the Bridge. Do I make myself clear?"
Auer merely smiled a toothy little smile. "I like you Captain. You've got guts." And with that, he moved on to the back, stopping at the Tactical console. "Kelly, fancy meeting you here."
Lt. Kelly Heron merely looked at her old aquintance. "You've got some nerve coming here. If you're planning to do the same to this ship as you've done to the Carolina and Connecticut, forget it."
McMillan had to admit: he was thrown off balance by this sudden arrival of this special Starfleet envoy... but he couldn't show it. They were under 'observation', after all. Better do what they went out there to do. "Helm." He said to Angelis Bourne, who was sitting dutyfully at the helm. "Set a course for Ku'Vat, warp 6, and engage."
"Aye Captain." the Ensign said in response. "Course laid in, engaging at warp 6." He paused, as the starfield at the main viewscreen changed to the view of stars flashing by in a beautiful hue of colours. The Gibraltar was on her way.
-----
"Captain, we're entering the Ku'Vat system." Ensign Bourne reported. "Dropping out of warp, engaging impulse engines." The planet was in visual range already, thanks to some excellent piloting from the Ensign at the Helm.
McMillan nodded, and turned to Ms. Westland at OPS. "Let's let them know we're here. Open a channel."
But the response was not how the Captain had envisioned it. "No response Captain." The Vulcan at OPS answered. "In fact... it would seem communications are being jammed."
Who could that be? "Science, scan for any ships in orbit." McMillan ordered, having a very bad feeling about this. He glanced at Counselor Giffen, who merely looked at him with a worried look on his face. This sudden observation from Colonel Auer who was armed to the teeth, was enough to make anyone feel ill at ease. This sudden jamming of communications... it could not be a good sign, that was for sure.
"Sir, I'm detecting a Cardassian freighter leaving the planet." Ensign Braveheart, the Chief Science Officer, spoke up. "It's heading..." He then paused. "No wait... it's gone!" The man seemed surprised himself. "It's like... it was there, and all of a sudden it vanished!"
"Cloak?" Heron suggested.
"I didn't know Cardassian freighters *had* a cloaking device?" McMillan responded. While he enjoyed a mystery holo-novel like any other man, there could also be a thing as too much mystery.
"Not much is known about the Cardassians' techological advances since the end of the Domionion Wars." Ms. Westland responded dutyfully. "Generally, it is assumed that..." But she couldn't finish her sentence. All of a sudden, consoles flickered and shut down, the constant humming of generators silenced, and the Bridge was plunged into darkness. Only the emergency lighting and the immediate Red Alert signals which were activated, illuminated the darkness.
And then, an orange transporterbeam delivered the answer to the un-asked questions in McMillan's mind as to how this could have happened. The person materialising smiled, and spoke up immediately. "Please state the nature of the Command emergency." The silence which greeted her only made her smile more. "Hello Gentlemen. You don't know how long I've been waiting to say that line."
McMillan stood up from his chair, as he watched Security react almost as fast as he did. "Slade." He spoke.
With mock surprise and genuine sarcasm, the Gibraltar's public enemy nr. 1 responded. "Oh my god, Captain Obvious. You recognised me!" From the corner of his eyes, McMillan saw the counselor react... no doubt responding to the surge of anger irradiating from the Captain himself. Again, Slade had caught them completely by surprise.
"What do you want Slade?" He demanded.
The scourne in the Captain's side responded casually. "Oh, nothing really, Captain. Just... playing a bit of hide and seek. I've got 45 disruptors aimed at you, and you don't want to find them. So I suggest you start working on your lovely little boat..."
The cruel reality of the situation began to sink in. "You want us to repair our ship after you've disabled it... and if we don't do it quick enough, you'll blow us to bits?" McMillan summarised, not caring for a nanosecond if his nickname 'Captain Obvious' given by Slade was only reinforced now.
"Well, I must admit," Slade commented casually, "I do enjoy being followed. Though I do have work to do: doing all those dirty jobs that Starfleet is afraid to." She smiled another smile. "But my brave Captain... that isn't your concern." She leaned forward ever so slightly, and said in a lowered voice: "By the way, if I were you, I'd change my command codes." With that, she stood up straight again, and concluded her visit. "If you'd all please excuse me... I've got a job to do."
Recognising too late what was going on, McMillan bellowed "Security! Transporter inhi..." but by the time he had finished his half-sentence, Slade was gone again... disappeared in a beam of light and energy.
-----
Captain's Log. There is no sign of Slade, although with the ship in this state, there is no way to be certain. She caught us completely by surprise. Sensors, warp drive, shields and weapons are offline. I cannot help but go over the conversation in my mind. She's got us out-gunned, that's for sure. 45 disruptorbanks would be more than a match for the Gibraltar's phaserbanks... even if they were working now. And what did she mean by 'doing Starfleet's dirty work'? Is she somehow working for Starfleet? I find that hard to believe... otherwise we've been sent on a fool's errand: a futile mission. Surely Starfleet wouldn't send us to capture one of their operatives? Nevertheless, there *is* the matter of the command codes to consider. Slade had them. Without a doubt. Otherwise she couldn't completely disable the ship without even firing a weapon. But how did she get it? I wouldn't put it past her that she'd be spying at us... but an even more frightening option is possible... could Starfleet have given her these codes? If she *is* working for Starfleet on a top secret mission, then would this actually be as far-fetched as I hope it is?
Sitting at his desk in his office just outside of the Birdge, Captain McMillan looked at Counselor Dolamite Giffen and Colonel Serp Auer. The latter he had asked to talk to in private... the former had asked to come along. McMillan had granted the Counselor this request: the man could be helpful in 'reading' Auer.
"I hardly find it a coincidence that you get assigned to our ship, just as Slade disables us again." McMillan started. He disliked falsely accusing people, but after Slade using the Gibraltar's command codes... well, it opened up some disturbing possibilities. "Why exactly did you come on board? What mission is it that you're testing us for?"
If Auer was insulted, he didn't show it. The same lack of respect came from his eyes. "I have nothing to do with Slade." He told the Captain and the Counselor. "But this... coincidence has shown me what I need to complete my observation. You want to know about this mission, Captain? Fine. But if you tell *anyone*, I have the authorisation by Starfleet Tactical to *terminate* the 'leak'." He leaned forward, his hands on the Captain's desk. "Do you understand?"
McMillan was horrified. To think that Starfleet Command would agree on such... terrible ways of keeping securicy. Nevertheless, he nodded. "I understand." He said, making sure not to sound apprehensive, even though he was. "What's the mission?"
Standing up straight again, Auer spoke up. "The Federation wants you to capture an alien warship: the Harbinger. They have a... crued, but effective way of propulsion that the Federation wants to posess."
This was too much for the good Captain. "Are you saying that the Federation wants us to *attack* and *capture* a ship of a race we haven't even had diplomatic contact with? A race which we don't even *know*, or even pose a threat to us?"
Here, Auer's face became more serious, if that was at all possible. "Oh, they form a threat alright." He activated a holographic display of what seemed to be a sleek fighter. "Behold. The fighters that this Harbinger carries. They're capable of destruction on an epic scale." He paused, and glanced at both Captain McMillan and Counselor Giffen. "These... aliens are on their way to Earth, Captain. They've targeted the very heart of the Federation. And what's worse: they have a way of propulsion which lets them travel around huge distances, instantly." Another pause, as he transferred information to the Captain's console. "Proof, Captain. All the data we have on them."
Looking at this data was enough to make anyone turn pale. "My god." McMillan winced.
"This is why we have this veil of secrecy, Captain." Auer continued. "This is why Starfleet wants one of their ships... to get a similar means of propulsion. To pretect the Federation."
For a moment, McMillan said nothing. Then though, he regained his composure. "Colonel Auer... what you have told me sounds terrifying. But my first duty *now*, is to this ship, this crew. And right now, we may very well have Slade out there, her disruptors aimed at us. We will deal with one situation at a time. First Slade... then the Harbinger." He paused. "Do I make myself clear, Colonel?"
"Perfectly." Auer answered, as he walked out the door. McMillan bit his lip, and turned to Counselor Giffen. "See what you can find on him." He whispered despite nobody else being in the room. "He might be telling the truth, but I want Starfleet's confirmation on this. In the meantime, I want to learn more about him." With a nod from the Counselor, both men exited the Captain's Office, and entered the Bridge.
"Captain," Ms. Westland spoke up, "I think we have something. Sensors indicated what seems to be a large mass, over 1100 meters, directly in front of us." she reported. "If it *is* Slade, we can disrupt her cloak by sending out a modified tachyon pulse."
"Well then?" McMillan could almost sense the 'but' coming. "Why haven't you done this yet?"
"It's not without risk." Braveheart answered for his colleage at OPS. "There's a serious chance we could blow out the Main Deflector Dish."
"A 76.5274 % chance of that happening." Westland pointed out.
Glancing at the viewscreen where the alleged cloaked ship seemed to be, McMillan thought of their previous encounters with Slade, and then shook his head. "How about we put it in a tractorbeam? And push it further away? That would at least give us a better chance of firing that pulse."
"Captain, we cannot move something that large with our tractorbeams." Braveheart spat out. "The chances of us succeeding are slim, at best."
"The chances are 1.092 % of this working." Westland echoed. "The tractorbeam wasn't designed for this." This was true, of course. The Gibraltar wasn't a big ship... it would need a big ship to tow another big ship away. But, so McMillan figured, not just now.
"Thank you. Prepare the tractorbeam." McMillan ordered, sticking to his opinion. "At the very least, we'd be able to get an idea of the mass of that ship." If he knew Slade -and he did- then she wouldn't make this *that* easy for them. "Activate the tractorbeam, and run a detailed scan." He was fortunate that Engineer Clawtooth had worked so hard to put the sensors back online again, otherwise this wouldn't be possible.
As a blue beam emitted from the tractorbeam emitters at the front of the ship, Braveheart gasped. "The mass I'm getting from these readings isn't anything like that of a big ship." He looked up at the Captain. "This seems to be a Scorpion class attack shuttle, used by the Romulans."
"Bring it in." At least it was something. "And put a secure forcefield around it. I want a research team to go to the shuttlebay immediately." McMillan guessed that it was this shuttle which had given them false readings, letting them think that there'd been a big ship out there instead of this shuttlecraft. And well, it had worked. "Any *other* sign of Slade?"
"I'm detecing what could have been a warpfield being formed." Braveheart informed the crew. "I believe Slade has gone to warp."
"If we can trust those readings." McMillan responded quickly. "Alright. Lt. Clawtooth, I don't want to stay here too long. When can we go to warp?"
"Now would be good a time as any Sir." The Engineer said, tapping some commands on his console, "But we have warp 5, at the very best. You'll have to be careful."
"It's better than nothing." McMillan was unable to keep a sigh from escaping. "Slade's got us good... again. But we will be back. Twice already, we've not been able to beam down to Ku'Vat... first because of those aliens, and now Slade... I don't know about you people, but that only makes me more curious."
"First things' first though." The Captain quickly sat down in his chair, and nodded to the Helmsman. "Mr. Bourne... set a course back to the Starbase for repairs. Warp 5... engage."
-----
As the USS Gibraltar left the system, Slade sat in her personal Scimitar, shaking her head. She allowed herself a faint smile, before she focussed her attention on the other things that mattered. There was work be done... and no time to waste.
Thursday 2 October 2008
Episode 9: "Walking into the Trap"
A decoy. Captain McMillan flinced as he remembered when the Gibraltar had initiated persuit of the Runabout leaving the dinosaur world they had visited. They had been fully convinced that this runabout housed Slade, the treator. The renegade officer. When they had *finally* managed to get the elusive runabout in a tractorbeam, they had found... nothing. It had been a decoy.
And as a result, we're on simple diplomatic duty. He'd rather be hunting down Slade, but for that he needed an *idea* as to where Slade could be. At the moment, neither he nor his crew had even an inkling of a thought as to where the most-wanted-person could be hiding. So Starfleet had decided to give the Gibraltar a diplomatic assignment instead: to go to the Klingon Ku'Vat colony and strengthen their diplomatic relationships. Their recent escapades had always included some form of danger: from being trapped on the Challenger to being attacked by dinosaurs. Perhaps a quiet mission is what this crew needs. Their last few missions were barely 'quiet'... they usually involved some sort of danger. From being chased by dinosaurs to being trapped on a dying Challenger... no, the Gibraltar crew was no stranger to dangerous situations.
Still, to have a mission with no danger at all... "Science, anything interesting on our path? Something worth exploring while we're on our way to Ku'Vat?"
Ensign Braveheart answered. "Nothing we don't already know Sir. There's a nebula, not far from here."
"Not even a comet." McMillan answered with nothing more than a faint smile. He was about to ask for what kind of a nebula it was that his science officer had located, but he didn't get the chance. "Sir," came the voice of the Vulcan Sereana Westland, standing at Tactical, "Two unidentified ships are closing in on us: they're on an intercept course."
