Hesperus Rising

Deployed along the Former DMZ, the crew of the USS Savannah discover that "Mens Agitat Molem" might not be enough to counter the duplicity of the True Way and the New Marquis.

Casus Belli – Part 1

Former DMZ / USS Savannah / Captains Ready Room / Deck 1
2401.7.11 / 8:07hrs (Shipboard Time)

Casus Belli – An act or situation provoking or justifying war” – The Oxford Dictionary of Phrase & Fable (2nd Ed).


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“One week out of Spacedock, and the USS Sacramento has attained position on our designated route along the former Demilitarized Zone – commencing patrol and surveillance duties. As a crew, it is apparent that there is still some way to go to achieve a level of operational – readiness that can be justifiably called “cohesive.” For example, whilst I have full confidence in the ability of my Senior Operations Officer, Ensign Vikander, who is a born administrator – the level of due diligence exercised by some of the ratings under her command leaves somewhat to be desired. It appears that a full inventory was not conducted before we got underway – an example & testament to this is that we have a full complement of Medical Hypospray ampules of antibiotic serum – but someone on Starbase 72 neglected to accompany this shipment with the actual Hypospray injectors themselves. To say that Dr Reynard was upset about this oversight would be underestimating the boundaries of that term in the extreme. Resultantly I have tasked the Chief of the Boat to take the matter in hand and work with the XO to take a full inventory of supplies onboard and confirm what other unpleasant surprises may or may-not be lurking in our cargo holds.”

Lieutenant Commander Samantha Allen paused the recording and sat back in her seat and rubbed her eyes tiredly. The Ready Room had a more ‘lived – in” look, as Sam had had the chance to unpack her few belongings and personalize the space. She looked to the small shelf near the door and smiled at the small ceramic funerary icon that perched there – it had been a gift from her late – father from one of his digs. The piece was truly awful in both form and execution – but Samantha always smiled when she looked upon it as it reminded her of Jonas’s equally awful sense of humor and reminded her of better days.

Since taking command of the reactivated New Orleans – class frigate, she had to admit that there had been few of those to date.

The discipline issue with her Tactical Officer had not yet resolved into a harmonious working relationship. Not only did Ensign Ithariar Sh’eshikrar remain caustic and aloof – her actions at drydock (which had undoubtedly saved all aboard) had made the young Andorian something of a folk – hero to the lower – decks. Sam was mindful of the importance in bringing such a popular and key bridge – officer back into the fold – without creating further conflict or even elevating a martyr to the other – ranks. This was a problem the new CO of the USS Savannah elected to leave out of her official log for now. A work in progress perhaps.

Sam sighed and resumed the recording of the day’s Log.

“Of the ship itself, it can be said that we have managed to maintain a reasonable level of operational efficiency, although Chief Herrera and his team have been experiencing ongoing issues with EPS grid stabilization. The New Orleans – class and other sub-vessels of the “Fleet – Modernization” era are infamous for such issues – a legacy of providing design – proving technologies that went into the good – old Galaxy – class – to be sure. Having a ship sit in mothballs for this long and rushed out to cover patrol duties without the luxury of the traditional “Shakedown” – cruise was always going to be a gamble on a good day with all the luck in the quadrant on our side. I must remind myself to make sure Captain Williams covers the Ante – if we ever make it back to Spacedock. As it is, we are fortunate that Lieutenant Herra’s MOS is specifically EPS technology. In this we are most fortunate to have the Chief’s acumen – even if it means that we have to ration and allocate power distribution to certain systems on an “at – need” basis for the time being. This has not had a positive effect on the Crew’s Morale.”

Sam paused the recording of her log once more and rose to her feet and made her way to the replicator.

“Lapsang – Souchong. Black. Medium – hot.” She commanded and took up the earthenware cup and breathed in the smoky aroma of the Chinese Black – tea. Whilst it was a pale imitator to the real thing (she had a dwindling small supply of actual leaves that she jealously hoarded and rationed to herself), it would suffice to center her thoughts.

She resumed.

“Maintaining morale is foremost in my mind. The crew is young, inexperienced and for many this is their first time shipping out and there have been several instances of friction as the social hierarchy establishes itself, as it inevitably does, ancillary to the command hierarchy. I would be more concerned, if my list of concerns was not already so pronounced, if not for the presence aboard and inventiveness of our Special Services Division crewmember, Kennedy Zhao.”

Samantha Hyland continued to record as she paced around the room, occasionally sipping at her beverage and came to stop at the small viewport and gazed out at the elongated arc of the starfield as the ship made way. Memories of the night, three days hence, making her smile. Memories of Carlito Herrera chief amongst them.

“Kennedy has worked wonders with the Seven Forward social – space in just a few scant days. If it were not for the assistance of Chief Hayes and Doctor Reynard – who had a great deal of creative input into providing direction on cultural ambiance and historically accurate musical performance – respectively – I might be given to attribute the extraordinary success of the opening of the new “O – bar” to an act akin to sorcery, or at the very least – rare alchemy.”

Samantha took another sip and her personal thoughts strayed to the potential for complimentary chemistry with a certain Chief Engineering Officer of her acquaintance. Although nothing of note transpired during the heady New – Orleans inspired evening of Jazz and “Fais Do Do” and Carlito Herrera was nothing but a perfect gentleman – Sam Hyland was sure that there was Boo-Coo potential for a little “Lagniappe” on the cards for both of them, if the Seven Forward space continued to be such a success and she played her cards right.

“Of particular inspiration is Ms. Zhao’s utilization of SSH’s (Special Services Holograms). Not only is it a practical way to ensure that Seven Forward is manned in off – peak or busy hours without undue impact on actual crew rostering – but Kennedy has programmed each SSH with a holistic learning subroutine that actually allows each hologram to change mannerism, approach and even appearance to maximize the interaction with each customer – based upon meta-data from their files. The effects are salubrious in the extreme and certainly went down famously with the crew. This once allocation of EPS power – that I don’t think we can do without for now.”

Sam took her seat once more and prepared to close out her Log – her thoughts turning to matters more turbulent in their wake.

“My concerns regarding the ordinance incident in Drydock continue to be a point of grave concern. To date there has been nothing constructive forthcoming from the investigation in train aboard Starbase 72 and our own internal review indicates that the affected consignment of Photon Torpedo’s definitely were received with the arming chip in – place when they were beamed aboard. The Cargo Transporter’s log aboard the MMP is unequivocable in this. This is scant reassurance as this is a situation almost without preceedance. Whilst mistakes can and do happen, the protocols around ordinance transfer are so routine and well – founded that such a lapse in protocol is infinitely unlikely. It is a loose end I can ill afford and (worse still) there is unsubstantiated rumor and gossip circulating aboard that an act of sabotage may be the root – cause. I must find answers to this riddle, before the damage from this incident manifests in a wholly different manner that us just as destructive to this ship and crew.”

Sam steepled her brow in her fingers tiredly and rubbed her eyes, she could feel the beginning of a migraine coming on – but she reasoned that this could not be helped at this time.

“Lastly, there is the Strategic situation to consider. Intelligence reports received from Task Force Command indicate a heightened level of hostile activity in the volume we are operating in. Several reports of incursions by New Marquis forces have been reported in the last few days. Mostly hit and run raids with small skirmisher – units, which is entirely typical of their Modus Operandi. I suppose that there is some small comfort that they are, at least, staying true to form and not giving us any more to worry about by getting “Creative.” Of far more significant concern is the absence of response or retaliation by either the Cardassian High Command or their errant progeny The True Way. Lieutenant T’Vran – whose tactical acumen is without question – is concerned that this absence of activity may indicate some deeper collusion. I myself, do not give this credence as it applies to our immediate sphere of operation – as the doctrine and philosophy of both opposing Cardassian factions are so diametrically opposed. Still – it is suspiciously quiet and when that silence involves a Cardassian of any stripe, it is prudent to be vigilant.”

Sam was about to close when her comm chimed and the voice of the Executive Officer interrupted her recount.

“Bridge to Captain Hyland.” Came T’Vran’s clipped, efficient tones.

Samantha frowned and replied.

“Hyland here. Go ahead Number One.”

Captain, we have received a subspace mayday call & verified the source on our long – range sensors. Telemetry is contemporaneous with a civilian transport. Transponder handshake checks out. It would appear to be the Independently – registered ‘SS -Devore’ out of Parsus#4. They claim that they are currently under attack by parties unknown.”

Sam paused her log and stood – making her way to the door.

“Plot a course to intercept and bring the ship to Yellow Alert, I’m on my way.”

Casus Belli – Part 2

Former DMZ / USS Savannah / Bridge / Deck 1
2401.7.11 / 08:10hrs (Shipboard Time)

 


Casus Belli – An act or situation provoking or justifying war” – The Oxford Dictionary of Phrase & Fable (2nd Ed).

 


 

 

The USS Sacramento dropped out of warp into the heart of the maelstrom.

Onscreen – the magnified forward view of space ahead showed the gradual arc of the Planet Persius – Major#2. A gentle ochre swirl of the Gas – Giant planet presented a serene backdrop to the conflict being wrought above the gently – churning surface of its crushing depths.

“Go to Red Alert. Sheilds up.” Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland ordered tersely as before her, the SS Devore – the merchant vessel that had summoned the New Orleans – class frigate with its plaintiff cry for help – tried to withstand the massed and coordinated assault from three smaller vessels, that ducked and weaved like birds of prey – circling their victim as they sought to deplete and overcome the civilian ship’s shields and inflict more grievous harm.

“Sheilds up Aye Captain.” Came the sure voice of Talbot Manningly, as the Chief of the Boat brought the shield emitters online, from his place behind her on the Tactical – arch.

“Tactical.” Sam commanded to Ensign Sh’eshikrar – who was poised next to the Chief of the Boat at her station at the center position on the Arch. Prepare a firing solution on the Hostile craft – target their shield generators and engines in that order. Targets of opportunity. We want to try to take them alive if we can. Fire if fired upon.”

“Aye Ma’am.” The Andorian Tactical Officer responded with what Sam was concerned was a little too much relish, but she had not time to ponder the conundrum of Ithariar Sh’eshikrar when lives were on the line.

