Star Trek Prometheus - in the Heart of Chaos

by Christian Humberg

  Manouk turned left toward the makeshift jump harnesses that had been fastened on the hangar wall. Ten men were just unstrapping, stretching their hurting limbs; another side effect of solar jumps.

  “Everything all right?” Manouk asked. He was barely older than them but somehow he felt responsible for them as captain of the Coumatha and a Purifying Flame veteran.

  The pilots all nodded. One of them looked pale, but none of them had vomited.

  Manouk was proud of these warriors who were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the cause, for their sacred mission. You will enter into eternal harmony, he thought. And the Son will reward you.

  “How many of these jumps do we have to endure?” asked Nadash, the leader of flight one. He was a young man who had shaved his head for the mission, adorning it with golden jewelry and symbols.

  “Five, if everything goes to plan.” Manouk permitted himself a grim smile. “But don’t worry, brothers. It will. We will reach the world that the Federation calls New France, and we will burn away the cancerous colonists who have spread all over its surface. And the Son will smile upon us, because we are restoring the harmony of the spheres. That’s how it will be.” He had inadvertently raised his voice, and now he was shaking his fists.

  The ten attack fighter pilots mirrored his gesture, cheering enthusiastically. “That’s how it will be! For the harmony of the spheres! Death to all sphere defilers!”

  Suddenly the proximity alert went off. The cheers died down, and Manouk looked up in surprise.

  Confused, Nadash and the others stared at him. “What’s that?”

  “I have no idea,” Manouk said.

  * * *

  The Coumatha’s hull suffered a direct hit, and soon after, a second one. The ship shuddered. Manouk’s stomach tied into a knot. Oh no, please don’t, he thought.

  “Be prepared,” he said to the pilots. “The enemy is here!”

  “The enemy?” Nadash asked, incredulous.

  “No time for explanations.” Manouk darted toward the cockpit.

  “They just appeared in front of us,” Jalal shouted instead of a greeting. “Just like that! I didn’t see them coming.” He pointed desperately at the narrow cockpit windows.

  Manouk rushed to the controls, gazing through the plated windshield. Below them, the sun’s photosphere bubbled with intense brightness, which was only bearable because the windows were equipped with strong polarization. This polarization allowed him to detect two dark figures in the shape of predator birds approaching steadily. The weapons mounted on the tips of their curved wings hurled green energy charges toward the Coumatha.

  “The shields are failing,” Jalal shouted. “This is the end!”

  “No!” Manouk ran to Houma who sat at the controls, adjusting settings frantically in an attempt to speed up the recharge process. “Houma, we need an emergency jump, no matter to which sun.”

  “We won’t make it,” she answered in desperation. “We don’t have enough energy.”

  “Overload the systems, I don’t care. The Coumatha must not fall into the hands of our enemies.”

  Another blast, and the solar-jumper was jerked to one side. Both Manouk and Houma lost their footing. He crashed into a cockpit wall, and she collapsed into his arms. Under different circumstances he would have enjoyed this moment of unexpected closeness. Now he just pushed the young woman away, stepping up to the controls himself. Warning lights flickered everywhere.

  Manouk groaned in desperation. “The engines are failing. We’re stuck here.”

  Jalal rose from his seat. An ominous fire burned in his eyes. “That leaves only one thing.” He looked at his sister and Manouk gravely.

  Manouk nodded in understanding. “Self-destruction. We allow the sphere defilers to come close, and then we blow ourselves up.” Due to the ten attack fighters on board, they had more than enough explosives to achieve that.

  “I’m going dark,” said Houma. “That way, they’ll figure we’re defeated and easy prey for them.” She joined Manouk at the controls, flicking several switches. Darkness fell over the bridge. Manouk imagined the pilots in the hangar, who didn’t know what was going on and might start to panic, but he couldn’t help that.

  Suddenly they heard an unfamiliar, ethereal chime. Three columns of red light appeared on the confined bridge. And it dawned on Manouk that he had forgotten something essential.