The Captain leaned forward. Whoever could these be? There had been no reports of unidentified ships in this area of space before. "Can you get any readings on them?" he asked.
Ensign Braveheart at Science seemed happy that he had some sort of target to scan, but his face fell when he noticed the results. "Not much Sir." the Science Officer answered. "They're too heavily shielded."
"Sir, we're receiving a hail." Mr. Quinn Lanzius, at OPS, announced. "It's from the lead ship. They're not identifying themselves, but they do say that we have to follow them." He paused for a second to verify this information. "It uh... would seem, Sir, that they have valuable information about Slade."
"What?" McMillan responded, as if he hadn't heard the report correctly. Part of him was thrilled at this sudden stroke of good fortune coming their way. He had silently wished that Starfleet Intelligence would bring them some more information about the renegade officer, as they had last time. But he had never imagined some alien ships delivering such information... "Mr. Lanzius, please ask them how they know we're interested in Slade?"
The officer worked for a few moments, and then answered. "They claim they have listened in on our communication channels, Sir." He answered, looking unconvinced himself. "They're leaving now, so if we want to follow them, they advise we do so now."
McMillan glanced at the viewscreen in front of him, and wondered if this might be a trap. It was all a bit *too* good to be true. But then again, the offer *might* be genuine. If they'd let it go now, they'd lose any advantage they might have. "Mr. Bourne," He finally said to the helmsman, "Stay with them. In the meantime, I want the ship to go to yellow alert. Keep weapons at the ready. And Science... keep scanning those ships. Get to know all you can about them."
As the Bridge alert signs showed the entire ship being at yellow alert, Captain McMillan leaned back into his chair, wondering what they'd encounter.
"Sir," Ensign Bourne spoke up after a little while, "We're close to our destination, it would seem. There's an asteroid belt ahead, and those ships are leading us to it." The viewscreen flickered on, causing the entire bridge crew to see various smaller asteroids, and one big one.
"The large asteroid has an L-Class atmosphere." Ms. Westland at Tactical said. McMillan couldn't tell if she was surprised about this or not: Vulcans were renowned for their lack of emotions, and this woman was no different. "Also, I managed to scan the ships' weapons systems. Their phaser capacities are similar to those of a Steamrunner class vessel."
While McMillan hoped to avoid a conflict, and instead wished that the intentions of these people were as they said it was, he couldn't ignore the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Thank you Ms. Westland." The CO said. "Let's just hope we..."
"Three more ships coming from the other side of the large asteroid, weapons hot!" Braveheart reported, interrupting the Captain, who was frowning now.
"Damn." He muttered. "Walked right into their trap." Then, louder, he added "Red alert! Lock weapons and prepare to fire. Helm, evasive maneauvres. Get us out of this asteroid field, and once you're through, engage at maximum warp!" As the first shot struck its target -and the target being the Intrepid class vessel- McMillan knew that the Gibraltar could not possibly survive an confrontation with five of these ships.
The USS Gibraltar lurched, both from the fire it was taking, as well as from the evasive maneauvres. As Mr. Bourne tried to shake their attackers off, Ms. Westland worked on the phasers and torpedoes, making every shot count. Finally, they were out of the asteroid field, and Ensign Bourne activated the warp drive. McMillan braced himself for the jump to warp... but it didn't come.
"What the hell?" He asked.
"Sir, the warp field won't form!" Bourne shouted over the sound of another hit. "There's some sort of tachyon field preventing us from creating a stable warp field!"
In other words, we're dead in the water. McMillan realised. "Very well then. Take us back into the asteroid field, maximum impulse. At least there we might have some cover. Science, any idea on how to get rid of that field?"
It wasn't the Science officer who responded, but the Vulcan Tactical Officer. "If we release concentrated parts of deuterium from the ramscoops," Westland began, "it might interfere with the tachyon field."
"It would also be exposing the entire front end of the ship to severe doses of radiation!" Braveheart stated. Yet, he didn't seem to disagree. "But it might be worth the risk."
Even though McMillan didn't like all the 'mights' that he had just heard, he also knew it was their only option. "Make it so." He ordered. "Tell me when we have the ramscoops ready." As the officers set their respective departments to work, the Gibraltar shook again: despite Bourne's magnificent politing, there was no way to avoid all the blasts being sent at the Gibraltar.
"Minor hull breach deck 3." Quinn Lanzius said from OPS. "Forcefield in place."
"Sending out medical teams." Doctor Seesaw responded. "Sickbay is on hot standby."
While it pleased McMillan to see his crew working together like this, he knew there would be time for praise later. Right now, survival was their goal. "Helm, evasive maneauvre theta. Keep them behind us." He knew Bourne would be able to use the asteroids here to avoid those ships getting a clear shot, but for how long?
A few more hits later, both Westland and Braveheart spoke up. "Ramscoops prepared Sir." Westland said, while Braveheart added "We just need sixty more seconds to get all the personnel away from the forward sections."
Sixty more seconds. That might as well be an eternity. Nevertheless, it was what McMillan had been waiting for. "Ensign Bourne. Bring us around, and get out of this field. Ms. Westland, fire everything you've got on them. Mr. Braveheart... release the deuterium on my mark."
As his orders were followed, he watched the chronometer steadily. The ship shook and lurched tremendously, letting the Captain know that there was a hullbreach before it was even reported. He hoped there'd be no loss of life... but that too, had to wait until this situation was resolved.
The Gibraltar emerged from the asteroid field, phasers blazing. For a moment, their assailants seemed surprised... but only for a moment. It was all the Gibraltar crew needed. "Now." He ordered.
The deuterium was ejected from the ramscoops, interacting with the tachyon field. At the same moment, Ensign Angelis Bourne tapped his console... and the Gibraltar accellerated to warp 9.6. A cheer was heard through the Bridge, but it seemed to be premature. "We've got two persuing vessels." Bourne announced. "And I'm not sure how much longer we can hold this speed."
McMillan nodded. "Understood." He said, knowing exactly what to do. "Science, where was that nebula of yours again? Transfer the co-ordinates to the helm. Perhaps we can lose them in there."
The Gibraltar changed course towards the nebula, and at first the two persuing ships followed. But the closer they got to the mutara-class nebula, the less enthusiastic those ships seemed to be. Finally, they abandoned persuit.
"It would seem they are not keen on fighting in our playing ground." Bourne observed. He sounded relieved, and McMillan didn't blame him.
"Keep on going." The Captain ordered. "But change course to Starbase 436." That starbase was close to the Klingon colony Ku'Vat anyway, so they had been heading towards that. It shouldn't be far now.
"Slowing down to warp 9, Captain." Bourne then announced. "Otherwise we'll fall apart before we even reach 436." McMillan nodded: he wanted to be alive to tell the base commander of this new threat they've discovered.
It was then that Braveheart spoke up. "Sir, our friends are back on a persuit course. Seems they got reinforcements. But it doesn't seem they'll catch up to us before we arrive at the Starbase."
"One of them will." the Vulcan announced. "It is transferring all its power to its engines. It's overtaking us..." Was there surprise to be heard in the Vulcan's pause? "Sir, the enemy ship is passing us, going straight for the Ku'Vat colony."
McMillan turned around, facing the tactical console. "Why in the world would they want to go to that colony?"
As the Gibraltar came closer and closer to the starbase, that question was more and more on everyone's mind...
And as a result, we're on simple diplomatic duty. He'd rather be hunting down Slade, but for that he needed an *idea* as to where Slade could be. At the moment, neither he nor his crew had even an inkling of a thought as to where the most-wanted-person could be hiding. So Starfleet had decided to give the Gibraltar a diplomatic assignment instead: to go to the Klingon Ku'Vat colony and strengthen their diplomatic relationships. Their recent escapades had always included some form of danger: from being trapped on the Challenger to being attacked by dinosaurs. Perhaps a quiet mission is what this crew needs. Their last few missions were barely 'quiet'... they usually involved some sort of danger. From being chased by dinosaurs to being trapped on a dying Challenger... no, the Gibraltar crew was no stranger to dangerous situations.
Still, to have a mission with no danger at all... "Science, anything interesting on our path? Something worth exploring while we're on our way to Ku'Vat?"
Ensign Braveheart answered. "Nothing we don't already know Sir. There's a nebula, not far from here."
"Not even a comet." McMillan answered with nothing more than a faint smile. He was about to ask for what kind of a nebula it was that his science officer had located, but he didn't get the chance. "Sir," came the voice of the Vulcan Sereana Westland, standing at Tactical, "Two unidentified ships are closing in on us: they're on an intercept course."
The Captain leaned forward. Whoever could these be? There had been no reports of unidentified ships in this area of space before. "Can you get any readings on them?" he asked.
Ensign Braveheart at Science seemed happy that he had some sort of target to scan, but his face fell when he noticed the results. "Not much Sir." the Science Officer answered. "They're too heavily shielded."
"Sir, we're receiving a hail." Mr. Quinn Lanzius, at OPS, announced. "It's from the lead ship. They're not identifying themselves, but they do say that we have to follow them." He paused for a second to verify this information. "It uh... would seem, Sir, that they have valuable information about Slade."
"What?" McMillan responded, as if he hadn't heard the report correctly. Part of him was thrilled at this sudden stroke of good fortune coming their way. He had silently wished that Starfleet Intelligence would bring them some more information about the renegade officer, as they had last time. But he had never imagined some alien ships delivering such information... "Mr. Lanzius, please ask them how they know we're interested in Slade?"
The officer worked for a few moments, and then answered. "They claim they have listened in on our communication channels, Sir." He answered, looking unconvinced himself. "They're leaving now, so if we want to follow them, they advise we do so now."
McMillan glanced at the viewscreen in front of him, and wondered if this might be a trap. It was all a bit *too* good to be true. But then again, the offer *might* be genuine. If they'd let it go now, they'd lose any advantage they might have. "Mr. Bourne," He finally said to the helmsman, "Stay with them. In the meantime, I want the ship to go to yellow alert. Keep weapons at the ready. And Science... keep scanning those ships. Get to know all you can about them."
As the Bridge alert signs showed the entire ship being at yellow alert, Captain McMillan leaned back into his chair, wondering what they'd encounter.
"Sir," Ensign Bourne spoke up after a little while, "We're close to our destination, it would seem. There's an asteroid belt ahead, and those ships are leading us to it." The viewscreen flickered on, causing the entire bridge crew to see various smaller asteroids, and one big one.
"The large asteroid has an L-Class atmosphere." Ms. Westland at Tactical said. McMillan couldn't tell if she was surprised about this or not: Vulcans were renowned for their lack of emotions, and this woman was no different. "Also, I managed to scan the ships' weapons systems. Their phaser capacities are similar to those of a Steamrunner class vessel."
While McMillan hoped to avoid a conflict, and instead wished that the intentions of these people were as they said it was, he couldn't ignore the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Thank you Ms. Westland." The CO said. "Let's just hope we..."
"Three more ships coming from the other side of the large asteroid, weapons hot!" Braveheart reported, interrupting the Captain, who was frowning now.
"Damn." He muttered. "Walked right into their trap." Then, louder, he added "Red alert! Lock weapons and prepare to fire. Helm, evasive maneauvres. Get us out of this asteroid field, and once you're through, engage at maximum warp!" As the first shot struck its target -and the target being the Intrepid class vessel- McMillan knew that the Gibraltar could not possibly survive an confrontation with five of these ships.
The USS Gibraltar lurched, both from the fire it was taking, as well as from the evasive maneauvres. As Mr. Bourne tried to shake their attackers off, Ms. Westland worked on the phasers and torpedoes, making every shot count. Finally, they were out of the asteroid field, and Ensign Bourne activated the warp drive. McMillan braced himself for the jump to warp... but it didn't come.
"What the hell?" He asked.
"Sir, the warp field won't form!" Bourne shouted over the sound of another hit. "There's some sort of tachyon field preventing us from creating a stable warp field!"
In other words, we're dead in the water. McMillan realised. "Very well then. Take us back into the asteroid field, maximum impulse. At least there we might have some cover. Science, any idea on how to get rid of that field?"
It wasn't the Science officer who responded, but the Vulcan Tactical Officer. "If we release concentrated parts of deuterium from the ramscoops," Westland began, "it might interfere with the tachyon field."
"It would also be exposing the entire front end of the ship to severe doses of radiation!" Braveheart stated. Yet, he didn't seem to disagree. "But it might be worth the risk."
Even though McMillan didn't like all the 'mights' that he had just heard, he also knew it was their only option. "Make it so." He ordered. "Tell me when we have the ramscoops ready." As the officers set their respective departments to work, the Gibraltar shook again: despite Bourne's magnificent politing, there was no way to avoid all the blasts being sent at the Gibraltar.
"Minor hull breach deck 3." Quinn Lanzius said from OPS. "Forcefield in place."
"Sending out medical teams." Doctor Seesaw responded. "Sickbay is on hot standby."
