“Singh to bridge,” came a voice over the comm system. “Whatever those aliens unleashed is doing a number on the warp core. We couldn’t generate a warp bubble if you doubled my salary.”
Garrett grimaced. “Any damage to the core itself?”
“Containment fields are holding steady, but there’s too much interference to try to initiate warp.”
“Understood. Make sure everything down there is monitored and please make certain the weapons remain on-line. They’re the priority.”
“I can’t make warp, but we can keep the phasers warm and ready.”
“Finally some good news. Bridge out.” Garrett rose from the command seat and began to walk around the lower section of the bridge. Her gaze barely wavered from the tactical display, while stealing glances at the ops and helm stations before her. She took another step, toward the science console on the upper ring of the bridge, when the ship was rocked and she lost her balance. Falling hard on her left hip, she stifled a cry of pain. Scrambling to her feet, Garrett saw she wasn’t alone. It was a hard enough jolt that half the crew was also getting back to their feet.
Hemachandra, who had remained in his chair, was already studying the readouts. “They literally charged the entire area of the web with raw energy. The web interior generated feedback, causing the stabilizers to short out for a moment before the backups came on-line.”
“The probes are moving, coming closer,” Luttrull called out, catching Garrett’s attention.
“Tightening the web, unlike the Tholian way,” the captain muttered. “Projection of time until they touch the shields.”
The tactical officer paused a moment and finally said, “Thirty-two minutes, six seconds.”
“Nelson, when that kind of energy touches the shields…?”
He looked directly into her brown eyes, the expression saying more than the word. “Boom.” Hemachandra elaborated. “The reaction of our shield harmonics and that much naked plasma will cause overloads to just about every system you can name. We’d be dead in space and easy pickings for these aliens.”
“Options. Everyone speak up,” she invited.
“Phasers,” Luttrull snapped immediately.
“I agree,” Carmona said.
“Standard diplomacy doesn’t appear to be working, so we need another approach,” McAvennie added.
Garrett retook her seat, checked the ship schematic behind her for damage reports, and was pleased to see minimal trouble. She tried to channel the adrenaline flow, using it to stay focused. “Okay, target the forward probe. Fire on my command. Nelson, Thithta, watch the energy and radio signatures. See if we do any damage.” Everyone agreed. For the first time since taking command of the starship, she gave the order every captain anticipated—and feared: “Fire.”
Scarlet beams leapt across the viewscreen as the phaser array let loose its first volley. They struck the probe dead-on, but didn’t appear to pierce the construct or interrupt the plasma flow. Instead, the added phaser energy in the already charged area of space in which the starship was trapped caused a ripple. The ship shuddered slightly. “No damage,” Hemachandra said quietly.
The disappointment among the crew was palpable, and Garrett sunk deep into her cushioned seat. She wasn’t going to panic, wasn’t going to act rashly. Staring at some of the supernumerary crew in their buff and red jumpsuits or maroon duty jackets, the captain realized she didn’t know them all. They were faces without names, and she was expected to put her trust into them. Well, she wanted command, Garrett reminded herself.
Shaking off the disappointment, she looked at the screen. The probes were slightly obscured by the brilliant blue of the plasma. Garrett then noticed the dull throbbing beneath her boots. The ship itself was feeling the effects of the tightening web, and things were only going to get rockier.
Thithta half rose from his seat, a hand toggling a control. “Static in subspace increasing.”
Garrett rubbed a thumb across her chin, mind racing through options. She was dimly aware of Thithta’s comment. Then her eyes snapped into focus.
“We may not understand the radio signals between ship and probe, but can you try to jam them—disrupt the connection and maybe break the web?” She looked intently at her communications officer. The Andorian nodded back.
“Mr. Hemachandra, your opinion?” the captain asked, a snap back in her voice.
“If he can find the right frequency, then there is a chance.”