  “Transporters! The sphere defilers are beaming aboard.” Instinctively Manouk’s hand went to his belt, but the holster with his weapon wasn’t there. He had left it in the closet in his cabin. Why would he need a weapon on board his own ship?

  “Retreat!” Jalal shouted. “To the hangar!”

  All three scrambled to the door, impeding each other. Behind them they heard an animalistic howl, before the whine of an energy weapon.

  Houma screamed.

  Manouk’s eyes widened when he realized that the woman for whom he would have given his life had collapsed next to him. She had been hit in the back by one of their attackers.

  He whirled around. Anger welled up inside of him, bubbling like lava. He glared at the three Klingons who had materialized in the center of the Coumatha’s bridge. They wore martial clothing made from heavy leather, and stood there with raised weapons.

  Without thinking, just filled with a hot desire for vengeance, Manouk tore a fire-killer from the wall next to the hatch, hurtling the heavy metal cylinder towards their attackers. It hit the Klingon in the center of his body, sending him sprawling.

  One of his comrades fired at Manouk, narrowly missing him. The Renao fighter hardly noticed the heat that whizzed past his upper arm. With a guttural scream he launched forward. Ramming his shoulder into the Klingon’s stomach, he pushed him back two steps, and he hit the controls.

  Manouk’s fingers fumbled around the Klingon’s belt for something he assumed to be a knife. In the dim emergency light he hadn’t been able to identify it properly. Closing his fingers quickly around the hilt, he pulled the weapon from its sheath. His opponent hit him in the neck with the butt of his rifle, and Manouk collapsed on the floor. Although he felt dizzy, the anger made him spin around instantly, attacking while he was still on his knees. Howling, he stabbed the knife into the Klingon’s abdomen. The man screamed in agony, dropping his weapon. He brought one hand up to the hilt of the blade that stuck in his stomach. With his other hand he dealt another devastating blow to Manouk, throwing him off his feet. Again the Renao jumped up, fire in his eyes and foam on his lips. His head was pounding, and he tasted blood, but he didn’t care.

  Manouk focused his attention on the final opponent, who was just about to raise his energy weapon. Manouk leaped towards him.

  The Klingon fired.

  A green energy blast, glowing hot like the sun, sped towards Manouk, hitting him straight in the chest. He was stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. His torso cramped when a wave of agony sped through his entire body, searing his nerves. His agonized scream filled the narrow bridge, before the emergency lights went out and blackness engulfed Manouk—eternal blackness.

  U.S.S. Venture

  “My warriors have captured the solar-jumper, Admiral,” Commander Koxx reported to Gepta with audible pride.

  “Excellent.” Gepta, standing next to Henderson in the center of the bridge, nodded at the Klingon. “It’s extremely satisfactory when a plan is so smoothly executed.”

  He was hinting at the fight in orbit of Theris XI that the Bougainville and the Venture had staged along with the Drovana, the Chong’pogh, and the Nukmay, during which the Bougainville had drawn both B’rels behind her around the gas giant until they could be sure that the Renao sensors didn’t pick them up any longer. The Chong’pogh and the Nukmay had cloaked, darting at maximum speed towards the sun. With the element of surprise, it had been easy to incapacitate the Renao ship and board it—just like Gepta had predicted.

  “It was not entirely smooth, as you suggested,” Koxx said. “These Renao fought like
berserkers. Five of my crew are dead and two others are severely injured.”

  “No war is without casualties,” Gepta said. “But your men have achieved honor through our victory.”

  Henderson raised his eyebrows in surprise. So far, he hadn’t been aware of the fact that they were at war with the Renao. Hadn’t the president of the Federation repeatedly stressed how important it was to regard this as a peace mission? Still, he decided to remain silent. This was neither the right time nor the right place to point out politely but firmly to a superior officer that war was exactly what they all were trying to avoid—hopefully. I’d rather have this conversation in private in my ready room, he mused.