“Helm. Plot an intercept course – full impulse. They haven’t seen us yet – but that’s only a matter of time until they do. When they do, dig into your back of tricks and give us something inspired.” The CO of the USS Savannah ordered Ensign Bysea Wanat. It was time to give her people some leeway and see how they operated under true pressure.

“Copy that, Captain. Closing to engage.” The Bolian responded smoothly, and her fingers flowed across the board – bringing the vessel around in a smooth, graceful arc as it’s triple Impulse – drives pushed the frigate to the redline.

“Number One, what are we looking at.” Sam turned to her Executive Officer sat to her right hand.

Lieutenant T’Vran was a recognized rising star of Starfleet Tactical Doctrine, and she smoothly summarized the engagement that they were rapidly closing on.

“Hostile craft are confirmed Peregrine – class Heavy fighters. Crew of two. Typical armament configuration of twin fore – mounted Type-IX phaser cannons and twin forward Micro torpedo launchers. An older class of starship, Warp – 3 capable. Three contacts – well within the Tactical – capacity of the USS Savannah to engaged with a comfortable margin of probability of survivability.”

Samantha considered the advice of her Vulcan XO.

“Warp – 3.” Sam tried to equate the implications of this. “That’s pretty short range. There appears to be no carrier – vessel on scans. Are we looking at raiders?”

T’Vran considered this hypothesis briefly with a slight incline of her head. She shook that well – formed cranium and adjusted the magnification on the screen so that the camera acquired and tracked on of the encroaching fighter – craft.

“Negative Captain.” T’Vran reasoned. “Whilst these are certainly a vintage design, the tactics exhibited in the engagement bear the hallmarks of those on record as eponymous with that of the Marquis.” The vessel on screen banked sharply after completing an attack run (phasers sizzling in the voiceless back void of vacuum) – on the underside of the wing, the insignia associated with the resurgent faction calling themselves the “New Marquis.” was clearly visible as the light of the distant sun caught the superstructure.

Samantha nodded and turned to Ensign Vikander.

“OPS – open me an all – ships – wide hail.”

Ensign Neva Vikander nodded curtly and responded, “Channel open Captain.”

“This is the Federation Starfleet vessel USS Savannah to the attacking ships.” Sam spoke with iron and authority in her voice as she commanded. “You are engaged in illegal hostile action against a civilian vessel in protectorate space. You are hereby ordered to cease all hostile actions, heave to and prepare to surrender your vessels. Any failure to immediately comply will……”

The bridge was suddenly shaken as it came under answering – fire. The Sheild generators could be heard issuing a perceptible whine as they strive to dissipate the locum of energy throughout the ship-wide enveloping field of energies.

“One of the Tangos has broken off its attack of the SS Devore and is engaging us with weapons fire.” Security Chief Myron Hayes reported needlessly from his position – the final station on the Tactical – arch.

Sam turned her shoulder to regard the hulking New – Orleans native with an arch of her eyebrow and nodded.

“Yes, thank you Chief Hayes, I got that impression.” Sam remarked dryly and turned back to the screen.

“TAC!’ She barked to Ensign Sh’eshikrar.

“Aye Captain?” Ithariar’s voice was eager with anticipation.

“Off the leash.” Lt Commander Hyland ordered simply and let loose her Dog of War.

As soon as the order was given, the USS Savannah’s own arrays of Type X Phase banks hissed to life, engaging and enveloping the attacking Peregrine’s in long, lethal lances of destructive phasic energy.

“Engineering.” Sam turned to address the duty – Engineering bridge officer that stood at the rearmost bank of screens in the small command – space.

“Aye Captain?” responded Petty Officer Hal Halligan, a youngish looking NCO Engineer with a shock of red – hair and pale, freckled skin.

“I want you to prepare to extend our shield enclosure to encompass that of the SS Devore. They’re obviously taken a beating and we can’t be sure of the state of their shields. We’re going to hunker on down amidships to her dorsal plane and take her under our wing.” Sam nodded to Halligan.

“Yes Captain – although that action will reduce the overall effectiveness of our shield grid down to 65%.” The young engineer warned prudently.

“I am aware – make it so.” Sam commanded with authority.

“Aye Ma’am – preparing to modulate the shield harmonics on your command.”

“Very good.” Sam nodded and turned back to Bysea.

“HELM? It’s time for you to show us what this old – girl can do.” Samantha nodded to the pilot.

Despite the threat of imminent death and danger all around, the young Bolian’s azure face spilt into a megawatt smile and she nodded.

“Oh, you got it Skipper!” and pitched the controls with practiced, easy sweeps of her slim fingers.

As she gripped the handrests of her Captain’s chair with white – knuckles and braced her feet against the deck, Sam was forced to admit to herself that (despite what the technical specifications allowed) that she had no idea that a New Orleans – class frigate could actually DO what Bysea Wanat was making it do.

All 345 meters and 1,100,000 metric Tonnes of Federation starship seemed to suddenly pitch straight up on its ‘tail’ and accelerate violently for exactly 2.38 seconds before being wrenched into a corkscrewing pivot through its central axis and powering in a thundering curving torus under the SS Devore – completely alluding the attacking craft – which suddenly had to take hard – evasive action to risk collision with the larger ship.

At the same time, Ensign Sh’eshikrar (who had practiced tactics with her Pilot best – friend, countless times) reported with satisfaction.

“Scratch one Tango! Sheilds down and engines offline, she’s drifting and down for the count. Sensors confirm one life-sign.” The Andorian sounded like she could be calmly running through a shopping list. “The remaining two have broken off engagement of the Civilian and are forming up for a delta – attack run from our fore – port and aft – starboard ventral quadrants – trying to divert our fire.”

“One life sign”. Sam reflected grimly. Despite their opponent’s hostile intent, Samantha did not celebrate the death of one of her attackers. She doubted the same could be said of the attacking New Marquis vessels. At least Ensign Wanat’s stomach churning maneuvers were reducing the opportunity for their foes to attain a clear target lock on the USS Savannah and be sure of a successful launch of their own Micro – torpedo’s as long as the frigate maintained this hectic series of attitude and planar changes.

“HELM.” Sam managed through gritted teeth and was glad that she had elected to partake in only a light lunch that morning. “As much as I enjoy your deft barnstorming as the next woman, I think it’s time to hunker down and turtle up to the SS Devore.” She suggested as nonchalantly as she could (which wasn’t very).

“You got it Skipper!” Bysea responded brightly (making Sam wonder if anything ever unsettled this seemingly endlessly – positive young officer?) and the USS Savannah resumed a more even keel and moved to converge its course with the stricken Civilian Freighter.

“OPS – see if you can raise the Captain of the Devore?” Sam commanded Neva, as the ship once again began to take on hostile fire.

Soon the viewscreen was filled with a crackling feed from the SS Devore and Samantha was surprised to learn that it’s Master was a Ferengi.

“Captain Hyland. We have been following your broadcast and are decidedly grateful for your assistance.” The Ferengi responded genuinely. “I am Captain N’vok.”

Samantha smiled; she had grown up with a Ferengi as a childhood friend on the Galaxy – class USS Venture. Where most people found Ferengi duplicitous and untrustworthy, Sam Hyland had a decided soft – spot for these cunning people with a sliding moral – scale.

“Good to make your acquaintance Captain.” Sam responded, “We intend to rendezvous with your vessel and take you into our field enclosure – that should provide you additional protection whilst we neutralize the aggressor.”

Captain N’vok threw up his hands and smiled with unease.

“Oh! No need Captain! No need! Our shield capacity is more than capable of accounting for the bites of these “G’nush – flies”

Sam frowned and responded.

“But your hails indicated that you’re shields were failing and the situation urgent?”

Captain N’vok smiled depreciatively and shrugged.

“Well, the Fifth – rule of Acquisition states that…..”

Always exaggerate your estimates.” Sam rolled her eyes, finishing the Ferengi Captain’s sentence for him.

N’vok nodded in appreciation.

“Ah! I see that you are an EDUCATED human, Captain. So refreshingly rare in these less cultured times!”

Slightly rankled by Captain N’vok’s subterfuge, Samantha decided.

“In which case, belay that last and hold fast whilst we deal with the hostiles.”

“We most certainly have no desire to go anywhere at this time Captain Hyland. There’s no profit to be found in heroism.” N’vok grinned.

“I’m not familiar with that rule?” Sam frowned as she gestured to Bysea to break off the rendezvous.

“It’s less of a rule and more of a ‘personal motto’, Captain. SS Devore out!”

The USS Savannah broke of their approach and it short order, Ensign Sh’eshikrar reported.

“Scratch Two! Second tango eliminated Captain. Total destruction – direct hit on her Warp – core. Apologies, Captain – couldn’t be helped.”

Samantha did not feel that the Andorian was particularly sorry, but War was War and the New Marquis assailants had made their choice on which side of the line they stood on, when they refused her order to surrender and opened fire on her ship and crew.

“The last Hostile is breaking and preparing to go to warp Captain.” Chief Manningly reported as the last Peregrine, deciding that it was better to live to fight another day, broke off its attack – run and proceeded to flee the engagement.

“Shall I plot a course to intercept Captain?” Ensign Wanat enquired.

“Negative Helm.” Sam shook her head. “That last ship doesn’t present a continued threat on its own and I for one have had enough bloodshed for one day. Bring us about and plot an intercept to the surviving Peregrine.

“Aye ma’am, coming about.” Bysea responded and the deck pitched gently as she brought the frigate round on a course and heading to intercept the first heavy – fighter that they had disabled, mere moments ago.

“TAC – prepare a tractor beam – target the survivor.”

“Aye Captain.” Ensign Sh’eshikrar confirmed.

“OPS – prepare to beam the survivor directly to sickbay. Inform Dr Reynard that she has one Marquis survivor inbound, in probable need of medical attention. Hostile – patient protocol to apply.”

“Acknowledged Ma’am.” Neva nodded efficiently and moved to make it so.

“Chief Hayes.” The CO turned to her Security Chief, “I can’t imagine that our hospital visitor is going to be in a hospitable mood. Please dispatch a security detail to sickbay and raise a security containment field on that deck. We don’t want our guest going anywhere, not until we’ve had the opportunity to ask them a few pressing questions.”

