by Dennis Young
He glanced around the Bridge. Most of the screens were dark. The Tactical panel was half-dead. Science Station instruments were blinking on and off. Harvey cursed to himself as he peered into his scanner. Skovok at Comm was engrossed in listening for any scrap of information from the shuttles. Engineering was balancing power to wherever it was needed most as best they could, the E-Techs speaking quietly together as they monitored every need.
“Tactical, report.” Westermann’s voice echoed in his ears. He swallowed and repeated the command.
“Sir… three shuttles, one slipping away slowly. That’s got to be the one from the station. Two more are about three minutes from the hangar.”
“Three… not four?”
The ensign checked his instruments again. “No, sir, only three. And what appears to be a spreading debris field behind them.”
Westermann turned to Skovok. “Get me Commander Hamilton, whatever it takes.”
Skovok nodded, listening to his headset, then held a hand. He shook his head. “Captain, no reply. And I have a faint signal from shuttle two. They’re approaching the hangar deck with casualties.”
“Captain, there are several transponders I can’t track,” reported Harvey. He turned. “One is Commander Hamilton’s.”
“Get me the shuttle.”
Skovok paused, then looked to Westermann. “Audio only, sir.”
“Shuttle, Bridge. What’s going on?”
“Entering the hangar deck now, sir, two shuttles returning. The station shuttle was lost. The third of our group was destroyed. We have casualties and took losses. Including… Commander Hamilton.”
Westermann seethed, and knew it was in part the two stim-shots. He swore silently at Dr. Kamisori and her ministrations. “Are you certain? Did you attempt rescue?”
A long pause as voices conferred over the comm. A new voice spoke. “Sir, this is S-Tech Martina Lopez. The Commander ordered us to abandon the shuttle. She was to follow. Before she could exit, the shuttle exploded. We lost Lieutenant Butler and several others, as well.” A sob. “I’m sorry.”
The Bridge was silent. Westermann’s eyes stung and his heart raced. He looked at the port screen, flickering back to life, and the station in the distance. “Put the pilot on, Ensign.”
Another pause. “Yes, sir?”
“All shuttles and survivors on board?”
“Aye, sir, and the hangar deck is secured.”
Westermann clicked off. “Helm, ease us out of this… effect. Very carefully. Course 180, mark 0. Just back us away, thrusters only.”
“Aye, sir. Helm is sluggish, but answering.”
Agincourt moved slowly from the time-flow effect. Westermann watched as the view changed to the Qoearc in the distance.
“Captain, the undamaged Tak’nars have taken the third one in tow. All Qoearc ships are powering engines. Looks like they’re preparing to leave.” The ensign whose name Westermann couldn’t recall reported from Tactical. He could only nod in reply.
His head slowly began to clear. Hamilton… gone. Butler. Others of the landing party dead or injured. The shuttle crew. He looked at the station on the screen once again, fighting urges he knew were wrong.
“Captain, the Qoearc are moving off,” said Harvey at Sciences. “I scanned life-signs before they headed out. They have massive casualties and serious damage to their systems. They were in no shape to fight, if it had come to that.”
Westermann drew a breath. “Fortunate for all of us it didn’t.” He stared at the station on the screen, still debating his feelings.
“Captain, the Stiz ships are moving in.”
It took a moment for the report to register. “Moving in where? Toward Agincourt?”
“No, sir, toward the station.”
Westermann watched, fascinated. The Stiz ships took position near the station, well within the time-flow effect. A cloud of… something, plasma, chemicals, he simply wasn’t sure, emanated from both ships, but each a different color and consistency.
“Captain, I’m getting readings… well, they simply don’t register except as ‘insufficient data’.” Harvey at Sciences glanced at the screen, then back to his board.
“What the hell…”
“At easy, Mr. Phillips. Report.”
“The… cloud is beginning to coalesce. The… ah, ships are…”
Westermann nodded agreement, entranced. “Mr. Skovok, get this on vid recording!”