“Agreed,” the captain said. Standing, she leaned over the helmsman’s chair. “Mr. McAvennie, plot us a course 217 mark 5. We’ll be going at full impulse. Mr. Luttrull, target probes one, three, and seven,” the captain said, indicating the probes to the left of the viewscreen. “Use the deflector dish to enhance the signal. Bridge to engineering.”
“Singh, here.”
“Cat, it’s going to get bumpier. What’s impulse like?”
“Just fine.”
“Keep it that way. Out. Okay, Mr. McAvennie, we’re about to go for a ride. Pick a safe course away from the aliens.”
McAvennie’s hands hesitated for a second, then had the course entered. “Course laid in,” she confirmed.
Garrett nodded. “Thithta, now!”
The Andorian flicked two fingers at controls, activating the proposed frequency. Unlike their last attempt, there was nothing to watch on the viewer. Not a sound. It appeared that nothing was happening, and Garrett silently counted me seconds. On a screen to the right of the viewer, a countdown silently ticked off the time remaining.
The ship shook violently, spilling the command crew from their chairs. Alert comm signals rang throughout the bridge, and the shuddering seemed unending. Garrett staggered to her knees, looking at her ripped pans leg; a trickle of blood ran from her thigh. Looking about her, she watched the blue energy start vibrating, flickering in and out of synch with the probes. Loose plasma snaked and actually seemed to destroy two probes, breaking the web for good.
“Full impulse, now!” she cried.
McAvennie, from her knees, pushed the controls and held tight as the ship bucked and then seemed to surge forward. She regained her chair and checked the readouts. Quickly, the Irish woman turned to the captain and smiled.
Within seconds, the ship was upon the gaping space and moving past it. Stray plasma continued to stream without direction, and such unchecked energy wreaked havoc with the Enterprise’s shields. Tendrils, which had earlier destroyed the alien probes, now whipped across the shields. While the actual contact was exceptionally brief, that much raw power coming into contact with the starship’s shields caused major turbulence. It didn’t take long for the crew to feel the sustained impact. Once again, the deck plates seemed to disappear, and people were thrown more wildly than before. As feared, systems began to overload, and first one, then three, then four consoles around the bridge sparked. Smoke billowed around them, turning the bridge into a red-hued hell.
Cries and curses were mixed with the alarm sirens, and all Garrett could discern were bodies falling and boots running on wherever the deck ended up. She had wrapped an arm around the base of the command chair and held on for dear life, ignoring her own pain. There was no question that this was going to be a costly maneuver, but she couldn’t begin to imagine the damage to crew and ship.
Fans finally kicked into action, sucking the smoke away as fire suppression systems came on line. Some things still worked, Garrett decided grimly. Risking movement, the captain regained her feet and first looked about the bridge. A smooth operation was turned into a charnel house.
Carmona, her first officer, was slumped over ops, blood deepening his duty jacket.
McAvennie was curled under the smoking helm, sparks from a cable dancing around her bloody hair.
And Luttrull lay on the deck, ten feet from tactical, her neck at the wrong angle.
Garrett swallowed hard and called out, “Thithta, get medics up here!” There was no confirming reply, and the captain slowly turned around. Thitht
a was either dead or unconscious: Garrett couldn’t tell. Steeling herself for the worst, she continued to survey her bridge. Hemachandra was alive but was nursing a sore arm, possibly broken. The older man appeared dazed, probably in shock. Some of the crew she didn’t know were also dead, but thankfully not all.
Hitting her chair communicator, she called, “Sickbay, bridge. We have dead and wounded. Send a priority team.”
“Casado, bridge. Acknowledged.” The CMO was certainly busy, but the bridge staff took priority over all other areas, including engineering and weapons.
Finally, the captain forced herself to look at the tactical display on the main viewer, and through the thinning smoke she saw that the damaged Enterprise was moving away from the disrupted energy web, but the alien ships were also breaking formation. The fight was not over.