“Aye Captain.” Myron rumbled.

“Captain, the SS Devore is getting underway.” T’Vran noted.

“Ferengi are terrible at goodbyes, they are even worse at gratitude. Captain N’vok likely wants to avoid any conversations around reward.” Lieutenant Commander Hyland smiled blithely, as the SS Devore (sure enough) went to warp, without a word of thanks or a bar of Latinum surrendered.

Sam felt both elated and drained by the short, but frenetic engagement. This was her first experienced as a commander and although that her presiding feeling was one of relief that she had survived with her ship and crew intact, she also had enough nascent – humanity to be keenly aware that three Marquis had just lost their lives as a result of the hostilities and that was nothing to be proud of.

“Captain this is sickbay – we have your casualty.” Came the efficient voice of the CMO, Dr Reyard, over the Bridge comm – channel.

“Very good Doctor.” The CO nodded as the adrenaline began to fade and her mind & muscles felt suddenly exhausted. “What is their prognosis?” Sam was eager to interrogate the Marquis raider, when they were fit to be questioned, there was vital intel to be gained about their reasons for attacking the civilian freighter.

“Oh, some plasma burns, concussion, minor contusions – overall they are very lucky to be alive.” Dr Reynard confirmed, but there was a catch in her voice that peaked Sam’s curiosity. “But really I think that you need to come down here Captain.”

“Is there a problem Doctor?” Sam frowned.

“Well, that depends on your expectations, I suppose Captain. My patient isn’t Marquis, Captain, they are Cardassian!”

 

 


 

 

Location: Former DMZ / USS Savannah / Sickbay / Deck 8

Date: 2401.7.11 / 08:31hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Flanked by Chief Hayes, Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland stared down at the recumbent form of the injured Cardassian, whilst Dr Alison Reynard and a nurse attended to the unconscious alien – pilot. 

A male, the pilot was dressed in the scorched remains of a uniform (that was currently being cut away – the difficulty of which was compounded by the fact that he was currently secured to the Bio – bed) that was clearly Cardassian in origin – but differed in several key ways from the modern version worn by the Cardassian Navy.

“This just doesn’t make sense?” Sam wondered aloud, as she considered the conundrum of a Cardassian piloting a vintage fighter craft of their once – sworn enemy. Why such an elaborate subterfuge? Why attack a civilian freighter in the relative middle of nowhere? If the SS Devore had been destroyed and the USS Savannah had not interceded – there would be not witness to this elaborate scheme.

“Oh yeah it does.” Rumbled Chief Hayes, causing the CO to turn and look at him to elaborate.

“Dude’s obviously True Way, all the way.” Myrion observed. Sam had to admit that the outdated uniform would support such a hypothesis and the renegade extremist break – away faction of the Cardassian High Command did have a reputation for desperate and ruthless tactics.

“Way, I see it – ‘Casus Belli’, Captain” Myron quoted a Latin saying and nodded the great bald dome of his head and crossed his arms, as if to underline his assertion.

“A False – flag operation?” Sam reasoned, “But to what end?” There were too many loose threads here for her to weave into a coherent pattern.

Myron Hayes nodded thoughtfully, then spoke.

“Whole DMZ is a powder – keg Captain.” The Security Chief posited, “Mebbeh old gnarly – head here and his pal’s figure to take a match to it and stand back and see what burns?” The big N’Orleans native suggested, not unreasonably.

Sam Hyland pursed her lips as she considered the scenario.

“I could see that theory holding water Chief, but if we hadn’t happened along – the SS Devore would have been destroyed, along with any witnesses. What possible cachet would there be, could there be in mounting a false – flag if there’s no one left to tell the tale?”

Myron thought about this then nodded.

“Unless the Devore wasn’t supposed to be destroyed. The whole thing would work if they escaped with the scars to tell th’ tale and make it more plausible – maybe our turning up just screwed the whole caper to hell and they decided to try and ‘clean – house’?”.

Lieutenant Commander Hylands’ mind went back to the Ferengi Captain N’vok and his eagerness to depart the system, when the ‘threat’ was neutralized.

“The 34th Rule of Acquisition, Chief.” She breathed in growing realization, seeing it all clearly for the first time.

“How’s that Captain?” Myron Hayes rumbled?

“War is good for business.” Sam recounted bitterly.

Suddenly the deck shook mightily, and Sam was thrown forward. If not for the Chief’s quick reactions, she would have been thrown to the floor.

The Red Alert klaxon sounded throughout the ship.

Sam slapped her commbadge.

“Bridge – REPORT!” She spat.

“Bridge – Captain.” Came the unflappable voice of Lieutenant T’Vran. “A Galor – class Warship has dropped out of Warp and has engaged without provocation.”

The day was certainly going from bad to worse to downright terrible.

“Evasive Maneuvers – I’m on my way!” Sam commanded urgently.

She turned to Chief Hayes.

“Chief – make sure our guest goes nowhere – they can’t get a transporter lock on him with the containment field in place. He might just be the key to this whole mess and we’re not about to give him up until I get some answers. Get me some answers Chief!”

 

 


 

 

Location: Former DMZ / Galor – Class Cruiser “Verran” / Bridge / Deck 1

Date: 2401.7.11 / 08:35hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Gul Yomat Ghallir narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits, as destructive fire rained down on the tiny, fleeing Starfleet frigate.

The veteran Cardassian hardliner was displeased (to put it mildly) that his intricate plan to exacerbate tensions along the former DMZ, via a series of brush – fire engagements, into a wholesale conflagration of war between the Cardassian Union and the United Federation of Planets – had now been placed in jeopardy by this interfering interloper.

Serves me right in placing a fucking grasping – Ferengi into my planning.” Ghallir reflected irritably as he drummed his fingers Impatiently in the arm of his command – chair. It was more likely than not that the duplicitous Captain N’vok had sensed an opportunity to double his profits by complicating matters by hailing the Starfleet vessel for aid. The Gul decided that he would deal with the Ferengi, all in good time.

For now, it was imperative that the Starfleet vessel was destroyed, now that they had one of his people prisoner, before they got the opportunity to blurt what they thought they knew and ruined literal years of finely crafted plotting on behalf of the True Way.

 


 

 

Location: Former DMZ / USS Savannah / Bridge / Deck 1

Date: 2401.7.11 / 08:35hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

“Where the HELL did they come from Number One?” Lieutenant Commander Hyland snapped as she entered the bridge, and the USS Savannah was rocked by yet another torrent of punishing Phaser – fire from the pursuing Galor – class Cruiser.

“Unknown Captain.” T’Vran murmured as she gave up the Captain’s chair and took her own seat, already busying herself with her own controls.

“They jumped out of Warp and immediately opened fire. One might reasonably surmise that they are not interested in opening a discourse.” The Vulcan commented dryly.

“Dammit – I shouldn’t have let that last Peregrine fly.” Sam remonstrated with regret.

“That is one tactical evaluation, to be sure Captain.” T’Vran concededly levelly, “But one that is now moot to our current tactical situation. With the obvious disparity between the aggressor vessel and our own in martial capability, I concluded that withdrawal was our only logical recourse and so ordered our retreat.”

Sam nodded tersely. It had been a mistake, her mistake, in letting the last “New Marquis” raider flee. Although she could not have known it at the time, but it now seemed that the crew of the USS Savannah had become embroiled in a far deeper, far more Machiavellian set of machinations, than anyone could have first considered when they responded to the SS Devore’s distress call.

One thing was certain – there was no way that the doughty – little New Orleans – class frigate could survive a toe – to – toe engagement with a heavyweight like the Galor. Taking to their heels was indeed the only way that they could potentially live to fight another round. T’Vran had showed good judgement in command, where Sam had not. There was no time for personal recriminations. Sam was sure they would come later – if there was a later.

“Bysea – can we outrun them?” Sam demanded of her Helm officer.

“We can keep the distance at impulse, but we’d be hard pressed to open the gap. We need to go to warp Captain.” The Bolian replied, even her habitual cheer seemed to have dulled under the relentless assault by the renegade True Way War – Cruiser.

Sam was about to get an ETA of time to warp when the ship was shaken violently and a terrible noise reverberated, groaning through the superstructure.

Damage alerts began to strobe urgently throughout the readouts of the bridge and MSD.

Sam thundered.

“TAC are we hit?”

“Negative Captain – Sheilds still holding at 32%!” reported Ensign Sh’eshikrar.

Sam swore to herself and keyed the comm.

“Bridge – Engineering. REPORT!”

From the end of the open channel, Sam could hear warning claxons sounding loudly throughout Main Engineering and then the urgent tones of Chief Engineer Carlito Herrera came over the comm.

We’ve lost the Deuterium Storage Tanks on Deck 13 Captain, Significant Damage. The hull has been breached and is open to space from frames 32 through 40! Emergency Forcefields are in place.” There was a panicked edge in the Chief’s voice that sent a chill through Samantha’s spine.

“Combat Damage Chief?” Sam needed to know.

“Negative Captain! Too early to say the exact cause, but definitely not a direct effect of weapons fire.” Carlito responded, in the background the scene sounded chaotic. “Captain – with only the Deuterium Storage on Deck 12 still intact, we won’t be able to maintain a stable warp – plasma reaction in the core without enough Deuterium to balance out the ratio of ratio of Deuterium to Antideuterium. If I don’t shut the Warp Core down now – we risk going critical or will have to eject the core.”

“Dammit! Do what you have to do, Chief. Bridge out!” Sam hit the armrest of her chair-rest in abject frustration. The situation was turning into a real – time ‘Kobayashi Maru’ and there would be no leeway to reset and go round again. Their only viable avenue of escape had just vanished.

Or had it?

“Captain?” Came the voice of the CSO. Lieutenant Ballard. As was his way, Aldren had remained silent and removed from the unfolding situation, as it clearly did not warrant a scientific response. Sometimes, Samantha envied the man the compartmentalization afforded by his Aspergers.

“Not really the time Dr Ballard.” Sam snapped impatiently, the situation was fast deteriorating into an avalanche of critical failure points, if she did not find some way to prevent them all coming together, the USS Savannah was certainly doomed to destruction.