“Already doing so, sir. And backup.”
The bridge was nearly silent, watching as the Stiz ships literally began to dissolve.
“Not complete dissolution,” said Harvey from Sciences. “Sir, it’s like they’re… blowing a bubble.”
“Energy spiking, Captain!” Phillips nearly shouted from the Tactical board. Off the charts!“
“Get me an estimate on completion, quickly.” Westermann turned to the E-Tech. “Status. Power, propulsion, everything.”
“Sir, sublight is at fifty percent, hyperlight power not yet back online. Chief Abol reports they’re running diagnostics and do not recommend any maneuvers.”
“Weapons status, Tactical?”
“Captain, PAKS batteries are at forty percent, torpedo launchers are still offline. Countermeasures are at sixty percent, but that’s wavering a bit.”
“Comm, get the Stiz online.”
Skovok worked at his panel for a moment. “No reply, sir.”
“Do you have their frequency? Can we send, regardless if they’re listening?”
“Yes, sir. We can loop a message into their system.”
Westermann nodded. “Good. Put me through.” He waited until Skovok nodded once more. “Attention Stiz vessels. This is Captain Noah Westermann commanding EAS Agincourt. Stand down. Leave this vicinity peacefully. This station…” he paused, considering what he was about to say. “This station and the planet it orbits are under the protection of Earthfleet and Earth Alliance. Any attack on the station or planet will be considered an act of war. This is your only warning. Stand down and leave this system.” He motioned Skovok to leave the line open.
The lift doors opened and Thevoss Sh'zaoqoq took two steps onto the Bridge. “Permission to resume my duties, Captain?”
Westermann watched her closely. She was pale, or was that just the lighting? “You’ve been released by Dr. Kamisori?”
“Yes, sir. I am fit for duty.” She waited, looking first at Westermann, then the screen, showing the Stiz, enveloping the station with their energy field.
“Welcome back, Commander. Take your place at Tactical and the ensign will assist you as needed.”
“Thank you, sir.” She crossed slowly, as the ensign offered the chair.
“Full report, Commander. Sciences, strength of the Stiz hulls and any defenses.”
Sh'zaoqoq scanned her instruments as the ensign updated her. “Completion within fifteen minutes, sir. No apparent defensive energy screens, weapons, or countermeasures. Hull…” she looked over her shoulder to Harvey at Sciences.
“Similar to tritainium, Captain, but not quite as dense.”
Westermann watched the screen, still flickering, but improving in clarity. “Commander Sh'zaoqoq, can you pierce that bubble with our particlebeams?”
Again, she ran her fingers over the controls. “Yes, sir, but that would only deter them for a while, most likely. Stiz are notoriously persistent in their attacks.”
“Supposition or experience?” Westermann gave her a quick grin. “Alright, let’s try a combination of things, then. Pop that bubble. Let’s see what they do.”
Sh'zaoqoq and the ensign worked together to plot targeting solutions as the tactical computers came back online. They ran quick simulations. The Stiz construct was not stationary; it slowly expanded, then contracted toward the station as it solidified. With each passing moment it grew nearer to the station. The ships themselves seemed a part of the bubble.
After a moment, Sh’zaoqoq turned to Westermann. “Prepared, sir.”
He
nodded. “Fire when ready. Commander. Break that thing into a million pieces.”
* * *
The station watched as the two intruders constructed what it analyzed as a particle-based energy field. The whole of the “bubble” for lack of a better term, was nearly solid light. The station had never seen anything like this, and wondered at first of the purpose. That soon became apparent, however. Further analysis confirmed, once the bubble was complete and drawn tightly about the station, it would begin draining away power, until nothing was left. This could not be allowed. But what could the station do?
It’s time-flow system was operating at maximum, and apparently having no effect on the two bubble-building ships. The other vessel had moved away, beyond the now-visible glow of the station’s time-flow effect, to safety. Therefore, the station did not have to consider that as part of its options.