While it pleased McMillan to see his crew working together like this, he knew there would be time for praise later. Right now, survival was their goal. "Helm, evasive maneauvre theta. Keep them behind us." He knew Bourne would be able to use the asteroids here to avoid those ships getting a clear shot, but for how long?
A few more hits later, both Westland and Braveheart spoke up. "Ramscoops prepared Sir." Westland said, while Braveheart added "We just need sixty more seconds to get all the personnel away from the forward sections."
Sixty more seconds. That might as well be an eternity. Nevertheless, it was what McMillan had been waiting for. "Ensign Bourne. Bring us around, and get out of this field. Ms. Westland, fire everything you've got on them. Mr. Braveheart... release the deuterium on my mark."
As his orders were followed, he watched the chronometer steadily. The ship shook and lurched tremendously, letting the Captain know that there was a hullbreach before it was even reported. He hoped there'd be no loss of life... but that too, had to wait until this situation was resolved.
The Gibraltar emerged from the asteroid field, phasers blazing. For a moment, their assailants seemed surprised... but only for a moment. It was all the Gibraltar crew needed. "Now." He ordered.
The deuterium was ejected from the ramscoops, interacting with the tachyon field. At the same moment, Ensign Angelis Bourne tapped his console... and the Gibraltar accellerated to warp 9.6. A cheer was heard through the Bridge, but it seemed to be premature. "We've got two persuing vessels." Bourne announced. "And I'm not sure how much longer we can hold this speed."
McMillan nodded. "Understood." He said, knowing exactly what to do. "Science, where was that nebula of yours again? Transfer the co-ordinates to the helm. Perhaps we can lose them in there."
The Gibraltar changed course towards the nebula, and at first the two persuing ships followed. But the closer they got to the mutara-class nebula, the less enthusiastic those ships seemed to be. Finally, they abandoned persuit.
"It would seem they are not keen on fighting in our playing ground." Bourne observed. He sounded relieved, and McMillan didn't blame him.
"Keep on going." The Captain ordered. "But change course to Starbase 436." That starbase was close to the Klingon colony Ku'Vat anyway, so they had been heading towards that. It shouldn't be far now.
"Slowing down to warp 9, Captain." Bourne then announced. "Otherwise we'll fall apart before we even reach 436." McMillan nodded: he wanted to be alive to tell the base commander of this new threat they've discovered.
It was then that Braveheart spoke up. "Sir, our friends are back on a persuit course. Seems they got reinforcements. But it doesn't seem they'll catch up to us before we arrive at the Starbase."
"One of them will." the Vulcan announced. "It is transferring all its power to its engines. It's overtaking us..." Was there surprise to be heard in the Vulcan's pause? "Sir, the enemy ship is passing us, going straight for the Ku'Vat colony."
McMillan turned around, facing the tactical console. "Why in the world would they want to go to that colony?"
As the Gibraltar came closer and closer to the starbase, that question was more and more on everyone's mind...
Thursday 25 September 2008
Episode 8: "Predator"
Lizards. Big, huge, carnivorous lizards. Also called Dinosaurs. Beasts from times of old on planet Earth. . . but resurrected again on this planet: the dinosaur park. Resurrected for the enjoyment of millions.
This planet has become a vacation spot. McMillan thought to himself. Not his kind of vacation spot though. . . he *hated* lizards of any kind, especially these big ones. There was something about them which just made his skin crawl. Perhaps that was because of one too many experience with deadly lizards in his past. . .
Nevertheless, this *was* the place where Starfleet had sent the
"No weapons." Commander Arado, his trusted First Officer, replied, his answer also meant for the entire crew. "This is a place where millions go to for their vacation. The government doesn't want to see anything which might cause panic, down there. Understood?"
As the crew moved to the Transporter Room, McMillan threw a sideward glance at Arado. His First Officer was a man of duty: one who could appreciate a joke every once in a while, but who wouldn't have *any* problems with addressing the crew if they weren't paying attention to their duty enough. A man who had proven himself as McMillan's right hand time and time again. He will make a good Captain someday. McMillan thought as he entered the transporter room. For my sake though, let's hope that don't doesn't come just yet.
The blue-ish beams faded away, and before them, a world filled with green emerged. "Wow." Kieran Braveheart, the Science Officer, uttered. Similar phrases of approval were heard from the rest of the teammembers. Even Petty Officer Westland, the Vulcan Operations Officer, didn't seem to mind this place all that much. It was truly understandable that this was a place for vacation. Except they were here on duty. They had a job to do.
Judging by the tricorder readings, Captain McMillan lead the team through the thick vegetation onto a path, straight towards a visitor centre. He had hoped the tricorder readings would become more clear once in there, but. . . alas. No such luck.
"Captain." The Vulcan spoke up. "There seems to be some sort of dampening field, blocking our tricorders." She moved away the tricorder to show what she said next. "They are useless, at the moment."
"Thank you Ms. Westland." McMillan said, most likely looking as annoyed as he felt. If he did, nobody said anything about it. He imagined that they all felt the same way, after all. Without tricorders, it would be much more difficult to track Slade, or any sign she might have left.
Eventually, the team moved outside of the centre, only to be stopped by a huge gate. One which had power surges running through it. "Probably to keep the dinosaurs in." Heron wagered a guess. She reached out to touch the gate, but quickly withdrew her hand when a spark interfered with those plans. "Yep." She said, shaking her hand. "Not a good idea."
"Captain." Ms. Westland then spoke up. "It would seem that we are getting a signal on the tricorder."
McMillan quickly grabbed the tricorder of his own, and checked. Yes, the Vulcan was correct. "But how?" He asked. "I thought they were blocked?"
"Either the signal is powerful enough to reach our tricorders," Ms. Westland said as an explanation, "Or the signal blocking our tricorders is weaker here."
Probably due to the electrical current. The Captain thought, and then nodded. "According to this, the signal is coming from. . ." He paused for a moment, and swallowed softly. He had feared as much. "From inside the area where the dinosaurs live." The decision was easily made, though McMillan knew he could just now be ordering his crew to their deaths. "Let's go in."
The crew wasn't making much progress in covering terrain, that was for sure. Not because the terrain was hard, but because they had to evade dinosaurs. McMillan had to admit, he was in awe of these creatures. From what he had read, they could easily tear each and every one of them apart, without the crew even knowing what hit them. It most certainly warranted the careful approach.
Nevertheless, their search had immediate results: they had found a building, very much like the visitor centre earlier on. . . except this one was *inside* the dinosaur controlled portion of the park, *and* it was broken. Very much so, even. The doors hardly worked, and thick, black smoke came from smouldering remains near the still-working transporter. Who or whatever had done this, couldn't have gone far.
And at the moment, everyone obviously assumed that one person was responsible for this. Slade.
"Careful." Commander Arado said as the crew looked around this building. "It could be a trap." McMillan nodded: if it had been Slade, she'd have set some traps for them. Traps which, as McMillan knew from experience, the crew wouldn't like at all.
All of a sudden, a mighty roar echoed through the woods. This one was closer than the ones the crew had heard before. And they could *see* where this roar was coming from: a white velociraptor was standing there, glaring at the Starfleet crew. There no longer was a gate, a fence, or even a building in between. This dinosaur had entered the building. And it wouldn't leave. . .
It seemed everything was happening in slow-motion. Doctor Seesaw, Ensign Braveheart and PO3 Westland quickly activated the transporter, and they were gone. But for Captain McMillan, Commander Arado and Lt. Heron, there was no time left to do this. The dinosaur moved closer, as Lt. Heron stood before the Captain, between him and the dinosaur.
And then. . . the dinosaur spoke up.
Ensign Braveheart looked at the transporter controls. "It's no use." He admitted. "The circuit's fried. And even if it wasn't, I wouldn't be able to beam the Captain, Commander or Lieutenant over." They hadn't transported far away. . . a few dozen meters, at most. But that was enough to bring them out of danger. For how long, nobody knew.
"Tricorder readings suggest they are still all alive." Westland said in a tone which Braveheart was beginning to dislike. "Nobody has been killed just yet. There is no reason for panic."
Before Braveheart had a chance to respond, Doctor Seesaw spoke up. "Let's safe the bickering for later: we've got a laboratory to examine." And she was right. The transporter had beamed them into some sort of laboratory. One which was also nearly destroyed, but still. . . perhaps there were still some instruments which they could use.
"It looks as if scientists had been monitoring the progress of the dinosaurs." Westland observed, glancing at the nearby monitors. A faint sound was heard, as Westland's eyebrow jerked upwards. "Curious. A program seems to have been activated just now."
A shock of horror went through Braveheart as he too looked at the readings. "That's not just any kind of program." He bellowed. "Doctor, look at those readings. Aren't those DNA sequences?"
"Humanoid DNA sequences, to be precise." Seesaw answered, after which she too showed a look of horror. "Oh my god. If this does what I think it does, it will mutate humanoid DNA into that of dinosaurs." She glanced at the others. "That program. . . it must be spreading a gaseous form of the biological program which rewrites the DNA!" She looked around. "If you see any gas-vents: block them! We still have a chance!"
Not wanting to change into a dinosaur this early in his Starfleet career, Braveheart obeyed, as did Westland. Just a few moments later, the hiss of gas being pumped in the room was heard no more. "We've got to report this to the Captain." Seesaw said, after taking tricorder readings.
"We will, once we get out of here." Braveheart responded. He then tapped his commbadge. "Braveheart to Captain McMillan, are you alright?" As he contacted his CO, he remembered that the three of them were in the same room with a *dinosaur*. . .
But apparently the Captain had survived. "We are, Ensign. We have. . . just made first contact with what seems to be an intelligent form of dinosaur. How are you holding up?"
"We have found evidence that the dinosaurs on this planet might not be actual dinosaurs Sir." Seesaw responded, almost unable to hide her eagerness. "We've disabled a program which tried to turn us into big lizards."
"Good lord." Came the response from McMillan. "Hold on, I will contact the Gibraltar, and have you beam to us. Stand by for Transport. McMillan, out."
The blue light disappeared again, and Braveheart and Seesaw almost jumped up a meter in the air when they saw a white striped velociraptor standing in front of them. To her credit, Westland didn't move a muscle. "It's alright." Came the quick insurance of Captain McMillan, "Allow me to introduce 'Spike'." He smiled slightly. "He's been telling us about Slade. . . or well, more about their hatred of humans, actually."
The dinosaur swept his tail in an angry fashion. "Humans." He said with contempt in his voice. Not to mention, according to Braveheart, a lot of bad breath. "They act as if they're so superior, while it is *us* who are superior, not them!"
Braveheart noticed Captain McMillan frown, even though the CO didn't say anything. Instead, he started about something else. "Spike. . . we will take every precaution to make sure Slade doesn't come back here. Also. . . we shall contact the government of this planet, and see if they *know* that intelligent dinosaurs live here."
'Spike' simply watched the Captain with a deadly gaze. Braveheart had to give the Captain credit: he didn't even blink. "We will leave." McMillan then stated. "We will leave, and not bother you again. But I do hope that one day we will be able to return, and talk. . . peacefully."
Another sweep from the dinosaur's tail, but this time not as angry. "We shall see, Captain. We. . . we shall see. And I will spread the word to my kin: we will look out for Slade."
"All the best, Spike."
"All the best, Captain."
"Gibraltar. . . six to beam up." McMillan smiled faintly as he looked at the dinosaur. "Thank you. For your vigilance, for your talk. . . and for not killing us." His face then straightened. "Energise."
From beyond the damaged dome, a pair of familiar eyes watched as the Gibraltar officers disappeared in a blue light. Idiots. She thought to herself. Blind fish. She had been observing this situation for a while now, and still they hadn't noticed her. And these are Starfleet's finest?
Demeter Slade shook her head. She almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.
"Slade to Scimitar." She said, pressing her own communication device in opening a channel with her own personal warship. "Transport me up." The chase was far from over.
Thursday 18 September 2008
Episode 7: "Clues"
We've lost any and all trail of where Slade might be.
The thought that had entered Captain McMillan's mind countless times before since rescuing the crew of the Challenger, echoed there once again. Of course, their rendez-vous with the USS Sutherland had been necessary: the Challenger crew had to be brought back to Federation Space, to deal with the aftermath of what had happened to them. Unfortunately, that had caused the Gibraltar to lose whatever lead they had on where Slade might be now. She had eluded them. Again.
"Anything?" McMillan asked for the umpteenth time. He had asked Lt. Etta Teichmann, who had transferred on board from the Challenger, to man Science while Ensign Braveheart had been unavailable. She had accepted it at first, but McMillan didn't doubt that his continuous asking about any trail of Slade, was driving the poor woman crazy. If that was the case though, she didn't show it. Instead, she merely shook her head... as did Ensign Clawtooth, who was manning the Helm. He too was getting used to these questions.