“Oh, I’ll think you’ll find that it is Captain.” Aldren Ballard replied sniffily, “My sensors show a spatial – anomaly of unknown origin forming twelve parsecs off our Port bow.” The Scientist remarked in the same way that someone might casually say “Oh look at that funny dog!”.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Could this day get any more fraught with tension and imminent danger? It was hard to see how it could.

“Report Dr Ballard!” Sam snapped, near the end of her tether.

“Well – it certainly is novel.” Aldren murmured with his face pressed to the view-shield of his instruments. Truly massive energetic yield. The phase variance around the event horizon is quite unlike any other phenomena in my learned experience (which is considerable). Gravimetric shear dangerously close to what one might consider catastrophic. A veritable cocktail of protons and antiprotons – but admittedly akin to what you’d expect that of an anomaly of that magnitude. Curious pattern of burst – emissions from neutrino-refraction and if I’m not mistaken – flashes of tachyon radiation to top it all off?”

Dr Ballard.” Sam managed through clenched teeth, “Does the anomaly present a danger to this ship and crew?”

Aldren looked up from his scope and blinked, as if Sam had just suddenly become instantly retarded.

“Well of course it does Captain.” The Australian frowned. “It’s a veritable witches – brew of exotic energies and competitive radiations. I’d sooner stick my private parts in a matter-decompiler than venture into that mess. The effect would be startlingly similar.” The scientist said without humor.

He had to grip his station as the Bridge was shaken once more by weapons – fire and Ensign Sh’eshikrar reported “Sheilds at 9% Captain”.

Sam set her jaw and closed her eyes. She could see no other way forward – other than forward.

“A ship’s – captain faces the problem head – on!” She prayed her mantra over and over in her head and then she ordered.

“HELM – set a course for the Anomaly – full impulse, all power to the forward Navigational – deflectors!”

Ensign Bysea Wanat looked from Captain Hyland to Dr Ballard and back to the CO again. Everyone had heard what the CSO had just said.

“Ma’am?” Bysea said uncertainly.

“We’re between the Devil and the Deep – blue Sea Ensign.” Sam said grimly. “It’s a choice of probably being destroyed by the anomaly or definitely being destroyed by the True Way. Take us in Ensign.”

“Aye Ma’am.” Bysea swallowed her fear and began to turn the stricken frigate to face the howling – maw of the Subspace Anomaly.

“We will not be able to make the event horizon of the anomaly before the Galor overcomes our remaining shields, Captain.” Warned the Executive Officer – quite rightly.

Sam took a deep breath. She looked around at all of the faces of the assembled bridge crew. Young faces. Some only newcomers to shaving. All in fear of their imminent death and trying not to show it. Sam knew that it was up to her to inspire and lead them all. The time to roll the ‘hard – sixes” was upon them and there was no backing out now the die was cast.

“HELM – time to intercept?” She asked, forcing her voice to remain even and calm.

“Three minutes until we make the outer event horizon of the Anomaly, Captain. Time until intercept by the Galor – Two minutes and forty seconds.

“This will be cutting it fine.” Sam thought and rolled.

“Engineering – make ready to decouple and eject the ventral MMP on my mark.” Sam snapped; her mind made up now – her voice authoritative.

“TAC – when the MMP is clear of the ship – I want you to target it with every available Phase bank you can bring to bear.” Sam ordered with grim resolve.

“AYE – Ma’am.” Ensign Sh’eshikrar smiled. For someone who had only just recently been in fear of being in close proximity to and had to consider the likely effect of the entire inventory of 70 x spare Photon Torpedo’s detonating all at once – the Andorian Tactial Officer was already beginning to anticipate the desperate ruse that the Captain was considering. Even Ithariar had to applaud the sheer audacity of the course of action being ordered by the Pink – skin.

“Three minutes to the void.” Sam thought in trepidation. “In Two Minutes and Forty Seconds – nothing may matter ever again. What happens in the next Twenty Seconds after that – well I guess we may or may not ever find out!”

Outside in the cold, endless fastness of space – the howling energies of the subspace anomaly beckoned the approaching vessels that advanced, heedless in combat – tied into the dichotomy of pursuit. The unimaginable powers that it lay beyond the portal had come and gone, tearing space-time asunder since before a time when the very stars were still young.

Beyond its awful threshold, the nightmarish wonderment of the Multicursal – phenomena that would come to be universally experienced as “Underspace” lay in wait, as the Starfleet and True Way Starships forged their inevitable path, unheeding toward the dangers and revelations of the Labyrinth.

 

The Burial of the Dead

Underspace / USS Savannah / Bridge / Deck 1
2401.7.11 / 09:30hrs (Shipboard Time)

” Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,

The lady of situations.

Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,

And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,

Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,

Which I am forbidden to see.”

The Wasteland – T.S. Elliot (1922)


All-about was drenched in a brackish, mulled – vista, akin and reminiscent to the color of dried blood.

Samantha Hyland was the first to regain consciousness. A painful, bewildering sensation of dislocation and removal, she wondered for a moment at the oddness of her perspective. Her head hurt interminably, and her vision seemed fogged with an acrid haze that was tinged a crimson hue. For long moments Sam simply could not fathom where she was and what was going on.

Over time, it dawned on her that she was lying, supine, on the deck and the view she was seeing was that of the ceiling of the Bridge. Sam blinked in confusion – how had she come to be here? What had happened?

“April really is the cruelest month, isn’t it Sammie?” came a familiar voice (or reasonable facsimile of it) and Sam closed her eyes and groaned – it was July, not April.

She wasn’t ready for this.

“One must be so careful these days.” The apparition continued breezily, and Sam was forced to open her eyes and carefully crane her head horizontally, until it was parallel with the deck of the USS Savannah’s bridge, so she could confirm the worst.

There, standing amidst the unconscious bodies of her crew, backlit by the hideous, churning maelstrom that made up the interior of the Labyrinth, stood the shade of her dead father, hand’s clasped primly behind his back as he looked out at the roiling sepia – tinged tunnel of catastrophic energies rending & roiling through spacetime.

Sam could make out a spiraling debris – field out there in the void, skeletal parts of foundered ships that were occasionally illuminated by the punctuation of staccato stabs of a queasy – colored sheet lightning.

Sam shut her eyes again. A blow to the head, that was it. Must be. Surely. She had taken a blow to the head and this was the inevitable result.

The thing that she had decided firmly was not Jonas Hyland, turned to regard her – it’s terrible eyes of gently – glowing blue crystal – were prominent and incongruous in the dim – red emergency lighting that flooded the bridge and accompanied the urgent strobing of multiple damage – reports on the systems displays.

Jonas smiled and slowly approached her, all the while quoting T. S Elliots eponymous poem, as if he was attending a recital at Kings College, Oxford.

“Unreal City – Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,

I had not thought death had undone so many.”

Sam winced as she levered herself upright on her elbows. Her head really did hurt, and she had no patience for the musings of this ghost/not ghost, her ship was in distress, and she needed to act.

“A ship’s Captain faces the problem head – on.” She told herself and angrily swatted Jonas’s hand away as the specter offered it out – to help her up.

“He hated ‘The Wasteland’, for your information.’” Samantha snapped as the Crystal Entity’s ‘Jonas Hyland – shaped’ – envoy backed up to give her room to stand.

Jonas made a ‘So/So’ gesture & waggling his hand from side to side and mugging a non-committal look.

“Well, it is a trifle moribund, but overall, I find that it…..” the apparition began to conjecture, before Sam cut him off sharply.

“I don’t know what you really are and to be honest I don’t really care.” Samantha rounded on the entity, who made a show of looking hurt, pouting out her father’s bottom lip and Sam had to restrain the urge to hit it.

“Ouch Sammie, that hurts…” It spoke.

She pointedly ignored its playtime pathos.

“My ship is in danger; my crew is imperiled – the last thing I need to do is play court to your bullshit capricious manifestations and have you turn up and spout cryptic warnings like some sort of coy fucking oracle. It’s unhelpful at best and quite frankly it’s bloody annoying!”” The Captain of the stricken vessel rounded Jonas with a dangerous note in her voice.

“To be fair I did try to warn you Sammie?” The apparition tried to sound contrite and very nearly pulled it off.

The Way will open.” Sam sneered and crossed her arms. “Oh, THANK you for that!” Her voice dripped scorn. “So VERY helpful that was!”

Jonas looked around the chaos of the bridge and added snarkily.

“Well, it looks like you didn’t listen to me in any case.”

Sam looked out at the swirling madness outside the ship and asked the apparition.

“Is this your doing?” She challenged – gesturing to the anomaly.

Underspace? Oh my! Goodness no!” The entity recoiled, treating the subject akin to something like the experience of discovering dog mess on the bottom of your shoe.

“Underspace?” Sam wondered aloud, unfamiliar with the term.

“Yes, frightfully clever, isn’t it?” Jonas shrugged noncommittally and sounded a trifle bored.

 “Sort of ‘the space between spaces in Space and whatnot’- Stellar Phenomena was never really my bag at university as you know, but no – I… that is to say we…. well, you know …US – we generally tend to frown on such things as frivolous and a waste of time – all a bit gauche really.”

Jonas turned back to the viewscreen for a moment and spoke.

 “Then again when your thought processes tend towards centuries instead of seconds, you really have no need to zip around time and space like some sort of gleeful maniac, when you can just sort of plod along in real-space over decamillennia and take in the view eh?”

“So, you’re saying this a way of what? Fast transit around the Galaxy?!” Samantha Hyland asked incredulously.

“Well like I said, I’m hazy on the details.” Jonas shrugged and nodded. “But yes – I guess that’s the jist of it.”

“Who made it? “Sam wondered aloud, trying to absorb the implications of it all.

“Don’t know, don’t really care.” The projection of the entity said airily and made a show of inspecting its fingernails.

“But I can tell you, this is somewhere that you REALLY don’t want to linger in for too long…”


 

Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Sickbay / Deck 6

Stardate: 2401.7.11 / 09:31hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

“I think she’s coming round?”, a voice came from a distance.

“Nurse Atwell, please prepare me a hypospray.” Another voice, commanding & self-assured. “Naloxone 3 mg/Prochlorperazine 2mg in suspension.”

“Yes Doctor.” The first voice receding.