But the station had no further defenses. It had no weapons. It calculated the energy required to short-circuit the bubble was just within its capability, but even that could only be done once, twice at most. And that action would not preclude the bubble-ships repeating their attack. For that is what the station now considered their actions as; an attack.
The only option left was a complete shutdown of all systems. Even the auto-startup could not be left running, for that would eventually be drained. And since it took power from the main source, in a trickle-effect, the outcome would be the same, however long it took. In fact, the bubble’s energy-draining ability might be enough to crack the auto-start system and drain main power even more quickly.
But the station concluded even that wasn’t enough. It could not conduct a full shutdown before the web was complete, not even under emergency conditions.
The station had no options. It could only watch and wait.
* * *
PAKS fire arced out from Agincourt, shattering the Stiz bubble. The Stiz ships reformed immediately, golden streamers of energy sparking in the time-flow glow.
Westermann watched as the Stiz ships stabilized themselves, then began to expand another bubble.
“Commander, this time I want you to catch the bubble dead center between the ships, then follow whatever traces are left right back up into the Stiz ships. Maybe we can damage their emitters.”
Sh'zaoqoq recalibrated, adjusted, and aimed again. The ensign called off range and position softly as she made ready, then looked to Westermann. He nodded.
Again, the blue tracers struck the bubble. This time the PAKS tracers followed the sparkling streamers back to the Stiz ships. One cut the threads away, the other was too slow responding. Explosions rocked the ship, golden arcs of energy emitting from the everywhere. The ship began to drift, spinning slowly away. The other turned to face Agincourt.
“Stiz charging weapons, Captain,” reported Sh'zaoqoq, her hands steady on the firing controls.
“Let him make the first move, Commander. Comm, is our message still playing in their system?”
Skovok checked his instruments. “They’ve cut it off, sir. Likely several minutes ago.”
“Very well. Polarization to the hull?” Westermann looked to Engineering.
“Seventy-five percent, sir, and steady.”
“Tactical, prepare a light barrage if the Stiz fire. Warning shots. If they fire again, hit them hard.”
“Aye, sir. Stiz are preparing to fire.”
“Particlebeam incoming!”
Agincourt shook heavily with the impact. “Tactical, return fire, five seconds, half-power.”
Sh'zaoqoq hit the buttons. Nothing happened.
“Fire control is down!” shouted the E-Tech.
“Helm, evasive, get us out of here!” Westermann hung on to the arms of his command chair as Agincourt pulled away on sublight power. “Engineering, get fire control up, now.” He punched the intercom button. “Auxiliary control, who’s in charge down there?”
A familiar voice came over the speaker. “Xiaoli, Captain. We have very little working. Fire control is out here as well. Only one Stiz is pursuing, however.”
Agincourt shook again.
“They’re on our tail, Captain. Hull polarization at forty-five percent!”
“Torpedoes?”
“Launchers… online, bow only!”
“Helm, bring us about, course 180 mark 0. Spin us around.” Tactical, full spread.”
Agincourt shuddered with the sudden course change.
“Helm is sluggish, but responding,” reported Maddani.
“Nav is spotty, sir.”
“Torpedoes armed and ready, Captain.”
“Put one across their bow. Give them a warning shot.”
Sh'zaoqoq fired. “Away.”
The torpedo blossomed a hundred meters in front of the Stiz ship. It broke off immediately, turning back to the station.
“Stay on him, Helm. Tactical, if he opens fire on the station, take him out.”
The Stiz slowed and stopped beside its drifting counterpart. Westermann watched as a single energy strand formed around the damaged ship, then both sped into the darkness and out of visual range in only moments.
“Status?”
Harvey at Sciences turned. “Hull damage on the port flank, just a lucky shot on fire control systems. Minor injuries, life support is up to eighty percent, hull polarization holding at fifty-five.”
“Tactical tracking the Stiz. They are headed for the system boundary at high speed, sir.”