  Koxx, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be on the same page as Gepta, which was not surprising. He laughed.

  “You almost sound like a Klingon. Maybe there’s hope for Starfleet after all.”

  The Chelon admiral dismissed the dubious praise. “How many prisoners did we take?”

  His counterpart’s expression darkened. “None. They fought to the death. The last two took their own lives to avoid capture.” A grim smile crept onto his face. “But we captured something else that should be deeply interesting for you…”

  7

  NOVEMBER 26, 2385

  U.S.S. Prometheus, on the periphery of the Souhla system

  Sarita Carson looked up from ops to the main screen on the bridge where a blurred shape emerged from the red nebulae. “Captain, we found the Bortas.”

  “What’s their condition?” Adams asked.

  Roaas checked the tactical display. “The ship took some damage to the outer hull. Th’Talias didn’t fire long enough to affect any important systems.”

  “She had a lucky escape if you ask me,” Carson mumbled.

  “Mr. Winter, hail our allies please,” the captain said dryly.

  He stifled a yawn. It was almost 0900, but he hadn’t had much sleep during the previous night. The repairs to the ablative armor and the damaged systems, as well as the worry about his people laid up in sickbay, had kept him on his toes. He had only spent three hours in his quarters before the quiet but insistent alarm called him to alpha shift. But Adams knew that most of his crew shared that pain with him.

  Kromm’s face appeared on the bridge’s screen. The Klingon looked as if he had just returned from a bar brawl on one of the outer worlds of the Empire. His right eye had swollen shut, and blood trickled from a cut on his left cheek. A wiry Klingon woman was tending to his injuries but Kromm growled and waved her off with an impatient gesture. The nurse responded with a hiss that the universal translator wasn’t able to translate. She disappeared from view.

  “Adams. Your ship looks as if it has taken a beating.” Kromm’s lips parted in a gap-toothed grin.

  “The damage is superficial,” Adams said. “You look pretty well beaten yourself, Kromm. Who did that to you? Commander L’emka?”

  The other captain frowned.

  Adams knew he was provoking the Klingon by insinuating that a woman had overwhelmed him. He also knew that their permanent bickering was foolish and childish—now more so than ever, as they were facing an imminent threat. He still found it agonizingly difficult to treat Kromm in the objective and professional manner that was appropriate between two allied spaceship crews. Part of that could be blamed on the Son, but the simple fact was that Adams and Kromm didn’t see eye to eye—on much of anything.

  Quickly Adams raised his hand to forestall further comment from his counterpart. “Let’s leave it at that, Captain. We have more important things to do than score points with insults. What I meant to say was: we need to talk about what we have learned. And then we should ask ourselves in what way we should proceed against the Son of the Ancient Reds.”

  Gritting his teeth, Kromm nodded. “As is the case with annoying regularity, Adams, you are correct. Give us time to wipe the blood off the furniture, and then you and your crew will be welcome aboard the Bortas.”

  Adams was tempted to insist on a meeting aboard the Prometheus, but he had to admit that they had always convened on his ship. Kromm had every right to play the host for a change. And if this little triumph of playing a home match made him a little more bearable, Adams was ready to pay the price of hard metal chairs, reddish lighting, and bloodwine for refreshment.

  “We expect your invitation.”

  An affirmative growl was the answer, before Kromm terminated the link.

  “Mr. Winter, please inform ambassadors Spock and Rozhenko and Lieutenant Commander Mendon about the briefing. They will accompany me to the Bortas—if they are up to it.”

  “Aye, sir,” the dark-skinned German replied.

  The captain got up and walked towards the turbolift. “I’ll be in main engineering. Commander Roaas, you’ve got the bridge.”

  The Caitian confirmed the order as Adams passed him, getting up from tactical; zh’Thiin hurried over to relieve him.

  * * *

  Adams arrived at the main engine room on deck twelve shortly after, and walked into bustling activity. Jenna Kirk stood by the main engine controls. A technical drawing of the Prometheus had been brought up on a large display. Several sections flickered yellow, while two red dots were visible in the aft sections. Kirk studied the damage notifications, deploying technical teams to the repair sites.