Suddenly a light. Painful and evasive as it encroached upon her comfortable darkness. She tried to shrink back from it into the warm embrace of catatonia.

“Slight Anisocoria in the left pupil. Symptomatic of concussion.” The second voice determined and then added, “Thank you Nurse.”

A cold sensation in her neck and then the light was rushing towards her – frighteningly fast.

Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland took in deep, whooping breath as the stimulant took instant effect.

She was supine once more – looking at the ceiling, but this time it was the ceiling of the Sickbay.

“I’m in sickbay? Samantha Hyland managed with a very dry throat. Only moments ago, she had been convinced that she had been on the Bridge, conversing with her dead father.

“Welcome back to the land of the living Captain.”

Dr Alison Reynard was handing back an empty hypospray to a Nurse and resumed shining a penlight in Sam’s eyes as she resumed her test of pupil dilation – response. Seemingly satisfied she keyed a control and the Biobed Sam had been lying unconscious on, slowly reconfigured to raise the wounded CO to something more inclined for conversation.

“You’re suffering from a reasonable concussion and the effects of a temporary loss of consciousness. Consistent when one is propelled across the Bridge with some enthusiasm.” Reynard confirmed dryly, as she ran the probe of a medical – tricorder over Sam’s brow (where a considerable contusion was already beginning to color) and continued.

 “Considering the events that accompanied our passage to…. wherever the hell this is… I would say that you got off lightly. You’re likely to feel some nausea and headaches for a while – I’ve given you a combined Stimulant/Anti – nausea medication that should counter some of the symptoms of that for the next few hours. If you develop any double – vision, dizziness, vomiting or memory loss – then we might reassess them, but these are common symptoms of Post – concussion syndrome and should improve over time.”

“The crew…..” Sam did indeed have the headache to end all headaches and felt as if she was in a fog. Her ears wouldn’t stop ringing – but her primary and primal fear was for the welfare of those entrusted to her care. She tried to rise.

“Oooh, no you don’t Captain!” Dr Reynard gently, but firmly, pushed Sam’s chest back onto the Biobed.

“You’re staying put for the time being, Doctors orders. The crew are, on balance, fine considering. A handful of more concussions & LOC’s, a few fractures and Councilor el – Hannan will be busy until Ramadan dealing with the widespread effects of post – traumatic stress.”

Satisfied with her assessment of Sam’s own recovery, Dr Alison Reynard made some notes on a PADD and uploaded them to the medical logs.

“You, however, have to complete a compulsory observation period. Can’t have my CO developing symptoms of SIS and dying on us – especially not with things the way they are currently.”

“SIS?” Sam wondered, not entirely happy about this state of affairs.

Second impact syndrome” Alison explained firmly. “It’s not uncommon for a casualty to experience a second concussion before symptoms of the first concussion have resolved. Typically, this results in rapid and usually fatal brain swelling.”

The Doctor looked at the obstinate CO and smiled thinly.

“Maybe you’ll take that into account, the next time that you decide to dive your ship and everybody aboard it through Perditions Gate?”

The events of the last hour or so were a patchwork to Sam, but she supposed that the Doctor could have that point – she conceded. What she did have to do, is get a handle on what was going on right now.

“I have to get up.” Sam muttered unhelpfully and was again stopped by Dr Reynard’s guiding hand.

“You can either stay here for the next 6 hours until the observation protocol is complete, or I can invoke my authority as Ship’s Doctor to have you removed from command on the basis of fitness to complete your duties.” Alison remarked firmly.

Sam looked dumbfounded.

“You wouldn’t!” She ventured defiantly.

Try me.” Dr Reynard inclined her head and gave the Captain a level look.

Sam winced – the Chief Medical Officer did indeed have to power to relieve her from command on medical grounds. Sam’s head felt truly awful, but she decided not to antagonize the physician any further. From what she could see around sickbay – the staff had enough to deal with without the childish recalcitrance of their CO. She had to set a better example.

“Okay Doctor, “She sighed in defeat, “you win this round. Can I at least get a PADD and somewhere to work? There are a lot of actions I need to prioritize.”

Alison raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow and considered this request.

“Very well, I’ll have Nurse Atwell set you up in the couch in my office.” The Doctor nodded. “I’m not likely to be using it any time soon and I need this Biobed anyway.”

Nurse Atwell attended to the Captain and gently helped her up into a sitting position.

“Can I at least get my uniform?” Sam asked blithely, painfully aware of her exposed back in the thin medical gown she found herself in.

Dr Reynard shook her head and commented.

“No – You’ll be less inclined to abscond and go gallivanting off around the ship with your ass hanging out. The gown stays.”

Samantha looked down and thought that it would at that.

“Fair enough.” She agreed.


 

Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Deuterium Storage / Deck 13 / Frames 32 through 40.

Stardate: 2401.7.11 / 09:56hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

“The damage appears…..extensive.” Lieutenant T’Vran allowed as she surveyed the damage through one of the several emergency forcefield’s that had hastily been erected to contain the damage on Deck 13.

On the other side of the shimmering blue field, the USS Savannah’s Chief Engineer turned back to face the Executive Officer and surveyed her through the faceplate of his EVA Suit.

The entire compartment, ranging back a number of frames, where the first of two main Deuterium – storage tanks aboard the New Orleans – class frigate – was usually housed – was completely devastated. The deck had buckled monstrously under the impossible energies that accompanied the explosion. Mercifully the containment fields had kicked in picoseconds later and protected the only other Deuterium storage tank on Deck 12 – otherwise the ship would have no reaction mass for the reactor at all and the devastation wrought would have been tenfold.

Lieutenant Carlito Herrara glanced up to where the superstructure had been blown away, exposing the remains of the section to the cold, uncaring vastness of space (the explosion – like all explosions, seeking the path of least resistance as its energy sought a direction to dissipate its forces). Another shimmering forcefield now forming a temporary hull – seal.

Even so the Chief had insisted that T’Vran stay behind the first Forcefield. The damage sustained to the USS Savannah had been extensive and with the Warp Core offline, power-allocation to EPS distribution had to be jealously prioritized and rationed for the time being. Carlito could not guarantee the fields would stay in place – hence the prophylactic precaution of the EVA suit.

The suited figure put his hands on his hips and his voice came over the Comm.

“Oh – you noticed that right?”. The Engineer’s mildly sarcastic response seemed wholly lost on the XO and she replied.

“When do you estimate that Warp – power might be restored Lieutenant?”

Carlito laughed bitterly, despite himself. The response sounded strange and flat within the confines of his suit.

“Unless we can find another source of Enriched Deuterium just floating around…” He began and looked up to the roiling sepia – toned mass of Multicursal cloud that formed the inside of the anomaly – jagged flashes seemed to frame the phenomenon and they could see a flotsam of detritus that mostly likely was the remains of other vessels once – unfortunate enough to encounter the anomaly.

“” ……which is looking unlikely, to say the least.” Carlto continued. “I would say ‘never’ is my best guess ‘Ma’am.”

“I see.” The Vulcan First Officer replied simply.

The Chief Engineer crouched low in his EVA suit, the light from his helmet playing over the wreckage as he ran an Engineering Tricorder over what remained of the Deuterium Storage processing equipment.

“From what I can see, it does look like this was the result of a deliberate act….” Carlito murmured as he continued his scan.

“On what evidence do you base this hypothesis?” T’Vran enquired, her interest piqued.

“Well – Matter/Antimatter Reaction Assembly (M/ARA) spreads across Deck 12-17, with the reaction chamber itself being located within Main Engineering on Deck 15. If I was going to sabotage the ship it’d be one of the more logical places to start – the distribution of the system presents several places, all at a remove, where a catastrophic failure could be instigated with a low chance of detection– if that was your intention.” The Engineer wondered aloud as he rose again and the magnetic grapples on his boots hummed softly as they engaged and disengaged, and he made his way further into the wreckage.

“How do you postulate that this act of sabotage, if that is indeed what it is, was effected?” 

“Oh, that’s obvious.” Carlito sent. “Whoever did this, they weren’t a member of the Engineering crew, Lieutenant. That I can be sure of.”

T’Vran inclined her head “Blind loyalty to your people Chief?” She felt she had to ask.

The suited figure shook his helmeted head and returned confidently, “No Ma’am. I mean if it was one of my people – we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation.”

“I see.” T’Vran folded her arms and let the Chief continue to tease his strand of logic.

“Whoever did this had a cursory knowledge of Warp – dynamics, but then so does every cadet and specialist that has ever graduated the Academy, Lieutenant.” Carlito continued.

“That doesn’t narrow the field of suspects down much Chief.” T’Vran admitted.

“The ‘who’ & the ‘why’ is more the remit of yourself and Myron Hayes.” Carlito sent. “My job is to tell you the ‘how.’ How – is that whoever did this obviously thought they could initiate a localized Deuterium/Antiduterium reaction here in the Storage tank, by disabling the failsafe’s and re-routing the flow – capacitors to inject Antiduterium. In a Warp – Reactor built with tolerances to take those kinds of stresses, ningún problema.”

“But within a storage tank it’s likely to cause an uncontainable reaction.” T’Vran brought the Chief’s train of logic into the station.

“Well, to the layman perhaps,” Carlito allowed “But what our saboteur failed to consider is that the Deuterium storage and transfer systems have multiple failsafe systems and redundancies in place throughout the assembly to prevent just this sort of thing. Mankind didn’t take to the stars on the merit of being incautious.”

“So where did our Saboteur go wrong?”

“They did a tolerably good job considering.” Carlto stood once more and began to thread his way back to T’Vran. “But they failed to consider the most basic redundant control in the system is an engineered control. The tank itself is designed so it cannot propagate such a reaction – should it – occur. It is constructed so that it will fail before it can sustain that threshold – releasing the force of the explosion. Which it did.”

Lieutenant T’Vran considered this implication. At the very least it was likely, that they could discount the Engineering team – which narrowed her list of potential suspects to around 260 other members of the USS Savannahs crew.

A start of sorts, she supposed.

“How long can we maintain the emergency containment fields Chief?” T’Vran enquired, her mind moving to wider concerns other than ‘simple’ sabotage. If that was indicative of the level of catastrophe the USS Savannah was facing, the Vulcan did not know what did.