She walked stiffly to ops, which was still functioning. Carefully, but without hesitation, she moved Carmona’s body to the deck and sat at the console. Wiping his blood away with her right sleeve, Garrett slaved helm’s controls to the station. The captain slowed the ship’s movement and refined the course, away from the alien vessels and moving directly away from the pulsar in an effort to clear their sensors. While she wanted to mourn, first Garrett needed to assess the status of her ship and crew. It felt like her time on the Gandhi all over again, but this time she didn’t have to step in for a dead captain and face down the Cardassians. No, this was her ship, and she’d be damned if this were to become another Kobayashi Maru, another no-win scenario.
Garrett took a moment to get a feel for her ship and could tell something was wrong.
“Engineering, report.”
“Singh here. That thing packed quite the wallop. Impulse is sluggish, and I’m tracking down the problem. Inertial dampers are shot, and we’re running on the backups. Can you give me some repair time?”
“Don’t think so, Cat. Looks like our neighbors are staying on our tail. Out.” Okay, she thought, could have been worse. So much fluctuating energy in the area, from the binary and the plasma, things could have been much worse. Priority now is to get back to Federation territory without the aliens following. The last thing she wanted was a first contact not only to go badly but to invite hostile aliens into Federation space. Some legacy that would be.
“Captain.”
It was a voice she didn’t recognize and it took her a moment to look up. A handsome young man looked back. Clear eyes, no apparent injuries despite the smoke-darkened cadet jumpsuit. He stood on the bridge’s upper ring and was fronting two others. “Cadet Richard Castillo, ma’am.”
“Cadet?”
“What are your orders?” He had an intense look, seemingly unafraid of what was happening around him. The others had similar intent expressions, but Castillo exuded confidence, something she needed.
“Of course. Castillo, take tactical. You…”
“Maria Stachow.”
“…Stachow, take ops. And you…”
“John Nee, Captain.”
“…Nee, of course. Relieve Thithta at communications.”
A chorus of ayes resounded, and the trio was in motion. The turbolift doors finally snapped open, and medical personnel came streaming in. Nee beckoned a doctor to the ailing Andorian while he grabbed the receiving earpiece.
“I need status, people. Stachow, give me distance from the alien vessels and best possible speed.” Once again, she pictured her anxiety as a fine laser beam searing away all distractions.
Castillo had been studying the board in front of him, clearly his first time at that station. “The plasma web is shutting itself down with the alien ships no longer in position to control it. The remaining probes seem to be dead in space. The aliens themselves are closing, matching our full impulse.”
“Hemachandra, what’s out there?”
The science officer was already scanning the area so his response was quick and precise, something that gave Garrett unexpected comfort. “Plasma is dissipating, and this whole region is clearing up. We can maneuver freely.”
“We’ve been running the automatic hails all this time and still no response,” Nee reported. “If they’re communicating intership, I can’t find the signal.”
Garrett rubbed her aching leg, waving off a corpsman, pointing to the bodies before her. “Stop transmitting. We tried it by the book, but now we have to handle it another way.” She sat in her command chair and gave herself a deep breath to think. Clearly, home is the destination, but not with three ships in pursuit. Enterprise was hurt and couldn’t possibly outfight them, and help was too far away.
“Captain to engineering.”
“Singh here.”
“Do I have full weapons?”
“Right now.”
“Warp speed?”
“Give me an hour.”
“Who am I to argue with my personal miracle worker?” she said with a slight smile. “Okay. Can we cut that time down?”
“Probably.”
“Okay. I’ve got an idea. Keep someone nursing the dampers. I’ll need them. Out. Okay, gentlemen, time to make a stand.” She stood, walking around debris from the damaged consoles, avoiding the blood her officers left near their posts.
“Castillo, I need phasers at their finest calibration. I want pinprick precision, and target the underbellies of the alien vessels. Aim for the weakest spots, support struts, exhaust ports, whatever you can find. Tie in with Hemachandra’s science sensors.”
“Aye, Sir,” the voice replied. It sounded strong and eager, matching her own feeling. The captain needed a strong crew right now and that’s what she was getting.