All of a sudden, the tactical console, where Lt. Kelly Heron was standing, beeped. Just a second or two afterwards, the Tactical Officer spoke up. "Captain. I just received a report from Starfleet Intelligence. One of their operatives, a Ferengi named Bork, claims he has seen Slade in a bar, talking to some Klingons, at Mirtak Four."
McMillan turned around, and not for the first time, wondered how this particular officer managed to get her hands on reports from Starfleet Intelligence. She had shown suspicious behaviour in the past... closing down programs just as he or any of the other crew came nearby, sending out signals... none of which was enough to warrant extra attention of course, since she kept it discrete. But it was enough to make McMillan wonder. One of these days, he would have to have a talk with this woman.
But not today. Captain McMillan would not look a given horse in the mouth, as the proverb said. Perhaps Heron *was* with Starfleet Intelligence. But that was of later concern. "How long ago was that, Lieutenant?"
"The report is two days old, Sir." came the answer.
Commander Unadecal Arado, McMillan's trusted First Officer, decided to speak up as well. "Are we sure this Bork fellow can be trusted?" A good question... something McMillan had to admit to not have thought about.
"Yes Sir." Came the simple answer. "I completely trust him." There was no explanation, no further answer... just a look in Heron's eyes saying 'do not persue this any further'. McMillan nodded at this, and turned to Lt. Teichmann. "What do we know about Mirtak Four?"
The news Lt. Teichmann brought was not what McMillan had hoped... but it *was* what he had expected. "It's a borderworld, Sir." she answered. "Located at the border of the Federation, the Romulan empire, and the Klingon empire. It's governed by none of these, though all claim to have ownership of it."
"Not a place we'd like to visit." Arado commented.
"Normally I'd agree, Commander." McMillan answered. They all knew how much 'fun' those borderworlds could be. Survival of the fittest and anarchy went hand in hand there. "Nevertheless, this is our only lead we have." He shot a glance at Lt. Heron, before looking at Ensign Clawtooth. "Well... Helm, set a course, and engage at maximum warp."
Lieutenant Novi, the Gibraltar's Chief Engineer on duty, was not happy with the readings which he was getting. "The magnetic constrictors are out of allignment." He muttered to himself, as he opened up a panel down in Engineering. "Let's see what... whoa."
He quickly tapped his commbadge. "Captain McMillan, we should slow down to warp 6, at least... holding at this speed will tear us apart. The magnetic constrictors are *way* off. I cannot guarantee the safety of this ship if we're going this fast."
"Acknowledged." came the Captain's voice, though to Novi's trained ears, the man didn't sound happy at all. Well, too bad. He was an Engineer, not a Counselor. "Do whatever you can to fix the problem. Bridge, out."
"Easy for you to say." Novi muttered. "You don't have to uphold the reputation of a miracle worker." Nevertheless, Lt. Novi went to work. He was surprised to see how precise the damage was to the constrictors. A bit too precise to be random.
*Way* too precise to be random, in fact.
After roughly 30 minutes, he opened a channel to the Bridge again. "Captain, you should be able to go to full warp again. That's the good news."
"And the bad news?" McMillan's voice betrayed that he hadn't expected any bad news...
"The bad news is that I've found traces of sabotage in the magnetic constrictors. I don't know who did it, or how, or how long it's been like this. But it looks as if we got to it right on time." He paused. "I'd advise caution, Captain."
There was silence coming from the Captain now. "Understood." He answered softly. "I'll assign security to guard the ship's senstive spots. Though I wouldn't be surprised if it had been done by Slade last time we ran into her."
"Very well Sir." Novi answered, shaking his head. He wondered if perhaps the Captain was giving this woman *too* much credit. "Engineering, out."
Some time later, the Gibraltar dropped out of warp, behind one of Mirtak Four's moons. "Best not to draw attention." Lt. Heron had advised. And good advise indeed: this was a disputed area after all. To have a military ship like the Gibraltar in orbit of that world would *not* be a good sign.
"Ms. Heron, could you see to hailing Mr. Bork." McMillan ordered. "We'd like some additional information on Slade. Like... if he knew where she went."
The usually calm and ready-for-anything Tactical Officer now frowned. "I am unable to contact him." She spoke up. "Either he is unwilling to answer... or unable."
McMillan did not like the sound of this. "Any chance of finding out where he is? We might be able to beam down and find him ourselves."
Lt. Novi swiveled around in his chair. "Perhaps we can lock onto a communicator or something." He looked expectedly to Lt. Heron. "If he's wearing that, that is. Or perhaps something else that will distinguish himself from others?"
"He's an Intelligence Operative." Heron merely answered, thereby giving Novi the message that there would be no communications devices: someone in Intelligence obviously wanted to blend into a crowd, not stand out of it. "Though... he might have a weapon with him. One which is..." He paused, as if wondering to share this piece of information or not, "... most likely not sanctioned by the Federation. I'm giving you the information now."
For the umpteenth time, McMillan wondered how Heron knew this... though again, he remained silent. Instead, he looked at Lt. Novi, who was working alongside Lt. Teichmann at Science, Ensign Bourne at Communications, and Science Officer Westland. If anyone could pinpoint Bork, it'd be them.
"Gotcha." Bourne smiled. "Captain, we have some co-ordinates of where this weapon was last fired. It seems to leave a residual energy trace which isn't easy to detect... unless you know what you're looking for."
Quickly, McMillan stood up, finally able to do something. "Good job folks. I'll meet you all in the transporterroom in five minutes."
The building they materialised in was deserted. Not a single lifesign could be found. And it was creepy. It was as if whoever had worked there, had left in a hurry. All the important crates, cases with merchandise and even some data terminals, were still left. At least, on the first floor. When the crew moved to the second, and later third floor to check those out, there was *nothing*. Just the walls and a large computer terminal which wasn't active.
"I don't like this." Heron muttered. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
McMillan couldn't blame his tactical officer. He too was not feeling relaxed here. It was as if they could expect an attack at any time... even though there was nobody here. With caution, the crew moved on further... to the fourth floor.
"Hold on." Ms. Westland, the Science officer who had come along, gestured to her tricorder. "I"m reading something. A signal. Coming from somewhere on the fourth floor."
"I wonder if it's a trap." Bourne muttered, but didn't voice his opinion out loud when the Captain looked at him.
Carefully, the crew moved closer, until Heron finally found the source. She picked up a small cilindrical looking device from the floor. "Bork's transmitter." She said with a frown on her face. "He'd use this to contact Starfleet Intelligence."
"Then where is he?" Bourne asked. "And where is Slade? I'm telling you, I think we've been had."
McMillan remained slightly more calm than his Communications Officer, though. "I don't think so, Mr. Bourne." He commented, scanning the device with his tricorder. "This transmitter has got the DNA traces of a Ferengi -most likely Bort- on it." From what he could see from these readings, this transmitter might have been a subdermal one... virtually undetectable, but also *very* painful to extract. Something must have happened. "And..." He frowned, double checking his readings. "Just as I feared. Slade's DNA traces are on it too."
His tricorder then began to beep frantically. "Hold on, I'm getting something... A series of numbers is encoded in this device. 025 - 118."
"Co-ordinates?" Westland offered.
"Or a heading." McMillan responded.
"It could be a trap." Bourne continued.
It most likely is, knowing Slade. McMillan thought to himself.
"Even if it is," Commander Arado ventured, "It is our only lead. Captain, I'd say we plot a course from the Gibraltar, using heading 025 mark 118... see what we find. And of course... be prepared for anything."
"That goes without saying, Commander." McMillan answered, tapping his commbadge. "Gibraltar... we're done down here. Get us up."
A few minutes later, the USS Gibraltar jumped into warp, heading 025 mark 118... on to whatever clue, or trap, would await them...
The thought that had entered Captain McMillan's mind countless times before since rescuing the crew of the Challenger, echoed there once again. Of course, their rendez-vous with the USS Sutherland had been necessary: the Challenger crew had to be brought back to Federation Space, to deal with the aftermath of what had happened to them. Unfortunately, that had caused the Gibraltar to lose whatever lead they had on where Slade might be now. She had eluded them. Again.
"Anything?" McMillan asked for the umpteenth time. He had asked Lt. Etta Teichmann, who had transferred on board from the Challenger, to man Science while Ensign Braveheart had been unavailable. She had accepted it at first, but McMillan didn't doubt that his continuous asking about any trail of Slade, was driving the poor woman crazy. If that was the case though, she didn't show it. Instead, she merely shook her head... as did Ensign Clawtooth, who was manning the Helm. He too was getting used to these questions.
All of a sudden, the tactical console, where Lt. Kelly Heron was standing, beeped. Just a second or two afterwards, the Tactical Officer spoke up. "Captain. I just received a report from Starfleet Intelligence. One of their operatives, a Ferengi named Bork, claims he has seen Slade in a bar, talking to some Klingons, at Mirtak Four."
McMillan turned around, and not for the first time, wondered how this particular officer managed to get her hands on reports from Starfleet Intelligence. She had shown suspicious behaviour in the past... closing down programs just as he or any of the other crew came nearby, sending out signals... none of which was enough to warrant extra attention of course, since she kept it discrete. But it was enough to make McMillan wonder. One of these days, he would have to have a talk with this woman.
But not today. Captain McMillan would not look a given horse in the mouth, as the proverb said. Perhaps Heron *was* with Starfleet Intelligence. But that was of later concern. "How long ago was that, Lieutenant?"
"The report is two days old, Sir." came the answer.
Commander Unadecal Arado, McMillan's trusted First Officer, decided to speak up as well. "Are we sure this Bork fellow can be trusted?" A good question... something McMillan had to admit to not have thought about.
"Yes Sir." Came the simple answer. "I completely trust him." There was no explanation, no further answer... just a look in Heron's eyes saying 'do not persue this any further'. McMillan nodded at this, and turned to Lt. Teichmann. "What do we know about Mirtak Four?"
The news Lt. Teichmann brought was not what McMillan had hoped... but it *was* what he had expected. "It's a borderworld, Sir." she answered. "Located at the border of the Federation, the Romulan empire, and the Klingon empire. It's governed by none of these, though all claim to have ownership of it."
"Not a place we'd like to visit." Arado commented.
"Normally I'd agree, Commander." McMillan answered. They all knew how much 'fun' those borderworlds could be. Survival of the fittest and anarchy went hand in hand there. "Nevertheless, this is our only lead we have." He shot a glance at Lt. Heron, before looking at Ensign Clawtooth. "Well... Helm, set a course, and engage at maximum warp."
Lieutenant Novi, the Gibraltar's Chief Engineer on duty, was not happy with the readings which he was getting. "The magnetic constrictors are out of allignment." He muttered to himself, as he opened up a panel down in Engineering. "Let's see what... whoa."
He quickly tapped his commbadge. "Captain McMillan, we should slow down to warp 6, at least... holding at this speed will tear us apart. The magnetic constrictors are *way* off. I cannot guarantee the safety of this ship if we're going this fast."
"Acknowledged." came the Captain's voice, though to Novi's trained ears, the man didn't sound happy at all. Well, too bad. He was an Engineer, not a Counselor. "Do whatever you can to fix the problem. Bridge, out."
"Easy for you to say." Novi muttered. "You don't have to uphold the reputation of a miracle worker." Nevertheless, Lt. Novi went to work. He was surprised to see how precise the damage was to the constrictors. A bit too precise to be random.
*Way* too precise to be random, in fact.
After roughly 30 minutes, he opened a channel to the Bridge again. "Captain, you should be able to go to full warp again. That's the good news."
"And the bad news?" McMillan's voice betrayed that he hadn't expected any bad news...
"The bad news is that I've found traces of sabotage in the magnetic constrictors. I don't know who did it, or how, or how long it's been like this. But it looks as if we got to it right on time." He paused. "I'd advise caution, Captain."
There was silence coming from the Captain now. "Understood." He answered softly. "I'll assign security to guard the ship's senstive spots. Though I wouldn't be surprised if it had been done by Slade last time we ran into her."
"Very well Sir." Novi answered, shaking his head. He wondered if perhaps the Captain was giving this woman *too* much credit. "Engineering, out."
Some time later, the Gibraltar dropped out of warp, behind one of Mirtak Four's moons. "Best not to draw attention." Lt. Heron had advised. And good advise indeed: this was a disputed area after all. To have a military ship like the Gibraltar in orbit of that world would *not* be a good sign.
"Ms. Heron, could you see to hailing Mr. Bork." McMillan ordered. "We'd like some additional information on Slade. Like... if he knew where she went."
The usually calm and ready-for-anything Tactical Officer now frowned. "I am unable to contact him." She spoke up. "Either he is unwilling to answer... or unable."
McMillan did not like the sound of this. "Any chance of finding out where he is? We might be able to beam down and find him ourselves."
Lt. Novi swiveled around in his chair. "Perhaps we can lock onto a communicator or something." He looked expectedly to Lt. Heron. "If he's wearing that, that is. Or perhaps something else that will distinguish himself from others?"