“Well, we should be able to……” Carlito began and then his transmission stopped abruptly.

Lieutenant T’Vran looked up sharply – where the Chief Engineer had been making his way back to her – now the suited figure was frozen in mid – stride, as if the central figure in some bizarre tableau.

More worrying still, the space around Carlito could be seen to be ‘rippling’. Some sort of energetic effect passing through the frigate from Starboard to the Port side – it looked like a wave effect as it progressed through the compartment just feet in front of her face.

“Chief!” T’Vran sent urgently, but there was no reply from Carlito. “Chief Herrera! Respond!”

The Vulcan XO tore out her own Tricorder – noting that Carlito’s Engineering Tricorder had fallen from his gloved fingers when he had been overcome by whatever outlandish effect had seized him. The device had itself frozen in space – perfectly suspended in place just inches from his fingertips.

T’Vran’s eyes widened in recognition as the readout confirmed her worst fears.

A roving “bubble” of Tachyon – Radiation was passing through the ruined compartment on Deck 13, trapping the hapless Engineer in its event horizon. Freezing him in Space and Time in a localized slice of relativism.

By the soft lights cast by his helmet – readouts, T’Vran could see Carlito Herrera’s smooth, beautiful features begin to age progressively. His handsome, dark Latino hair turning “Salt & Pepper” – greying with age as time flowed at a different rate within the “bubble’ in which he was trapped!

“T’Vran to Transporter Room 1!” The Vulcan keyed her commbadge and ordered urgently. “Lock on to Lieutenant Herrara’s signal. Immediate Emergency Transport to Sickbay! NOW!”

 

Normans Woe – Part #1

Underspace / USS Savannah / Observation Lounge / Deck 1
2401.7.12 /15:09hrs (Shipboard Time)

” Down came the storm, and smote amain

      The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,

      Then leaped her cable’s length.”

The Wreck of the Hesperus – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1842)


The TTH shimmered into being in front of the assembled Senior Officers of the USS Savannah, as they gathered for the Captain’s briefing.

“Please state the parameters for the Tactical Training Scenario.”

The Tactical Training Hologram began and then stopped and craned its head slightly as the Ship’s – computer interfaced with its matrix and performed a data – squirt to update this version with the most current situational analysis from the New Orleans – class Frigate’s own data – banks. The Hologram then also received the most contemporary data it had been exposed to from the Federation – wide TTH network (the cumulative experiential learning from all the TTH units active or on – standby serving with all Starfleet vessels in the Fourth Fleet and beyond – since the TTH program was first initiated 51 Years ago.

It was terraquads of data, a precis of every nanosecond of tactical data available – from every interaction everywhere, all designed to make the TTH the ultimate learning tool.

Upon receiving this universe of knowledge in less than a heartbeat, the Hologram based upon one of Starfleet’s most illustrious NCOs grunted.

“Humph…. I see.” And nodded his shaved bullet – head.

“At – ease Master Chief Saroga.” Commanded a surprisingly young-looking woman, sporting a field dressing to her forehead and what Isagi’s data – dump told him were a set of very new Lieutenant – Commander’s Pips.

“Thank you, Captain Hyland.” The TTH nodded respectfully, his greying moustache jinking at the edges as the barrel – chested little Nipponese man bowed stiffly from the waist. His programming had brought the TTH up to date on every moment of recorded events that had transpired aboard the unfortunate vessel since it came to be stranded in the spatial anomaly.

 Isagi Saroga had not earned the reputation of one of the most formidable operators in the history of Starfleet security by pre-empting the briefing of his superior officers and the TTH stood ramrod straight, hand behind back at ease as ordered – staring at the bulkhead of the observation lounge.

Apart from the Captain and the Executive Officer, every single person in the briefing stared back at the TTH.

For the young officers of the USS Savannah – they were looking at a representation of a long – dead 23rd Century legend. 

One that had fallen in the 1st Klingon War with the nascent Federation, been ‘resurrected’ by a cadre of veteran officers who had developed the doctrine what was now universally known as the “Hazardous Situation Response Team” – in the aftermath of the Dominion War and had been training Starfleet Officers in these asymmetric – skills ever since.

Their incomprehension was clear on their faces – they had no idea why the TTH had been ‘rezzed’ and was attending the briefing.

A being of network centric meta-data, maniple forcefields and a repository of the most cutting – edge tactical evaluation database ever assembled in a heuristic – learning matrix, slaved to a mobile emitter – the TTH had a more – than – better idea why it was summoned. The Master Chief had the legacy and composure to let the CO spell it out to her people, in her own good goddamned time.

“Thank you all for coming.” Lieutenant Commander Hyland commenced the brief.

All eyes were still on the TTH.

Sam grimaced and her hand went to her dressing, presaging a deeper hurt.

“Master Chief – would you mind reverting to something more contemporary. It’s a little distracting?”

The TTH looked down at his Red and Gold 23rd Century Era uniform. The young 25th Century Officers were obviously entranced with a dress – set that they had only ever seen in museums and recreations.

He set his jaw and responded.

“Respectfully Captain. That’s a negative. This was the uniform I fought in. This is the uniform I died in. It stays or I do not.”

Samantha looked at the hologram from a long moment. The debate around the autonomy and individuality for holographic entities had been raging for long years now and she was determined not to let it distract from the briefing.

“Fair enough.” The Captain turned to the CMO and prompted, “Doctor Ballard, given our situation – I think we should start with your briefing?”

Aldren Ballard looked momentarily flustered and his hands started “stimming”, but the slim Australian – accented man managed to master his Aspergers and activated the holo-projector on the center of the briefing – table.

All assembled were perplexed by what they saw, and Dr Ballard swallowed his trepidation and expounded.

“I apologize for the apparent crudity of the abject lesson – but I find that in matters of complex interdimensional metaphysics – it’s often better to start with first principles. Elsewise, people tend to get rather confused when we get to the ‘Meta-spatial’ hyperbole?”

Aldren tried to make a weak lecture – hall joke and saw that his students had received this poorly. He pressed on.

“Imagine this sheet is the skein that represents what established science knows as the “Hyperspace – Grid.” The scientist intoned and before the senior officers, a flat sheet with a grid appeared over the table.

“Of course, every Starfleet Cadet has undergone basic Warp – theory, so we know that the ‘sheet’ is contemporaneous to a sheet of rubber – in that it is elastic and subject to the causal universal effects of action and reaction, mass, inertia and relative time.” Alden continued, warming to the subject.

Suddenly a bowling ball, gleaming with three finger – holes and the number “13” materialized and immediately began to bear down on the hologram of the rubber – sheet.

“Now – imagine that this bowling ball represents the normal integer of a matter/antimatter relationship between the USS Savannah and the hyperspace grid on the most common hyperspace plane, the “Negative”, as the ship moves at warp. There is (of course) the overarching “Positive” hyperspatial plane – where presides the realm of the “Transwarp” – but for the sake of this demonstration – let’s put that to one side.”

The “bowling ball” began to roll in space on the spot, the illusion of movement given by the flow of the grid on the representation of the “rubber sheet”.

“As the ship moves through hyperspace it must connect and interact with either the Negative or the Positive plans of hyperspace as it propels itself at warp and (for the most part) this relationship is harmonious.” The scientist expounded with mild interest – this ‘monkey-show’ only scratching at the wonderment of the phenomena for this complex man.

“Sometimes there is a spatial anomaly, a rift or wrent in Space-time (ostensibly connected to another locale – but sometimes not) where this relationship is temporaneously usurped.

With this, the holo showed a large tear in the rubber sheet and the bowling – ball fell easily into it.

“This phenomenon is reliably and demonstrably contingent to what is commonly known as a “Wormhole.” Dr Ballard explained to exactly the surprise of no-one seated at the table.

The Holo suddenly reset itself, this time the tear in spacetime was tiny.

“However, it has been postulated that sometimes a smaller, more localized phenomena – exhibiting a subspace compression – rate well in excess of accepted norms can sometimes form – of such focus and magnitude that the rubber sheet reacts in such a manner thus…..” Alden sounded so very pleased to be getting to the good stuff now.

The bowling ball rolled along until it reached the micro-tear in time and space and as it tried to squeeze through the impossibly small aperture it was suddenly pinballed up into the positive plane of the Hyperspace – grid above and accordingly rebounded with even more ferocious force into the micro-tear – passing through its tiny – aperture and beyond where the bowling – ball became a ghostly – translucent orb and the presentation froze at its close.

Dr Aldren Ballard spread his hands wide and indicated the nauseating sepia – vista beyond, a violent swirling mass of angry cloud, accusing lighting and a choking of debris left from other vessel unlucky enough to make this passage.

“And there you have it.” Aldren smiled weakly in the face of Perdition.

“Thank you, Dr Ballard.” Samantha nodded carefully. “Given the incident with Lieutenant Herrera and the other minor temporal incursions, that have affected other crewmembers to a much less pestiferous – degree – I think all minds are understandable preoccupied with the obvious threat that this new threat presents. What can you tell us about the phenomena and is there anything we can do to safeguard the crew against its effects?

“Do?” Alren looked at the CO with some confusion. “DO? Oh, dear me no Captain. It’s true that the Temporal – shell (as I have elected to term the phenomena thus) that affected Lieutenant Herrera, was arguably extreme in the effect it asserted in such a small timeframe.” The scientist shrugged with an academic remove born partly from his social disassociation and partly from his dispassionate fascination with the science.

“I also understand that other crewmembers remain frozen in time – with no aggregate accelerated aging such as LT Herrera experienced, so we much postulate that the effects of the Time – shells are not uniform and the disparity of time they infer is not universal. My team have managed to infer that the phenomena seems to be linked to the lightning – flashes very much in the same way a Thunder – clap presages such in a conventional storm – system.”

Sam’s headache was worsening, and the briefing had only just begun.

“SO, you’re saying that they occur with the lighting, their effects vary, and we have at least a basic way of predicting their occurrence now?” Sam enquired tiredly.

“Well, I wouldn’t stake my reputation on that hypothesis. “Alden sat back in his chair cagily, “But I suppose it is acceptable on First – Principals.”