“Stachow, I want to execute a heading with as much control as you can master. The helm may be slow and impulse will be complaining the whole time but don’t deviate. First, let’s go to 217 mark 42, then increase x-axis plus ten thousand meters, spiraling upward counterclockwise.”
“Aye, Captain,” the blonde replied. Her fingers moved with ease; she had obviously had recent time at the station. All the better, Garrett thought.
“Castillo,” she called behind her, “what are our friends up to?”
He paused, reading the tactical sensors. “Still approaching at full impulse. They may be trying to herd us toward the binary, let all that radiation fry what’s left of the ship’s systems.”
“Are they within phaser range?”
Another pause, this one shorter. “One minute.”
Her new bridge crew snapped to work, pausing only once or twice to find a control or fine-tune a command. Before committing the ship to fresh action, she gave everyone precious seconds to acclimate themselves. She knew it was a risk with hostile vessels nearby, but she also felt it was necessary. The moments would allow them to focus their thinking on the task at hand and not be entirely reactive, which could lead to mental errors. Garrett walked to the upper ring, checking on the crew there. Near the environmental controls, she put a comforting hand on an ensign being treated for a head wound. Andrew Norrie, a doctor she recognized, looked up with a stunned expression as he pulled a covering over the dead body of another crew member. If she lost this many on the bridge, what would the total casualty count be? She didn’t dare ask aloud. Time enough later for a body count, she thought with a small shudder.
The bridge continued to be bathed in crimson lighting, but at least the acrid smoke was barely noticeable. Maybe she had become accustomed to it. No, she noticed then, the environmental controls were still intact and working.
The ship seemed to handling its new course well, giving her confidence to feed the rest of the instructions to her new helmsman. Dire communications on the overhead speakers had also died down, and Nee seemed to be handling the calls well. In fact, he seemed almost relaxed at the post, as if he were meant to serve there.
Stachow nodded as Garrett reeled off additional course information and then checked to make sure Castillo had the phasers targeted to her specifications. He looked at her with an apologetic grin, saying, “I only took the ba
sic courses on tactical, Sir. Didn’t even test on them during training cruises. Usually sat at the helm.”
“That’s all right, Castillo,” Garrett replied, returning the smile. “You’ll get a chance to sit there another time. Right now, you’re my gunnery officer. You do know which are the firing controls?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied emphatically.
“Good. Okay, Stachow, stand by for my mark. Captain to the crew,” Garrett said, addressing the speakers above her. “I’ve asked a lot of this ship in the course of our confrontation. I’m asking for a little more right now. Secure your positions. The next few minutes could get rough.” Garrett studied the tactical display, still showing the blue starship being stalked by the red vessels. They were coming closer in a recognizable attack position, almost comforting in its familiarity.
She walked over to the helm, leaned over the ensign’s shoulder and said, “Go.”
The starship seemed to groan in complaint as it began to increase speed. On the main viewer, it appeared they were moving in a circle. Garrett had kept the viewscreen locked onto a forward view, so as the ship moved, the alien vessels came and went off the screen. Watching the readouts on the tactical screen, she checked the distance between the Enterprise and its adversaries; the gap between them narrowed, and she admired that the alien ships didn’t slow despite the Enterprise’s unusual movement. In the captain’s mind, there was a magic number when it would be safe to release Castillo to do his part. Finally, the numbers ticked down and she bit her lower lip to steady herself, ignoring the pain from a bruise.
“Castillo, fire now.”
Without responding, normally a breach of protocol, he stabbed the phaser firing controls and used his left hand to constantly adjust the targeting. Red phaser beams were seen striking the aliens’ own screens. However, with each contact, their screens were clearly illuminated and seemed to crackle with energy. Perhaps they were vulnerable after all.
“Hemachandra, what do you read?”
“Their shield matrix does not seem as versatile as ours. They are weakening, but since I haven’t managed proper scans, I can’t begin to guess what kind of damage we’re causing.”
Star Trek: Enterprise Logs Page 26