"He's an Intelligence Operative." Heron merely answered, thereby giving Novi the message that there would be no communications devices: someone in Intelligence obviously wanted to blend into a crowd, not stand out of it. "Though... he might have a weapon with him. One which is..." He paused, as if wondering to share this piece of information or not, "... most likely not sanctioned by the Federation. I'm giving you the information now."
For the umpteenth time, McMillan wondered how Heron knew this... though again, he remained silent. Instead, he looked at Lt. Novi, who was working alongside Lt. Teichmann at Science, Ensign Bourne at Communications, and Science Officer Westland. If anyone could pinpoint Bork, it'd be them.
"Gotcha." Bourne smiled. "Captain, we have some co-ordinates of where this weapon was last fired. It seems to leave a residual energy trace which isn't easy to detect... unless you know what you're looking for."
Quickly, McMillan stood up, finally able to do something. "Good job folks. I'll meet you all in the transporterroom in five minutes."
The building they materialised in was deserted. Not a single lifesign could be found. And it was creepy. It was as if whoever had worked there, had left in a hurry. All the important crates, cases with merchandise and even some data terminals, were still left. At least, on the first floor. When the crew moved to the second, and later third floor to check those out, there was *nothing*. Just the walls and a large computer terminal which wasn't active.
"I don't like this." Heron muttered. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
McMillan couldn't blame his tactical officer. He too was not feeling relaxed here. It was as if they could expect an attack at any time... even though there was nobody here. With caution, the crew moved on further... to the fourth floor.
"Hold on." Ms. Westland, the Science officer who had come along, gestured to her tricorder. "I"m reading something. A signal. Coming from somewhere on the fourth floor."
"I wonder if it's a trap." Bourne muttered, but didn't voice his opinion out loud when the Captain looked at him.
Carefully, the crew moved closer, until Heron finally found the source. She picked up a small cilindrical looking device from the floor. "Bork's transmitter." She said with a frown on her face. "He'd use this to contact Starfleet Intelligence."
"Then where is he?" Bourne asked. "And where is Slade? I'm telling you, I think we've been had."
McMillan remained slightly more calm than his Communications Officer, though. "I don't think so, Mr. Bourne." He commented, scanning the device with his tricorder. "This transmitter has got the DNA traces of a Ferengi -most likely Bort- on it." From what he could see from these readings, this transmitter might have been a subdermal one... virtually undetectable, but also *very* painful to extract. Something must have happened. "And..." He frowned, double checking his readings. "Just as I feared. Slade's DNA traces are on it too."
His tricorder then began to beep frantically. "Hold on, I'm getting something... A series of numbers is encoded in this device. 025 - 118."
"Co-ordinates?" Westland offered.
"Or a heading." McMillan responded.
"It could be a trap." Bourne continued.
It most likely is, knowing Slade. McMillan thought to himself.
"Even if it is," Commander Arado ventured, "It is our only lead. Captain, I'd say we plot a course from the Gibraltar, using heading 025 mark 118... see what we find. And of course... be prepared for anything."
"That goes without saying, Commander." McMillan answered, tapping his commbadge. "Gibraltar... we're done down here. Get us up."
A few minutes later, the USS Gibraltar jumped into warp, heading 025 mark 118... on to whatever clue, or trap, would await them...
Saturday 13 September 2008
Episode 6: "Heaven"
Captain Fenriss Barbosa was lying in the grass. Life hadn't been any better before now. It might sound odd, but she considered being 'stranded' here the best thing that happened in her life. And in the life of her crew. She knew they all agreed. Lt. Teichmann here for instance. She was certainly one of those who loved this place. Hell, they *all* loved this place. It was... it was heaven. Compared to this, Risa was just a backwater planet.
At first, she had resisted this 'Slade' person, when she took over the USS Challenger: her ship. She felt a pang of sorrow at not being able to be on the Bridge anymore, but... well, she supposed she could also be grateful to this renegade officer for leaving her and her crew stranded on this planet, which the crew had dubbed 'heaven'. Because it certainly was. Her life on the Challenger was over, as far as she was concerned. Her 'afterlife' in 'heaven' had just begun. And she was enjoying every minute of it. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath. The fog which found its way through the yellow flowers, entered her nostrils, and she smiled. What better life was there than this?
"Captain Barbosa." A voice came from nearby. When Barbosa opened her eyes, she noticed several Starfleet personnel standing around her: Starfleet personnel with phasers. Starfleet personnel which she didn't recognise. All of a sudden, she felt threatened. What were they doing here? Still, she didn't let it show.
"That is me." She answered, even though all that she wore now of her Starfleet uniform was her commbadge, and that was only for practical reasons. She had long ago opted to just wear her shirt: a uniform like that hardly seemed relaxing. Lt. Teichmann had thought differently though, but then again, who was she to dictate what her crew should or shouldn't wear? "To whom do I have the honour speaking?"
"Captain McMillan, USS Gibraltar." came the curt response. "Allow me to introduce my officers. My First Officer, Commander Arado. Lt. Heron, Tactical Officer. Ensign Braveheart, Science Officer. Ensign Menkez, Operations Officer. Lt.jg Bourne, helmsman, and Doctor Seesaw, our Medical Officer." He paused. "We uh... came to rescue you."
Alarm bells started to ring in Barbosa's mind. Rescue? Etta Teichmann seemed to be wondering the same thing. "Rescue?" She voiced her concerns.
Captain McMillan didn't seem to pick that up. Either that, or he ignored the statement. "We regret to inform you, that your ship, the USS Challenger, was lost. Slade, the renegade, piloted it on a course into a star. We barely had time to get out of there ourselves." He paused, and offered a genuine "I'm sorry."
Barbosa frowned. "That really is too bad. She was a good ship." she said, and she meant it. She had spent a lot of time on the Bridge on that Starship, and she would miss it. But perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, like everything Slade had did to her so far. Perhaps the loss of the Challenger would be a satisfying reason for them to stay here, on this planet. She decided to push it. "But we do not require rescue, Captain. We're perfectly alright here. Our crew has decided to stay here." She paused, and gestured around. "What more could we want? You are welcome to stay too, of course."
"You are saying," one of the Gibraltar officers, Lt. Heron, spoke up, still wearing her phaser rifle, "That you are not returning to Starfleet?"
Barbosa nodded. "That is exactly what we're saying. And it's not just my decision. Ask any of my crew."
Teichmann now spoke up. "It's true. We love this place, and we will *not* leave it." She was very convinced of this, as she should be. Barbosa smiled silently: Teichmann always had a knack for defending her Captain. Well, hopefully it wouldn't come to that. If this other Captain would just accept the wishes of the Gibraltar crew...
But it didn't seem that he would. He actually seemed shocked at the very idea that an entire crew could decide to stay somewhere. "But Captain. What about your duties? Don't you care for your ship?"
At this, Barbosa sat up. "Of course I care. But as you said, the Challenger is lost. That is a pity. But it doesn't change the fact that we love this place, and we're not leaving."
At that moment, Doctor Seesaw closed her tricorder: she had been scanning the two Challenger officers until now. "They seem to be healthy, Captain." she reported to her CO. "No sign of injuries or anything. Though I am getting some anomalous readings that I have to verify."
The look of concern on McMillan's face said it all, as well as the rediculous conclusion he took afterwards. "Could there be something in the environment, causing them to act like this?"
"There could be." was the Doctor's answer. "I would need to run more tests."
"Oh don't be rediculous." Teichmann interrupted. "We're fine, can't you see that? And this place is just wonderful." She looked around, and many of the angry features on her face disappeared. "We love this place, Captain McMillan. We won't go."
McMillan simply nodded to Doctor Seesaw, and then turned back to Barbosa. "Captain. A few words please. Ensigns Braveheart and Menkez, search the area. Mr. Bourne, please stay with Ms. Teichmann. Ms. Heron, go pick some flowers. They're lovely."
At the mention of that last order, everyone turned to face the Gibraltar Captain, who seemed to realise what he had just said too. Barbosa merely smiled. This had happened to the Challenger crew too. At first they had fought it, since the symptoms were less than pleasant. But when they finally gave up the fight, the symptoms disappeared, and they began to see how beautiful this place was.
"I mean... keep an eye out." McMillan corrected himself, as he shook his head. "Doctor, do whatever tests you need. We need to find out what is happening... to us, as well."
About half an hour later, Captain McMillan was no further in convincing Captain Barbosa to leave, Lt.jg Bourne had nausea attacks, Ensign Menkez found he could no longer walk, and Lt. Heron was swinging through the trees. There was definitely something going on, Seesaw figured, but she didn't know what. There was some sort of gas from all around her, influencing people in all kinds of different ways. She had to find out what was causing it. She had to...
And then it hit her. The fog. Quickly, she moved to higher ground, above this fog, and started scanning. Damnit. She thought. Her suspicions were true. This fog contained some sort of gas. If someone were exposed to it too much, it would be lethal...
And that it was. Suddenly, she got a call from her Captain: one of the Challenger personnel had dropped dead, just as he was reporting to Captain Barbosa. Seesaw scanned the body, and confirmed with a frown what she had detected earlier. "It's the fog."
She would have thought that this would convince Captain Barbosa to return with them to the Gibraltar, but... no. Apparently the fog had already clouded Barbosa's mind. And it would do the same to all the Gibraltar crewmembers, if they stayed here much longer. "Captain, we have to go." she informed McMillan, once they were out of hearing range of the two Challenger crewmen. "We shouldn't be exposed to this fog much longer. You've seen the damage it can do."
"Then what would you suggest?" McMillan asked, his tone of voice more argumentative, more angry than Seesaw ever heard it before. This fog was affecting him too. "We cannot go without the Challenger crew."
"We can shoot them." Lt. Heron said, jumping out of a nearby tree. "Stun them, and beam them over." She brandished her phaser rifle, and besides her, Lt.jg Bourne did the same. "Let me at them Sir, and..."
"No." McMillan said, much to Seesaw's relief. "No, we'll solve this a different way. I don't want to fight fellow Starfleet officers." He paused. "I need alternatives."
It was Commander Arado who spoke up. "We need to let them go to sleep." He suggested. "Concentrated pockets of anastazine gas would do the trick. We launch probes and set up portable forcefields, so that the gas doesn't escape. When it has done its work, we beam up the unconscious Challenger crew."
The Captain seemed to like this idea. Seesaw didn't: there were many effects the gas could have in combination with this fog... but she had to admit that she always like this idea better than just shooting everyone. And there were no alternatives. So finally, she nodded in approval.
"Very well Commander." McMillan stated, finally a smile on his face. "Make it so. Return to the Gibraltar. We will try to convince Captain Barbosa, one last time."
Captain McMillan sighed, as he entered the Bridge. He had really hoped his colleague from the Challenger would listen to reason. But she hadn't. Barbosa and Teichmann had refused to come back on board, but they did say "there'll always be a place for you here, Captain." Somehow, those hadn't been comforting words.
And now those two officers and the rest of their crew, lay unconscious in Sickbay, the cargobays, hell, even the shuttlebays. Luckily Starfleet was already dispatching a ship to take over these many people from the Intrepid class vessel.
"Captain," Ensign Braveheart spoke up, "I suggest we launch a few markers, warning others of this planet."
Sitting down in his chair, McMillan nodded. "Agreed. Let's not let anyone else go through this." He turned to his left, where he saw Commander Arado sitting. He looked up too, and straight into McMillan's eyes. "You know Sir," He said, obviously having something on his mind, "Because of our little rescue trip, we might have lost all track of where Slade could be now. Perhaps next time we should... consider other options too."
McMillan bit his lip. Catching Slade *was* their main mission. Why *hadn't* he gone after her? Another ship could have easily been dispatched to rescue the Challenger crew. Was it because he had known Slade in the past too? Was it because he actually *didn't* want revenge for what she had done to them at the Challenger? Or was it because he was afraid of her?
He shook his head. "Perhaps, Commander. We have sent out probes anyway... perhaps they'll find Slade. Only time will tell."
He took in a deep breath. Only time will tell. "Mr. Bourne... set a course for the Starfleet ship we're supposed to rendezvouz with. And... Engage."
At first, she had resisted this 'Slade' person, when she took over the USS Challenger: her ship. She felt a pang of sorrow at not being able to be on the Bridge anymore, but... well, she supposed she could also be grateful to this renegade officer for leaving her and her crew stranded on this planet, which the crew had dubbed 'heaven'. Because it certainly was. Her life on the Challenger was over, as far as she was concerned. Her 'afterlife' in 'heaven' had just begun. And she was enjoying every minute of it. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath. The fog which found its way through the yellow flowers, entered her nostrils, and she smiled. What better life was there than this?
"Captain Barbosa." A voice came from nearby. When Barbosa opened her eyes, she noticed several Starfleet personnel standing around her: Starfleet personnel with phasers. Starfleet personnel which she didn't recognise. All of a sudden, she felt threatened. What were they doing here? Still, she didn't let it show.