Samantha turned to the Helm – Officer, Bysea Wanat. The young Bolain pilot had been listening to Dr Ballard intently and Sam needed her take on this theory.

“Bysea?” Sam addressed her. “Post the “Scramming” of the Warp – Core, what can you give us in terms of headway and attitude control?”

“Well Captain, we cannot move at warp and the explosion on Deck 13 has damaged the Primary Impulse – Emitters as they were in the same volume a few – frames back.” The beautiful – blue officer reasoned. “At best we can muster half – impulse from the Secondary Emitters on the saucer – but with the EPS power allocation issues – it’d have to be a priority assignment. If Science can give us forewarning of more of these “Temporal – Shell” – incursions with a reasonable integer of warning – my team should be able to shift the old – girl with the RCS thrusters enough to avoid the worst of things.”

Samantha Hyland smiled – Bysea Wanat’s irrepressible optimism and ‘can – do’ attitude was exactly what the crew needed right now. However, both reports led Samantha to have to follow to a more unpleasant segue.

“Dr Reynard?” The Captain addressed the Chief Medical Officer – who had finally assented to releasing Sam from Observation in Sickbay. “Can you please tell us what you can about Chief Herrera’s condition?”

All eyes turned to the CMO (none more than that of Ensign Cassandria Carver – the young assistant Engineer and Carlto’s prodigy – who was now catapulted into the position of ‘Acting – Chief Engineer) and Alison Reynard nodded.

“My thanks for Dr Ballard for his summation.” The CMO began. “It goes some way to illustrate the threat posed by these pockets of time. As reported, we have had several instances of crew being caught in the effects of these Temporal – Pockets – for the most part the effect has intrinsically frozen them for a few seconds, whilst time had flowed on around them at a normal rate. The next effect of Tachyon – Radiation on these victims has been negligible both physiologically and chronologically.”

It was Ensign Carver that spoke and broke the Doctor’s prognosis.

“But how is Carlito?” The young Engineer worried – mirroring the abject concern and fear that was, even now, permeating the young crew of the USS Savannah.

Dr Reynard steepled her hands together and continued with some difficulty.

“The effects on Lieutenant Herrah were more pronounced, despite the quick thinking and actions of the XO – which most certainly saved his life.” Alison explained to the concerned assemblage.

“Although he was only caught in the Tachyon event horizon of the Temporal – shell for a manner of seconds – the effect on Carlito was to age him immediately and at a cellular level to a degree of maturation that has had an extremely acute impact on his nervous system and physiology. That, coupled with the intense mental trauma such an act must surely impart – had led to Dr el – Hannan and myself to elect to keep the Chief in an Induced – Coma whilst he heals. This kind of trauma is almost unprecedented Captain.” Dr Reynard warned pointedly. “The scars will take a long time to heal.”

Sam looked at the CMO levelly.

“How long?” She asked flatly.

“Well recovery like this is hard to…” Dr Reynard began, before Sam shook her head and interjected.

“I mean – how much time did Carlito lose, subjectively?” The Captain pressed.

Dr Alison Reynard grimaced at this and admitted.

“When he sat down with Ensign Carver for breakfast this morning, Carlito Herrera was a healthy young male for 29 years old, with all of the physiological markers one would expect of a person of that age.” The Physician explained.

“Post exposure to the Tachyon Radiation of the Temporal-Shell phenomena – Lieutenant Carlito Herrara’s cellular age is now more akin to that you would expect to see of a Human Male in his early 50’s.”

The silence of the room was palpable.

It was eventually broken by the Executive Officer.

“Captain, if I may?” Intoned Lieutenant T’Vran severally.

“Go ahead Number One.” Sam nodded, glad of the Vulcan’s support.

“Given that we have a codex for the frequency of the Temporal – phenomena, an estimation of the scope of effect and a rudimentary method of detection and avoidance – might I suggest that we relocate all non – essential personnel to the Saucer – section and evacuate all non – essential duty – stations of the Engineering – hull. With the damaged sustained from the explosion and the restrictions currently necessary to the EPS – grid, it might be prudent to alleviate our power demands and present a lower target – profile for possible anomalies.”

“That’s a good idea Number One.” Sam was further relieved that her young crew was rising to the succession of challenges. “Please Liaise with Ops and make the necessary changes with Ensign Vikander and the Chief.”

“Very good Captain.”

Samantha now turned her attention back to the TTH and spoke.

“Thank you for your patience.” She spoke to all gathered – but ostensibly to the hologram.

“For those of you that have been privileged enough to make his acquaintance, I’m sure that you all are familiar with Master Chief Asagi Saroga?”

The hologram of the dapper – little man with the severe moustache bowed stiffly from the waist in greeting.

Security Chief Myron Hayes, at least, smiled wryly of bruises gone by and enlightenment reached through Holodeck tribulations past.

“For those that have not – I have activated the TTH as we have need of him to assist us in the execution of a particular mission. The profile of which is uniquely suited to his skillset and programming – the outcome of which is paramount to the continued survival of this ship and crew.” Samantha continued and activated the holo – projector with a program of her own.

“As you know – our current status is that we are situated within a subspace anomaly that is currently beyond our capacity to escape at Warp due to the loss of half of our Deuterium Storage.”

The Captain explained. The passage through the mouth of the Labyrinth had been hectic – the explosion of the jettisoned ventral MMP and its torpedoes had indeed seemed to debilitate the pursing True Way “Galor” – class Cruiser, but both events had left the crew mostly unconscious and the effects of Underspace had confounded all attempts to re-establish a reliable telemetry.

The USS Savannah was lost in a hostile hellscape with no idea of which was up, down, forward or back.

Sam wisely chose not to share what her dead – father had shared about what it’s Crystal – Entity symbiont claimed that it knew about “Underspace” – she saw it as an ‘unreliable – narrator’ at best and did not think this revelation would be constructive considering what her crew has having to come to terms with currently.

“Firstly, we do not know the current status or threat represented by the hostile True Way Cruiser – but we have to assume that it survived the engagement intact, until we can confirm otherwise.” Sam reasoned grimly. “That we have not come under renewed attack in the last few hours – we can only hope is indicative that our strike was successful and the Cardassian vessel has sustained significant damage – much the same as have we.”

Sam indicated the Master Chief.

“Barring Chief Manningly, whose acumen we cannot afford to risk on an Away Mission, the Master Chief is our only current Tactical – Asset with extensive knowledge with engaging in a Cardassian Aggressor on a War – footing.” Samantha Hyland reasoned, this eliciting a flutter of murmurs from around the table. Starfleet (though martially capable and able) was not a military force and Sam knew this concept would be unsettling to many gathered here.

Sam held up her hand for silence.

“The other reason for the activation of the TTH is this.” Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland spoke with surety.

“Whilst I was recuperating in sickbay – I used that time to set you all various assignments that presaged this briefing.” Sam nodded.

“Before Chief Herrara was overcome, he informed Lieutenant T’Vran that the only way to restore power to the Warp – core was to locate a source of enriched deuterium – something that seems on the face of it, plaintively impossible in our current predicament. Do you concur Ensign Carver?”

Cass Carver squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, obviously feeling the strain at having been deputized to fill a role she saw beyond her capabilities. However, she rallied and attempted to rise to the challenge.

“Carlito…” She began and corrected herself “The Chief is right Ma’am – without restoring the Deuterium supply – we have no way for re-stablishing the requisite Matter/Antimatter ratio to safely restore warp power. Also, the Deuterium Fill – Ports were also situated in Deck 13 and have been totally destroyed. Even if we could locate a viable source of Deuterium in this Hell – we have nowhere to load it onboard, nowhere to store it and no way to process it to sufficient purity to attempt to restart the Core.”

The young Engineer looked crestfallen at the apparent impossibility of their collective – plight.

It was Sam’s time to smile as she led.

“All true – butif we could locate a suitable source of Deuterium – could you fabricate a temporary holding tank of sufficient volume to contain such a supply?”

Cass looked perplexed, but worked the problem, nevertheless.

“Well – we could utilize one of the cargo-bays I guess – we’d have to prioritize and shut down far more of the Ship’s – systems to prioritize the EPS allocation to run the industrial – grade replicators and ensure adequate field containment – but yes – given time we could do that. But that still doesn’t help us with the issue of the Fill – Ports – the explosion totally destroyed the infrastructure – we just don’t have enough Biomass onboard to be able to manufacture enough high – grade trillium to be able to replace that system, Captain.”

Sam nodded and prompted – “But that would be a standard fixture aboard all Starfleet Vessels, is that correct Ensign Carver?”

“Well yes Ma’am but…”

Samantha activated the Holo and explained.

“I set Ensign Sh’eshikrar that task of using our long – range scanners to scour the debris field to see if there was anything useful that we could possibly use to help us repair the damage within the context of the locale of where we find ourselves within the anomaly.” Sam nodded.

The hologram resolved to a represent the Debris Field surrounding the USS Savannah – a veritable shoal of detritus & lost souls.

“Most of what she found was either too fragmented or too contaminated by time and radiation to be of any practical use.” The Captain continued and then the view zoomed in on a shape that was both incongruous but startlingly familiar to all at the table.

The heavily – damaged form of a derelict Miranda – Refit class Starfleet starship – minus one Warp – nacelle and showing damage throughout.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the USS Subic Bay!” the Captain said without fanfare and sat back as those gathered exploded into a barrage of conjecture and urgent questions.

After a while Sam held up her hands for quiet again and outlined her plans.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures and I can’t think of a situation where this more urgently applies.” Sam commenced her proposal.

“Assuming Ensign Carver and her team can fashion us a vessel that can hold Deuterium, I propose that a salvage mission is mounted to the wreck of the “Subic Bay” to retrieve what parts we can to rebuild the Deuterium Fill – Port and Processing assembly aboard the USS Savannah. The basic design parameters should be similar enough to upgrade the raw – parts to a standard we require – even if it means jury-rigging and a kit-bash to end all kit-bashes. Ensign Carver?”

“It could work….’ Cass began to warm to the idea and bring up specs & make calculations on her PADD.

“But with the known danger of the Tachyon Radiation and the other exotic effects of the anomaly – that’s tantamount to a suicide mission – given what happened to Herrera!” Dr Reynard interjected. “Captain, on medical grounds it is unethical to ask any member of the crew to undertake such a hazardous mission given the likelihood of exposure!”

