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."
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