"That is me." She answered, even though all that she wore now of her Starfleet uniform was her commbadge, and that was only for practical reasons. She had long ago opted to just wear her shirt: a uniform like that hardly seemed relaxing. Lt. Teichmann had thought differently though, but then again, who was she to dictate what her crew should or shouldn't wear? "To whom do I have the honour speaking?"
"Captain McMillan, USS Gibraltar." came the curt response. "Allow me to introduce my officers. My First Officer, Commander Arado. Lt. Heron, Tactical Officer. Ensign Braveheart, Science Officer. Ensign Menkez, Operations Officer. Lt.jg Bourne, helmsman, and Doctor Seesaw, our Medical Officer." He paused. "We uh... came to rescue you."
Alarm bells started to ring in Barbosa's mind. Rescue? Etta Teichmann seemed to be wondering the same thing. "Rescue?" She voiced her concerns.
Captain McMillan didn't seem to pick that up. Either that, or he ignored the statement. "We regret to inform you, that your ship, the USS Challenger, was lost. Slade, the renegade, piloted it on a course into a star. We barely had time to get out of there ourselves." He paused, and offered a genuine "I'm sorry."
Barbosa frowned. "That really is too bad. She was a good ship." she said, and she meant it. She had spent a lot of time on the Bridge on that Starship, and she would miss it. But perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, like everything Slade had did to her so far. Perhaps the loss of the Challenger would be a satisfying reason for them to stay here, on this planet. She decided to push it. "But we do not require rescue, Captain. We're perfectly alright here. Our crew has decided to stay here." She paused, and gestured around. "What more could we want? You are welcome to stay too, of course."
"You are saying," one of the Gibraltar officers, Lt. Heron, spoke up, still wearing her phaser rifle, "That you are not returning to Starfleet?"
Barbosa nodded. "That is exactly what we're saying. And it's not just my decision. Ask any of my crew."
Teichmann now spoke up. "It's true. We love this place, and we will *not* leave it." She was very convinced of this, as she should be. Barbosa smiled silently: Teichmann always had a knack for defending her Captain. Well, hopefully it wouldn't come to that. If this other Captain would just accept the wishes of the Gibraltar crew...
But it didn't seem that he would. He actually seemed shocked at the very idea that an entire crew could decide to stay somewhere. "But Captain. What about your duties? Don't you care for your ship?"
At this, Barbosa sat up. "Of course I care. But as you said, the Challenger is lost. That is a pity. But it doesn't change the fact that we love this place, and we're not leaving."
At that moment, Doctor Seesaw closed her tricorder: she had been scanning the two Challenger officers until now. "They seem to be healthy, Captain." she reported to her CO. "No sign of injuries or anything. Though I am getting some anomalous readings that I have to verify."
The look of concern on McMillan's face said it all, as well as the rediculous conclusion he took afterwards. "Could there be something in the environment, causing them to act like this?"
"There could be." was the Doctor's answer. "I would need to run more tests."
"Oh don't be rediculous." Teichmann interrupted. "We're fine, can't you see that? And this place is just wonderful." She looked around, and many of the angry features on her face disappeared. "We love this place, Captain McMillan. We won't go."
McMillan simply nodded to Doctor Seesaw, and then turned back to Barbosa. "Captain. A few words please. Ensigns Braveheart and Menkez, search the area. Mr. Bourne, please stay with Ms. Teichmann. Ms. Heron, go pick some flowers. They're lovely."
At the mention of that last order, everyone turned to face the Gibraltar Captain, who seemed to realise what he had just said too. Barbosa merely smiled. This had happened to the Challenger crew too. At first they had fought it, since the symptoms were less than pleasant. But when they finally gave up the fight, the symptoms disappeared, and they began to see how beautiful this place was.
"I mean... keep an eye out." McMillan corrected himself, as he shook his head. "Doctor, do whatever tests you need. We need to find out what is happening... to us, as well."
About half an hour later, Captain McMillan was no further in convincing Captain Barbosa to leave, Lt.jg Bourne had nausea attacks, Ensign Menkez found he could no longer walk, and Lt. Heron was swinging through the trees. There was definitely something going on, Seesaw figured, but she didn't know what. There was some sort of gas from all around her, influencing people in all kinds of different ways. She had to find out what was causing it. She had to...
And then it hit her. The fog. Quickly, she moved to higher ground, above this fog, and started scanning. Damnit. She thought. Her suspicions were true. This fog contained some sort of gas. If someone were exposed to it too much, it would be lethal...
And that it was. Suddenly, she got a call from her Captain: one of the Challenger personnel had dropped dead, just as he was reporting to Captain Barbosa. Seesaw scanned the body, and confirmed with a frown what she had detected earlier. "It's the fog."
She would have thought that this would convince Captain Barbosa to return with them to the Gibraltar, but... no. Apparently the fog had already clouded Barbosa's mind. And it would do the same to all the Gibraltar crewmembers, if they stayed here much longer. "Captain, we have to go." she informed McMillan, once they were out of hearing range of the two Challenger crewmen. "We shouldn't be exposed to this fog much longer. You've seen the damage it can do."
"Then what would you suggest?" McMillan asked, his tone of voice more argumentative, more angry than Seesaw ever heard it before. This fog was affecting him too. "We cannot go without the Challenger crew."
"We can shoot them." Lt. Heron said, jumping out of a nearby tree. "Stun them, and beam them over." She brandished her phaser rifle, and besides her, Lt.jg Bourne did the same. "Let me at them Sir, and..."
"No." McMillan said, much to Seesaw's relief. "No, we'll solve this a different way. I don't want to fight fellow Starfleet officers." He paused. "I need alternatives."
It was Commander Arado who spoke up. "We need to let them go to sleep." He suggested. "Concentrated pockets of anastazine gas would do the trick. We launch probes and set up portable forcefields, so that the gas doesn't escape. When it has done its work, we beam up the unconscious Challenger crew."
The Captain seemed to like this idea. Seesaw didn't: there were many effects the gas could have in combination with this fog... but she had to admit that she always like this idea better than just shooting everyone. And there were no alternatives. So finally, she nodded in approval.
"Very well Commander." McMillan stated, finally a smile on his face. "Make it so. Return to the Gibraltar. We will try to convince Captain Barbosa, one last time."
Captain McMillan sighed, as he entered the Bridge. He had really hoped his colleague from the Challenger would listen to reason. But she hadn't. Barbosa and Teichmann had refused to come back on board, but they did say "there'll always be a place for you here, Captain." Somehow, those hadn't been comforting words.
And now those two officers and the rest of their crew, lay unconscious in Sickbay, the cargobays, hell, even the shuttlebays. Luckily Starfleet was already dispatching a ship to take over these many people from the Intrepid class vessel.
"Captain," Ensign Braveheart spoke up, "I suggest we launch a few markers, warning others of this planet."
Sitting down in his chair, McMillan nodded. "Agreed. Let's not let anyone else go through this." He turned to his left, where he saw Commander Arado sitting. He looked up too, and straight into McMillan's eyes. "You know Sir," He said, obviously having something on his mind, "Because of our little rescue trip, we might have lost all track of where Slade could be now. Perhaps next time we should... consider other options too."
McMillan bit his lip. Catching Slade *was* their main mission. Why *hadn't* he gone after her? Another ship could have easily been dispatched to rescue the Challenger crew. Was it because he had known Slade in the past too? Was it because he actually *didn't* want revenge for what she had done to them at the Challenger? Or was it because he was afraid of her?
He shook his head. "Perhaps, Commander. We have sent out probes anyway... perhaps they'll find Slade. Only time will tell."
He took in a deep breath. Only time will tell. "Mr. Bourne... set a course for the Starfleet ship we're supposed to rendezvouz with. And... Engage."
Friday 5 September 2008
Episode 5: "Trapped"
Once again, the Captain of the Gibraltar had assembled his most trusted crew in the Transporterroom. Once again, they prepared to face the unknown. But this time, the unknown was very close to home. Sensors had detected a Federation Starship -the USS Challenger, Galaxy Class, no less- in orbit of a planet. This was odd to begin with, since there weren't supposed to be any other Starfleet ships in this sector, or this deep into what used to be Romulan space. Furthermore... the Challenger didn't answer any hails. No lifesigns could be found, whatsoever.
What happened to all those people? Captain McMillan couldn't help but wonder as he suited up for the mission. He strapped a phaser to his side. Was this really necessary? Boarding an unmanned ship? Still, protocol required it. And for once, he didn't disagree with it. Who knew whatever happened to the crew of the Challenger. Over a 1000 people... lost... or killed? A chill crept down his spine. Not a pleasant thought.
Quickly, the Captain regained his composure, and turned to his crew. "Let's go." As he dematerialised, he silently wondered what ill fate would await them. Well, whatever it was, he'd soon find out.
The Bridge of a Galaxy Class Starship usually is as functional as it is pretty. The wooden arc which holds Tactical and Communications gives a comfortable atmosphere. The carpet is often preferred by various Captains over that of other starships, and the chairs are equally comfortable. Unless there's a crisis, anyone being on the Bridge of a Galaxy Class Starship would feel at ease.
Captain McMillan and his crew did not feel at ease when they entered the Bridge of the Challenger.
"Surprise..." A somewhat familiar voice said in biting irony, as the doors parted. Immediately, the Gibraltar crew already on the Challenger Bridge raised their weapons
at the person sitting in the Captain's Chair. This woman was shorter than McMillan was, and her blond hair was a stark contrast with the dark suit she was wearing. She had a pleasant appearance... beautiful even, the Captain had to admit. For a moment McMillan's mind started to wander, but he quickly focussed on the situation at hand. This woman, despite her good looks, was not a good sign. "Welcome on board the Challenger, Captain."
"Slade." McMillan stated simply. The USS Gibraltar spent many weeks tracking this dangerous renegade Starfleet officer... and now, they hadn't found her... she had found *them*. They had come here, expecting a lot. But not this.
And then, it happened. "Since you where so nice to all join me here at the bridge let me inform you that you are trapped." The words hadn't left Slade's mouth, or forcefields jumped online in front of the Bridge's exits. Panic struck in the otherwise so calm Starfleet officers, and even more weapons than before were trained on the renegade. McMillan swore softly under his breath, and then turned to face the woman now standing before the Captain's Chair. The woman who was their nemesis.
The woman who should not be underestimated. Ever.
But then again, there were several Starfleet officers here on this Bridge, all aiming their weapons at her. She was but a lone woman. Sure, she was *Slade*, and that counted for something, but even her would not be able to evade this much weaponsfire. Captain McMillan said this... and as he did, he realised he made the very mistake he swore to himself he wouldn't make. He underestimated her.
Slade smiled. It was a smile unlike any the Captain had ever seen. Beautiful yet intimidating. For the umpteenth time, he felt himself shudder. Whatever it was, Slade had the upper hand... and she knew it.
"You can fire, but you'll only damage the furniture." She answered, gesturing at the chairs around. "You see, I am just a holographic projection."
The Operations Officer, Mr. Menkez, silently confirmed this. "No lifesigns other than us Sir." He reported. "She's not lying."
Damn. McMillan thought. Damn. We walked right into her trap. He looked around, and noticed that only part of this crew had been trapped here. A flicker of hope echoed in the Captain, since his First Officer Arado, Ambassador Qinan and Lt. Heron were still outside, at the transporterroom... perhaps they could do something?
Time. McMillan knew he had to stall for time. If his officers were going to do *anything*, they'd need to have the time to do that. "So how did you get your hands on the Challenger Slade?" He asked, taking a step forward. "And where did you leave the crew?"
Again that smile. Again the chills down the Captain's spine. "Oh, let's say that the Challenger's Captain and I quickly came to the agreement that it's better to have a vacation on a nice m-class planet just outside the neutral zone, than have his ship blown up."
For a moment... just for a moment, McMillan closed his eyes. He thought of the Challenger's Captain and crew, wondering if they were alright. He was certain the Challenger's Captain had made the right choice: nobody seemed to be able to mess with Slade.
As the Captain opened his eyes, he noticed that Slade still had more to say. "So Captain." She started again. "A little challenge, on the Challenger." McMillan resisted an urge to sigh at this bad pun, especially in the midst of this situation, and continued to listen. Whatever it would be... it would not be good. "I have locked the helm." She continued. "You steer directly to the sun of this system. And if I can count right, you have about 15 minutes to solve that mess."
Captain McMillan was shocked, as was his crew. Helm was locked, and just 15 minutes left to go? Things were looking more grim, even though the Captain had thought that wasn't possible...
"Well, if you'd please excuse me," Slade commentted to the speechless crew. "Even thought I'd hate to miss another sunbath, I have better things to do than play hide and seek with Starfleet." And with those words, the Slade hologram 'poofed'... leaving the Gibraltar crew stranded on the USS Challenger... with only 15 minutes until obliteration.
And all McMillan could think at the moment, was Damn. She's good.