  Behind her the slim warp core shimmered. The column, consisting of several separate sections, spanned the entire secondary hull. The three sections were interconnected matter–antimatter reaction chambers. The main chamber ran in standard mode, while the upper and lower reaction chambers would come into use with the help of additional matter and antimatter conduits during the ship’s separation. Adams knew that his ship’s core was a delicate piece of technology which didn’t exist in any of the other ship classes in Starfleet. That made for complicated repair schedules.

  The same could be said for the softly flickering globe construction in the adjacent room, which was visible through a hatch. The newly installed and independently operating quantum slipstream drive was currently the crème de la crème of modern propulsion systems. Admiral Kathryn Janeway had brought this technology home from the Delta Quadrant, and it had been only four years since ships had been equipped with it. Sometimes Adams had the distinct feeling that no one really felt safe flying with it. It was like speeding through a busy city center doing a hundred kilometers per hour. The tiniest mistake in the complex calculations required to keep up the slipstream could have fatal consequences.

  Of course, the control programs were improved every year, and during their pit stop at Deep Space 9 almost a month ago, the Prometheus’s software had been updated. Still, Adams only ever used the drive in emergency situations. His ship didn’t belong to the Vesta-class that had been constructed especially for quantum slipstream travel.

  “Captain.” Kirk had spotted him and was looking at him in surprise. “What brings you to us gearheads?”

  “I just wanted to talk to you about what happened to us in orbit around Iad, Commander.”

  The chief engineer put her hands on her hips. “If you’re referring to the failure of our shields, sir… that was an extreme situation by anybody’s standards. We were inside this chaos zone, and a Klingon attack cruiser decided to fire on us, while none of us were able to think clearly.”

  Defensively, Adams raised his hands. “Nothing was further from my mind than to blame you, Jenna, or anyone else. There was no way that we could have anticipated any of what happened. But that means we have to consider how we can avoid similar incidents in future. We have no other choice but to return to that chaos zone if we want to stop the Son of the Ancient Reds.”

  “Understood, sir.” Kirk nodded. “We… Hey, Bottlinger, Na Bukh! Where are you going with those bio-neural gel packs? We need them here. Go and get some from the cargo modules.” The petite human woman and the Triexian with the orange skin confirmed her order, lowering the transport box that they had intended to carry out of the room.

  “B
egging your pardon, sir,” said Kirk when she turned back to Adams. “You’re right, of course. The Prometheus must be able to deal with any challenge. She failed in this case. So we need a few good ideas. I’m just wondering whether I’m the right person to talk to. Commander Mendon knows much more about this permanently fluctuating radiation than I do.”

  “But you know much more about this ship’s technology than he does,” Adams said. “Go through all the data that we collected about this chaos zone. If you need help, request anyone from the science department you need. Commander Mendon and I need to go to a meeting on the Bortas, but when we get back he will join you to assist.”

  “Does this take priority over the repairs?” Kirk asked, motioning to include everything around her.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could deal with both, Commander,” Adams replied earnestly. “Concentrate on the question of how to enhance the shield regeneration routines so that they can withstand radiation impact. The defense shield in combination with the adaptive radiation filter seems to have worked very well. However, it didn’t regenerate after the Bortas took a shot at us. We need to find the reason for that, and we need to close the gap in the system.”

  Kirk nodded. “All right, Captain. I’ll hand the repairs over to Tabor, and I’ll start working on that problem right away.” She did try to hide her lack of enthusiasm, alas not very successfully.

  Adams gave her a sidelong glance. “Is there a problem, Commander?”

  “No, sir. Not really.”

  He regarded his chief engineer in silence before taking her aside and lowering his voice. “We’ve served together for eight years, Jenna. You’re one of my longest serving officers, and you know that I appreciate honest words. So, out with it… What’s the matter?”