“Engineering reports full sublight available, hyperlight power in about six hours.”
“Helm and Nav responding, still sluggish, sir.”
“Comm is clear, Captain. Qoearc are well on their way home.”
Westermann looked from station to station, seeing anxious questions in many faces. “As soon as I have details regarding Commander Hamilton and the rest of our crew, I’ll let you know.”
He looked to Tactical. “Stand down from Battle Stations, go to Standby Alert. Call your relief to the Bridge. Comm, get Medical up here for followup on injuries. Commander Sh'zaoqoq.” She turned in her seat. “Good shooting. Well done.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sh'zaoqoq showed a tired, but satisfied, smile.
Five
Final Duties
“Duty Log, Captain Noah Westermann, 031517.12. The report on the loss of Commander Hamilton, Lieutenant Butler, and eight other shuttle crew and landing party members was a shock to everyone. The official cause is listed as ‘time-flow anomalies generated by the alien artifact and aggressive enemy action’. Somehow, the words don’t tell the real story.
Lori Hamilton was a unique officer. She wasn’t driven by rank or privilege, or command of others, but by doing the right thing for her shipmates.
Skip Butler was a brilliant young man with a bright future. According to survivors, he initially saved Commander Hamilton’s life with his own sacrifice, during their escape from the station. Gallantry without thought, bravery with selfless concern for others.
The Commander, herself, saw her landing party and surviving shuttle crew safely away from danger before the explosion. More courage shown by someone I once said was too cautious. I guess I just didn’t know her as well as I thought. Surely, she will be seriously considered for the Earthfleet Cross. But posthumous medals are not what Earthfleet is about. I seem to recall an ancient poem about pyrrhic victory.
The memorial service was held on the hangar deck, the only place on the ship large enough to accommodate the entire crew. There wasn’t a dry eye anywhere, including my own.
There are times in this Service I wonder where we find those who serve, and what they expect when they join Earthfleet. For me, it was the excitement of the unknown and adventure. For officers like Lori Hamilton, I think it was something much different; the opportunity to serve alongside those who might need a hand from time to time, to keep them a bit more grounded. I know she certainly did that for me.”
* * *
Captain’s Ready Room, EAS Agincourt…
Westermann pressed
the switch, closing out the log entry. The ready room door buzzed. “Come in.”
Dr. Kamisori entered. “You asked to see me, Captain.”
Westermann nodded. “Have a seat, Doctor.”
Kamisori sat, looking a bit tired.
“Status in Sickbay?”
The doctor thought for a moment. “No critical issues, everyone is back on their feet. The effects of the time-flow are dissipating slowly. We’re keeping an eye on several of the crew, just in case.”
“Such as Commander Sh'zaoqoq? How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine, Captain. I’ve given she and Abol three days of medical leave to spend together. They need the bonding time. Their level of fear was off the charts.”
“Yet they did their duties as required.”
Kamisori said nothing.
“Alright, Doctor, let’s talk about the situation here. You’re not happy on Agincourt.”
“That’s not exactly true, Captain.”
Westermann sighed. “Alright, what is the issue? Is it with me, or something else?”
Kamisori thought for a moment. “The ship is fine. It’s a good crew, well integrated and pretty diverse. Personally, I’d like to see more of that diversity, but I understand the crew works best if the majority is of one Race or type.”
Westermann waited. “And…”
Kamisori sat straighter. “Permission to speak freely?”
He sighed. “Go ahead.”
“You lack confidence. I know you’ve been on Agincourt for three years, and this is your first command. You have a good record. But you chose very carefully among your senior officers, particularly Lori Hamilton, Abol and Thevoss, Xiaoli at Sciences, and myself. They weren’t just the best available, they’re all experienced. More than you. You use them as a crutch.”
Westermann regarded her for a moment. “All captains rely on their senior officers, especially those who are better at their specialties than they are.”
“Yes, but instead of using that opportunity to better yourself, you sit back and give orders.”