Commander Arado cursed under his breath. He had been just outside the Bridge when the forcefields were raised. He, the Ambassador and Lt. Heron couldn't access the Bridge now. But what else could they do? Perhaps there was some way of getting past these forcefields. But even if they could... how to get rid of the lockout? Captain McMillan had informed him and the others left outside. Time was of the essence now. Perhaps the Gibraltar could help out? Arado had already ordered the Intrepid class ship to follow the Challenger. Perhaps a Tractorbeam could do the trick... though on a Galaxy Class starship, it wouldn't really make a difference, now would it.
His commbadge chirped again. "Commander," He heard the voice of Captain McMillan, "It would seem we're in luck. The Tactical console is still active... though it's protected by a code. We have to crack that first."
Again, a soft curse came from the Commander. Lieutenant Kelly Heron was *the* expert on cracking codes. There was no other like her. And she's not able to reach the console... Arado thought soberly. Had Slade planned this? He wouldn't put anything past that woman anymore... She seemed to be capable of anything. I should have foreseen this. I should have...
"Commander," McMillan's voice interrupted him, "How about the prefix code?"
A faint smile was put on Arado's face. Of course. The prefix code. Every ship had one: specifically or situations like these. They just had to transmit the prefix code to the Challenger, and *poof*, its shields would collapse, and control over the Challenger would belong to the Gibraltar crew again. "I'll get right on it Sir. I just hope we have the time."
Timing was indeed a problem. "5 minutes remaining." Lt.jg Fitzgerald stated. He was working on a wall at the side of the Bridge. He knew that if he could just get to the tubes, wires and computer controls located just on the other side of this wall, he might be able to get rid of the forcefields surrounding the Bridge. This would take quite some time... and that was exactly what they didn't have. One look on the viewscreen said enough: the sun was getting closer and closer.
"Fine." He muttered, and got his phaser rifle. He aimed it at the wall... and fired. Crude but efficient. The CEO thought, as he began to look for the wiring he needed.
"Captain." He spoke up. "I think we found it." At McMillan's nod, he went to work, eager to get off of this ship. A few moments later, the forcefields on the Bridge did go down... but their problems weren't over.
"Self destruct initiated. 1 minute to detonation." the sterile voice of the Challenger's computer informed the crew.
"Captain." Arado's voice came over the Comm. "We found the prefix code. If you want to lower the shields..."
McMillan interrupted the Commander as he stood up from the Captain's Chair. "It would seem like we have control already... though stand by to beam everyone off immediately. It would seem we have inadvertedly activated the Self Destruct sequence. Get us all out... now!"
With just seconds to spare, the last souls ever to walk on the Bridge of the Challenger again, disappeared in a flash of blue light.
On the Bridge of the Gibraltar, the entire Bridge crew watched the Galaxy class starship blow up in a burst of flames. "Just in time Commander." McMillan complimented the First Officer. As he sat in his own chair again, he glanced at the viewscreen, where the Challenger's debris was still spinning around. He couldn't help but wonder, even though they escaped with their lives... if they couldn't have done better. They had to have been able to save the ship. To save the information on that ship, on when Slade had boarded the Challenger. All that was lost now.
The Captain allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts, but it was interrupted by Lt. Heron. McMillan was glad to see the Lieutenant being here: from what he had heard over the comm, she had taken quite a risk trying to get to the Challenger's Engineering.
"Captain," Ms. Heron spoke up. "Sensors are detecting a Starfleet Runabout warping out of this system. It could be Slade. We should set in a persuit course."
For a moment, this sounded tempting. The Captain wanted to apprehend this renegade, more than anyone else. For professional, and personal reasons... some of which this crew didn't know of. He almost gave the order... but then remembered what had happened here. "No." He answered, causing shock and surprise amongst his crew. "No, we have the crew of the Challenger to save. We will catch up with Slade another time." Letting her go was difficult... very difficult. But he had to think of the thousand men women and children, stuck on some planet just outside the old neutral zone. "Start scanning for ion traces belonging to the Challenger. I want to know where she's been last, and..."
"Captain, permission to follow Slade in a shuttlecraft?" Lt. Heron didn't give up. Despite the situation, McMillan grimaced. Heron was without fear, it would seem. If anyone could follow Slade, it'd be Heron. "Very well Lieutenant." He agreed, reluctantly. "Take a shuttle and follow that runabout. And... be careful."
As Heron raced off of the Bridge, McMillan couldn't help but feel he had made another terrible mistake.
What happened to all those people? Captain McMillan couldn't help but wonder as he suited up for the mission. He strapped a phaser to his side. Was this really necessary? Boarding an unmanned ship? Still, protocol required it. And for once, he didn't disagree with it. Who knew whatever happened to the crew of the Challenger. Over a 1000 people... lost... or killed? A chill crept down his spine. Not a pleasant thought.
Quickly, the Captain regained his composure, and turned to his crew. "Let's go." As he dematerialised, he silently wondered what ill fate would await them. Well, whatever it was, he'd soon find out.
The Bridge of a Galaxy Class Starship usually is as functional as it is pretty. The wooden arc which holds Tactical and Communications gives a comfortable atmosphere. The carpet is often preferred by various Captains over that of other starships, and the chairs are equally comfortable. Unless there's a crisis, anyone being on the Bridge of a Galaxy Class Starship would feel at ease.
Captain McMillan and his crew did not feel at ease when they entered the Bridge of the Challenger.
"Surprise..." A somewhat familiar voice said in biting irony, as the doors parted. Immediately, the Gibraltar crew already on the Challenger Bridge raised their weapons
at the person sitting in the Captain's Chair. This woman was shorter than McMillan was, and her blond hair was a stark contrast with the dark suit she was wearing. She had a pleasant appearance... beautiful even, the Captain had to admit. For a moment McMillan's mind started to wander, but he quickly focussed on the situation at hand. This woman, despite her good looks, was not a good sign. "Welcome on board the Challenger, Captain."
"Slade." McMillan stated simply. The USS Gibraltar spent many weeks tracking this dangerous renegade Starfleet officer... and now, they hadn't found her... she had found *them*. They had come here, expecting a lot. But not this.
And then, it happened. "Since you where so nice to all join me here at the bridge let me inform you that you are trapped." The words hadn't left Slade's mouth, or forcefields jumped online in front of the Bridge's exits. Panic struck in the otherwise so calm Starfleet officers, and even more weapons than before were trained on the renegade. McMillan swore softly under his breath, and then turned to face the woman now standing before the Captain's Chair. The woman who was their nemesis.
The woman who should not be underestimated. Ever.
But then again, there were several Starfleet officers here on this Bridge, all aiming their weapons at her. She was but a lone woman. Sure, she was *Slade*, and that counted for something, but even her would not be able to evade this much weaponsfire. Captain McMillan said this... and as he did, he realised he made the very mistake he swore to himself he wouldn't make. He underestimated her.
Slade smiled. It was a smile unlike any the Captain had ever seen. Beautiful yet intimidating. For the umpteenth time, he felt himself shudder. Whatever it was, Slade had the upper hand... and she knew it.
"You can fire, but you'll only damage the furniture." She answered, gesturing at the chairs around. "You see, I am just a holographic projection."
The Operations Officer, Mr. Menkez, silently confirmed this. "No lifesigns other than us Sir." He reported. "She's not lying."
Damn. McMillan thought. Damn. We walked right into her trap. He looked around, and noticed that only part of this crew had been trapped here. A flicker of hope echoed in the Captain, since his First Officer Arado, Ambassador Qinan and Lt. Heron were still outside, at the transporterroom... perhaps they could do something?
Time. McMillan knew he had to stall for time. If his officers were going to do *anything*, they'd need to have the time to do that. "So how did you get your hands on the Challenger Slade?" He asked, taking a step forward. "And where did you leave the crew?"
Again that smile. Again the chills down the Captain's spine. "Oh, let's say that the Challenger's Captain and I quickly came to the agreement that it's better to have a vacation on a nice m-class planet just outside the neutral zone, than have his ship blown up."
For a moment... just for a moment, McMillan closed his eyes. He thought of the Challenger's Captain and crew, wondering if they were alright. He was certain the Challenger's Captain had made the right choice: nobody seemed to be able to mess with Slade.
As the Captain opened his eyes, he noticed that Slade still had more to say. "So Captain." She started again. "A little challenge, on the Challenger." McMillan resisted an urge to sigh at this bad pun, especially in the midst of this situation, and continued to listen. Whatever it would be... it would not be good. "I have locked the helm." She continued. "You steer directly to the sun of this system. And if I can count right, you have about 15 minutes to solve that mess."
Captain McMillan was shocked, as was his crew. Helm was locked, and just 15 minutes left to go? Things were looking more grim, even though the Captain had thought that wasn't possible...
"Well, if you'd please excuse me," Slade commentted to the speechless crew. "Even thought I'd hate to miss another sunbath, I have better things to do than play hide and seek with Starfleet." And with those words, the Slade hologram 'poofed'... leaving the Gibraltar crew stranded on the USS Challenger... with only 15 minutes until obliteration.
And all McMillan could think at the moment, was Damn. She's good.
Commander Arado cursed under his breath. He had been just outside the Bridge when the forcefields were raised. He, the Ambassador and Lt. Heron couldn't access the Bridge now. But what else could they do? Perhaps there was some way of getting past these forcefields. But even if they could... how to get rid of the lockout? Captain McMillan had informed him and the others left outside. Time was of the essence now. Perhaps the Gibraltar could help out? Arado had already ordered the Intrepid class ship to follow the Challenger. Perhaps a Tractorbeam could do the trick... though on a Galaxy Class starship, it wouldn't really make a difference, now would it.
His commbadge chirped again. "Commander," He heard the voice of Captain McMillan, "It would seem we're in luck. The Tactical console is still active... though it's protected by a code. We have to crack that first."
Again, a soft curse came from the Commander. Lieutenant Kelly Heron was *the* expert on cracking codes. There was no other like her. And she's not able to reach the console... Arado thought soberly. Had Slade planned this? He wouldn't put anything past that woman anymore... She seemed to be capable of anything. I should have foreseen this. I should have...
"Commander," McMillan's voice interrupted him, "How about the prefix code?"
A faint smile was put on Arado's face. Of course. The prefix code. Every ship had one: specifically or situations like these. They just had to transmit the prefix code to the Challenger, and *poof*, its shields would collapse, and control over the Challenger would belong to the Gibraltar crew again. "I'll get right on it Sir. I just hope we have the time."
Timing was indeed a problem. "5 minutes remaining." Lt.jg Fitzgerald stated. He was working on a wall at the side of the Bridge. He knew that if he could just get to the tubes, wires and computer controls located just on the other side of this wall, he might be able to get rid of the forcefields surrounding the Bridge. This would take quite some time... and that was exactly what they didn't have. One look on the viewscreen said enough: the sun was getting closer and closer.
"Fine." He muttered, and got his phaser rifle. He aimed it at the wall... and fired. Crude but efficient. The CEO thought, as he began to look for the wiring he needed.
"Captain." He spoke up. "I think we found it." At McMillan's nod, he went to work, eager to get off of this ship. A few moments later, the forcefields on the Bridge did go down... but their problems weren't over.
"Self destruct initiated. 1 minute to detonation." the sterile voice of the Challenger's computer informed the crew.
"Captain." Arado's voice came over the Comm. "We found the prefix code. If you want to lower the shields..."
McMillan interrupted the Commander as he stood up from the Captain's Chair. "It would seem like we have control already... though stand by to beam everyone off immediately. It would seem we have inadvertedly activated the Self Destruct sequence. Get us all out... now!"
With just seconds to spare, the last souls ever to walk on the Bridge of the Challenger again, disappeared in a flash of blue light.
On the Bridge of the Gibraltar, the entire Bridge crew watched the Galaxy class starship blow up in a burst of flames. "Just in time Commander." McMillan complimented the First Officer. As he sat in his own chair again, he glanced at the viewscreen, where the Challenger's debris was still spinning around. He couldn't help but wonder, even though they escaped with their lives... if they couldn't have done better. They had to have been able to save the ship. To save the information on that ship, on when Slade had boarded the Challenger. All that was lost now.
The Captain allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts, but it was interrupted by Lt. Heron. McMillan was glad to see the Lieutenant being here: from what he had heard over the comm, she had taken quite a risk trying to get to the Challenger's Engineering.
"Captain," Ms. Heron spoke up. "Sensors are detecting a Starfleet Runabout warping out of this system. It could be Slade. We should set in a persuit course."
For a moment, this sounded tempting. The Captain wanted to apprehend this renegade, more than anyone else. For professional, and personal reasons... some of which this crew didn't know of. He almost gave the order... but then remembered what had happened here. "No." He answered, causing shock and surprise amongst his crew. "No, we have the crew of the Challenger to save. We will catch up with Slade another time." Letting her go was difficult... very difficult. But he had to think of the thousand men women and children, stuck on some planet just outside the old neutral zone. "Start scanning for ion traces belonging to the Challenger. I want to know where she's been last, and..."
"Captain, permission to follow Slade in a shuttlecraft?" Lt. Heron didn't give up. Despite the situation, McMillan grimaced. Heron was without fear, it would seem. If anyone could follow Slade, it'd be Heron. "Very well Lieutenant." He agreed, reluctantly. "Take a shuttle and follow that runabout. And... be careful."
As Heron raced off of the Bridge, McMillan couldn't help but feel he had made another terrible mistake.
Wednesday 27 August 2008
USS Gibraltar Mission 4: "Energy Crisis"
Lt.jg Michael Dale, counselor of the Gibraltar, was rubbing his head. "Damn this headache." He muttered. The fact that he was an empath didn't help either. The violent emotions of the crew were always threatening to overwhelm him. Until now, he had managed to offer resistance. But he did not know how long it would be until he would lose himself in it.
The Gibraltar had been following the energy 'stream' for a while now. This was actually some sort of trail of energy signatures: a trail which seemed to follow the coordinates the renegade officer Slade had been to. If it belonged to Slade, the good counselor didn't dare guess. What he *did* know, was that in the last few days he had been busy. *Very* busy. And all because of this energy stream.
"Mr. Clawtooth," the Captain spoke up, "Are we still following that stream?" There was no reason to believe they weren't following it, since the Captain had long since ordered the persuit of this flow of energy, but the Captain seemed to want to know nonetheless.
The Helmsman answered in a slightly annoyed manner. "Yes Sir." The man answered. "Still following."
The annoyed tone of voice did not surprise Counselor Dale at all. This energy stream was emitting some sort of energy which was harmful to those on board. They had seen it on the planet, where they'd all started getting headaches and becoming dizzy... and that had only been short contamination to the energy. They had been following this energy for days now, and despite their attempt to block it via the shields, it had still sipped through, causing the crew to become restless, fatigued, and generally not in a good mood.
"Any way of adjusting the shields to block out the energy?" Captain McMillan asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was clear that he had a major headache. Being a counselor, Dale knew nothing about shields or anything of the sort. So he didn't dare to speak up.
Lt.Cmdr. McBride though, did. "We might be able to adjust the shields if we have the frequency of the energy stream. Perhaps I remember enough of Science 101 to. . ." He didn't continue, and hopped over to the Science console.
To Dale's surprise and shock, Captain McMillan turned to him. "Counselor, how much do you know about Operations?"
"Uh. . ." the Counselor stammered. "Virtually nothing, Sir?"
This displeased the Captain. "Then you just volunteered to learn more about it. Up you go." Dale stood up obidiently, but he could have sworn he could hear the Captain growl...
Captain McMillan took a very deep breath as the few crewmembers who were actually *not* in Sickbay, were here on the Bridge trying to figure out how to block the negative energy from sipping through the shields. He hated what he became because of this. He hated his annoyance, his short temper, and most of all, he hated his headache. How could he think clearly when his head was being pounded by warpcorebreaches every time?
Nevertheless, he stayed on the Bridge. This was where he belonged: not in Sickbay. Besides, most of his crew, including his First Officer, had already fallen for this. Not him!
"Status?" He asked, impatient, eager for results.
And he got them. "Odd." Chief Engineer McBride responded. "Oh, I can modify the shields, no problem. But the readings I'm getting are negative, instead of positive." He paused, and shook his head. "Well, I will be able to modify the shields, but then we'd have to drop them first."
On an intellectual level, Captain McMillan recognised the puzzle this brought with it. A negative energy? That had never been seen before. Though... there were records of the crew of the USS Enterprise, NCC 1701, going through the galactic barrier, and measuring negative energy too. Was this roughly the same?
On a more basic level though, Captain McMillan wasn't interested in what kind of energy was being measured. "Just adjust the shields before we. . ."
Explosions on the Bridge caused him to stop talking. They were under attack! Red Alert claxons echoed through the Bridge. What was going on? Was it the Romulans? Was it the energy? Was it something else?
Nothing showed up on sensors. Absolutely nothing. McMillan's head almost exploded when he saw this. Nothing? No. . . "Sir, sensors are detecting a faint gravimetric distortion on the starboard bow." McBride reported. "Sensors are having difficuly getting a lock on it, but it is there."
Options immediately flashed through McMillan's tired brain. Romulans? A black hole forming? The universe ripping apart? No, Romulans seemed more likely. But they can't fire when cloaked, can they?
McBride's hands flew over the console. First the energy stream, then the shields, and now that he finally had come up with an answer, they were being attacked. This was most certainly *not* his day. "Further analysis confirms: it's a plasma torpedo, being beamed just in front of our shields, Cappn." He didn't like Science: he was an Engineer, first and foremost. But the situation called for a scientific point of view. Fine. He was an officer, and a damned good one. He would jump in where necessary.
McBride watched as the Captain became angry when Counselor Dale couldn't open a hailing frequency quickly enough. He felt sorry for both people, but there would be plenty of time for pity later on. First, they had to get rid of these Romulans.
Well, talking didn't seem to help. He wondered if firing at the Romulans would though, since the sensors just barely registered the distortions. Nevertheless, Captain McMillan opted to give it a try. The first shot failed, as did the second. But the third. . .
"We hit something Sir." Said Ensign Starek. "I've got coordinates."
"Then fire at will!" McMillan almost shouted. "Commander, let me know the moment they change course."
Easy for you to say. The Engineer thought, as he kept an eye on the sensors in the back of the Bridge. As the ship shook with another plasma torpedo hitting them, he wished he could just be in Engineering, taking care of the damaged systems. But no. He was needed here. So here he would stay. For now.
Finally, some more sensor readings. "I'm detecting plasma eminating from that distortion, Cappn." McBride announced. "I believe we've hit their warp nacelle. They're retreating."
Captain McMillan smiled, despite the pain in his head. He was almost standing up, joyful that they had caused their enemy to withdraw. But they weren't done yet. "Mr. Clawtooth, keep your distance. Mr. Starek, fire some more torpedoes after them, make sure they get the message to not return and fire at us. And Commander McBride. . ." He paused, and looked at the Engineer. "Reset the shields." It was time to be protected against this harmful energy.
A chorus of "Aye Sir" echoed through the Bridge, and all went to work. Clawtooth held his course, Dale transferred energy to the shields, Starek fired torpodoes, and... McBride dropped the shields.
At that moment, the enormous headache which McMillan had been experiencing so far seemed like nothing compared to what he was feeling now that the energy wasn't hindered by the shields. He gasped, he blinked, he became dizzy. For a moment, he thought he'd lose consciousness... until finally McBride put the shields back up again. Where once was headache, there now was nothing. No pain at all.
Exhaling slowly, McMillan hoisted himself back in his chair, swallowing uncomfortably. That was one experience he never hoped to go through again. This energy was dangerous: that was certain. And now that they were protected, they would go and find out where exactly this energy came from...
"Well done crew." McMillan muttered as he sat up straight. "Well done."
The Gibraltar had been following the energy 'stream' for a while now. This was actually some sort of trail of energy signatures: a trail which seemed to follow the coordinates the renegade officer Slade had been to. If it belonged to Slade, the good counselor didn't dare guess. What he *did* know, was that in the last few days he had been busy. *Very* busy. And all because of this energy stream.
"Mr. Clawtooth," the Captain spoke up, "Are we still following that stream?" There was no reason to believe they weren't following it, since the Captain had long since ordered the persuit of this flow of energy, but the Captain seemed to want to know nonetheless.
The Helmsman answered in a slightly annoyed manner. "Yes Sir." The man answered. "Still following."
The annoyed tone of voice did not surprise Counselor Dale at all. This energy stream was emitting some sort of energy which was harmful to those on board. They had seen it on the planet, where they'd all started getting headaches and becoming dizzy... and that had only been short contamination to the energy. They had been following this energy for days now, and despite their attempt to block it via the shields, it had still sipped through, causing the crew to become restless, fatigued, and generally not in a good mood.
"Any way of adjusting the shields to block out the energy?" Captain McMillan asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was clear that he had a major headache. Being a counselor, Dale knew nothing about shields or anything of the sort. So he didn't dare to speak up.
Lt.Cmdr. McBride though, did. "We might be able to adjust the shields if we have the frequency of the energy stream. Perhaps I remember enough of Science 101 to. . ." He didn't continue, and hopped over to the Science console.
To Dale's surprise and shock, Captain McMillan turned to him. "Counselor, how much do you know about Operations?"
"Uh. . ." the Counselor stammered. "Virtually nothing, Sir?"
This displeased the Captain. "Then you just volunteered to learn more about it. Up you go." Dale stood up obidiently, but he could have sworn he could hear the Captain growl...
Captain McMillan took a very deep breath as the few crewmembers who were actually *not* in Sickbay, were here on the Bridge trying to figure out how to block the negative energy from sipping through the shields. He hated what he became because of this. He hated his annoyance, his short temper, and most of all, he hated his headache. How could he think clearly when his head was being pounded by warpcorebreaches every time?
Nevertheless, he stayed on the Bridge. This was where he belonged: not in Sickbay. Besides, most of his crew, including his First Officer, had already fallen for this. Not him!
"Status?" He asked, impatient, eager for results.
And he got them. "Odd." Chief Engineer McBride responded. "Oh, I can modify the shields, no problem. But the readings I'm getting are negative, instead of positive." He paused, and shook his head. "Well, I will be able to modify the shields, but then we'd have to drop them first."
On an intellectual level, Captain McMillan recognised the puzzle this brought with it. A negative energy? That had never been seen before. Though... there were records of the crew of the USS Enterprise, NCC 1701, going through the galactic barrier, and measuring negative energy too. Was this roughly the same?
On a more basic level though, Captain McMillan wasn't interested in what kind of energy was being measured. "Just adjust the shields before we. . ."
Explosions on the Bridge caused him to stop talking. They were under attack! Red Alert claxons echoed through the Bridge. What was going on? Was it the Romulans? Was it the energy? Was it something else?
Nothing showed up on sensors. Absolutely nothing. McMillan's head almost exploded when he saw this. Nothing? No. . . "Sir, sensors are detecting a faint gravimetric distortion on the starboard bow." McBride reported. "Sensors are having difficuly getting a lock on it, but it is there."
Options immediately flashed through McMillan's tired brain. Romulans? A black hole forming? The universe ripping apart? No, Romulans seemed more likely. But they can't fire when cloaked, can they?
McBride's hands flew over the console. First the energy stream, then the shields, and now that he finally had come up with an answer, they were being attacked. This was most certainly *not* his day. "Further analysis confirms: it's a plasma torpedo, being beamed just in front of our shields, Cappn." He didn't like Science: he was an Engineer, first and foremost. But the situation called for a scientific point of view. Fine. He was an officer, and a damned good one. He would jump in where necessary.
McBride watched as the Captain became angry when Counselor Dale couldn't open a hailing frequency quickly enough. He felt sorry for both people, but there would be plenty of time for pity later on. First, they had to get rid of these Romulans.
Well, talking didn't seem to help. He wondered if firing at the Romulans would though, since the sensors just barely registered the distortions. Nevertheless, Captain McMillan opted to give it a try. The first shot failed, as did the second. But the third. . .
"We hit something Sir." Said Ensign Starek. "I've got coordinates."
"Then fire at will!" McMillan almost shouted. "Commander, let me know the moment they change course."
Easy for you to say. The Engineer thought, as he kept an eye on the sensors in the back of the Bridge. As the ship shook with another plasma torpedo hitting them, he wished he could just be in Engineering, taking care of the damaged systems. But no. He was needed here. So here he would stay. For now.
Finally, some more sensor readings. "I'm detecting plasma eminating from that distortion, Cappn." McBride announced. "I believe we've hit their warp nacelle. They're retreating."
Captain McMillan smiled, despite the pain in his head. He was almost standing up, joyful that they had caused their enemy to withdraw. But they weren't done yet. "Mr. Clawtooth, keep your distance. Mr. Starek, fire some more torpedoes after them, make sure they get the message to not return and fire at us. And Commander McBride. . ." He paused, and looked at the Engineer. "Reset the shields." It was time to be protected against this harmful energy.
A chorus of "Aye Sir" echoed through the Bridge, and all went to work. Clawtooth held his course, Dale transferred energy to the shields, Starek fired torpodoes, and... McBride dropped the shields.
At that moment, the enormous headache which McMillan had been experiencing so far seemed like nothing compared to what he was feeling now that the energy wasn't hindered by the shields. He gasped, he blinked, he became dizzy. For a moment, he thought he'd lose consciousness... until finally McBride put the shields back up again. Where once was headache, there now was nothing. No pain at all.
Exhaling slowly, McMillan hoisted himself back in his chair, swallowing uncomfortably. That was one experience he never hoped to go through again. This energy was dangerous: that was certain. And now that they were protected, they would go and find out where exactly this energy came from...
"Well done crew." McMillan muttered as he sat up straight. "Well done."
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