Captain Hyland nodded and indicated the TTH.

“Which is why I have tasked Master Chief Saroga to participate in the away team. He is fully mission – capable and more than passingly familiar to the systems aboard a 23rd Century Starfleet ship.’ Sam explained and it gradually dawned why the TTH was there.

“But what about redundancy?” Asked Ensign Vikander. “If we base the success of the mission, in its entirety on the TTH, what happens if there is an issue with his Mobile – Emitter? We lose him and the mission is a failure?”

It was T’Vran’s time to speak.

“The TTH will not be embarking on the Salvage – mission alone Ensign.” The Vulcan spoke levelly. “I will be accompanying the Master Chief on the Away Team.” Before Dr Reynard could protest, T’Vran continued.

“As a Vulcan, my expected life – span is effectively double that of a Human member of this crew. If I were to be subject to the Anagathic – effect of Tachyon Radiation, exerted by a wandering Temporal Shell – I have a far higher likelihood of surviving long enough to ensure the mission’s success.”

T’Vran shrugged diffidently.

“Besides the Master Chief – I am the only other logical choice.”

Ensign Vikander, the USS Savannah’s young OPS Lead frowned and reasoned out loud.

“Let’s say that Engineering can fabricate a replacement storage tank and assuming that the Away Team mission to the USS Subic Bay is successful Captain?” Neva’s dark brows knotted, and she asked. “Doesn’t that still leave us with one piece of the puzzle missing? We still don’t have a viable source of Deuterium, do we?”

Samantha Hyland nodded sagely and keyed the holoprojector one last time.

“Well noted Ensign.” Sam smiled despite her headache. “We do not have a viable source of Deuterium.” She agreed.

The Holo suddenly swung to postulate the shape of a “Galor” class Cardassian Cruiser.

“But somewhere out there – I bet that there is a man that does.” The Captain nodded with grim purpose.

“And I intend to go have a word with that man about that Deuterium, but first I am going down to the Brig to have a chat with the True Way crewmember we have secured down there – so he can tell me a little more about his Boss and who we may be dealing with – when the time comes.”

 

Normans Woe – Part 2

Underspace / USS Savannah / Brig / Deck 5
2401.7.12 /15:45hrs (Shipboard Time)

“And fast through the midnight dark and drear,

      Through the whistling sleet and snow,

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept

      Tow’rds the reef of Norman’s Woe.”

The Wreck of the Hesperus – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1842)

 

“And you would be the esteemed Captain Hyland, my captor – in – chief?” Praetor Gomek Irin smiled nastily as he lay on his back, pointedly not deigning to look in Samantha’s direction as he stared indolently at the ceiling of the sparse holding – cell.

Beyond the imperceptible barrier of the containment field, Lieutenant Commander Hyland (flanked by the XO and Security Chief Myron Hayes respectively) stood and regarded her Cardassian prisoner.

Sam was keenly aware that the pilot they had captured, whilst impersonating a New Marquis attack on the SS Devore, held vital intelligence on the crippled Galor – class Cruiser that lurked somewhere out in the madness of Underspace and (more importantly) the identity of and motivations of her Captain a man that she would have to deal with if she was to secure the supply of Dilithium aboard the enemy vessel – in order to save her own.

Samantha Hyland was also painfully aware that the clock was ticking, and they were all rapidly running out of time.

The phenomena of the spatial anomaly in which her ship was stranded was strange and demonstrably perilous. At the very least, it was vital that Sam discover some way to restore Warp – power to the stricken USS Savannah, if only to avoid further exposure to the roving pockets of Tachyon Radiation that had randomly affected her crew and had cost her Chier Engineer over 20 years of his subjective youth in a matter of mere seconds.

“Praetor Gomek Irin.” The CO of the frigate replied neutrally, that much the Cardassian had given his interrogators and no more. “I trust you are finding the accommodations to your liking?”

Praetor Irin turned his thin head to fix the small party with a yellowing gaze. He clapped his hands and swung his long legs around until he was sitting on the bare slab that served as a bed in his cell and regarded Sam as he replied.

“Well, they are a touch spartan for liking, but they serve to remind me exactly why I have dedicated my life to opposing you people.” Gomek sneered as he gesticulated to his surroundings.

“Banal, lacking in imagination and by their simpering mercy – doomed to fail eventually.”

“Seem to be holding you Jus’ fine.” Lieutenant Hayes rumbled from behind Sam’s left shoulder, with calm satisfaction.

The Praetor leapt to his feet and paced up to the forcefield that separated them, with the feline grace of a caged beast. Gomek looked the New Orleans native squarely in the eye.

“Indeed Lieutenant!” Praetor Irin smirked and his finger reached out and caused the forcefield to react sharply, giving him an unpleasant shock – which the Cardassian laughed-off.

“Although with a murderous saboteur roaming your ship at will, I daresay that I alone am in one of the safest places aboard – wouldn’t you agree?”

Samantha shot a warning look to her Security Chief, but Praetor Irin laughed once more – bringing her attention sharply back to the prisoner.

“Oh! No need to castigate the Chief here, Captain!’ Gomek laughed mockingly. “He didn’t let your nasty little secret slip – it’s not much of a secret at all I’m afraid!” He remarked smugly, “Your people really do like to gossip don’t they? Like that pair of Security ratings that are on the Gamma shift! Such prattlers – I DO think that they are also involved in a less – than – professional affair, if I’m any judge of people.”

Praetor Irin sneered unkindly. “Exactly the sort of weak – minded libertarianism that will see your precious United Federation of Planets fall into dust and obscurity in the end Captain, How I despise your compassion, your weakness.” He spat at the forcefield – which sizzled briefly.

Sam looked at Myron Hayes darkly and the Chief rumbled, “I’ll speak with them both Ma’am.” Obviously irked by the lack of discretion by his people whilst on duty.

Sam turned back to Praetor Irin.

“That’s very insightful Praetor.” The CO smiled thinly. “In all likelihood, the person we seek is a Fifth – Columnist in the employ of the New Marquis movement and you would most certainly be very high on the list of persons they would like to see dead. Consider it a courtesy that we a providing for your continued safety.”

Gomek sat back down on his bed and wave his hand airily to dismiss Sam’s concerns.

“Oh! I think that you’ll find that our Marquis friend holds Starfleet in equal distain Captain Hyland – why else would they have made not one, but two concerted efforts to destroy your ship in as many days?” The Praetor crowed, satisfied with needling his Gaolers.

Inwardly Samantha has furious that the prisoner had managed to glean this much level of detail concerning the USS Savannah’s predicament, from gossip overhead from members of her crew. Sam was aware that it put the prisoner in position of power – when she had to be eroding that position in order to get something (anything!) useful from the Cardassian.

“Which means that your fate is as inextricably linked to the fate of this ship as our own, Preator.” Sam countered.

“It’s in your best interests to assist us if you want to survive our current situation and you can start with telling us the name of your commanding officer, Identity of your home vessel and why you were engaged in an illegal attack on a civilian vessel in the former Demilitarized Zone – in what was obviously a false – flag operation designed to place blame on the New Marquis?” Samantha demonstrated her own ability to construct salient facts from hearsay and innuendo.

Preator Gomek Irin looked at the CO for a moment and then burst into laughter.

“Oh Captain Hyland! “Irin mocked, “Surely you can do better than that?” He lay back upon his slab of bed and crossed his arms behind his head, resuming his view of the cell’s blank ceiling.

“Under the terms of the Treaty of Bajor, I am only required to provide you with my name and the particulars of my rank and nothing more.” The Cardassian was self-assured and arrogant as he asserted his rights. “You, on the other hand, are forbade to compel me through violence, medical intervention or force of arms. Really Captain Hyland, I know that you are obviously young – but I honestly wonder what they teach you in that pathetic Academy of yours.” He sneered with satisfaction.

For a long moment, Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland considered the Praetor and then she turned to the Security – rating that was sat at the desk in the Brig and nodded.

“Open her up.” Sam ordered flatly and took Chief Haye’s Hand phaser from him as she stepped inside and fiddled with the settings.

Preator Irin frowned at Sam, but remained on the bed-slab, unsure of her intentions.

Samantha Hyland raised the sidearm and shot the Cardassian from eight paces away.

Gomek Irin was catapulted from his bed and landed in a dazed heap on the floor, as Sam handed back the weapon to Chief Hayes. Myron’s face betrayed no hint of emotion. T’Vran never betrayed a hint of emotion in any case – so the effect was like being bookended by a pair of Sphynx.

“Thank you Chief.” Sam nodded and squatted down next to the incumbent form of the astounded Cardassian.

“Ma’am.” Chief Hayes rumbled and nodded.

“That was the lowest stun setting.” Sam spoke conversationally as Gomek drooled into the deck – plating.  “I just wanted to get your attention.”

Samantha Hyland put her hands on her knees as she squatted on her haunches and continued to address the stunned prisoner.

“Now that I have your attention, I attend to disabuse you of some of the more erroneous notions that you are obviously laboring under, Praetor.” Sam said in a reasonable voice.

“Firstly – yes, you are correct, my vessel is under duress and is in all likelihood subject to internal sabotage by persons unknown operating in subterfuge – so I’m sure that you’ll appreciate I’m a very busy woman, hence this more direct approach?” Sam smiled with a nasty edge – of her own.

“Secondly – whilst you are technically correct, regarding your rights under the Treaty of Bajor, “Sam continued, “Those rights are applicable to all signatories and parties and are binding within the sovereign territories of the Alpha Quadrant.”

“You…fucking…bitch!” The Praetor was able to gasp as his muscles began to cease to spasm quite so violently, so as to allow him to gasp.

“Praetor, you have no idea.” Sam acknowledged reasonably and continued her line of reasoning.

“But in your eavesdropping, you have failed to glean one salient detail and it really is the kicker.” Sam Hyland nodded and began to exit the cell.

Preator Irin, still weakened by the stunning effects of Phasic – energy, had managed to raise himself to shaking hands & knees and watched the retreating Captain as drool streamed from his chin.

“You’re not IN the Alpha Quadrant Praetor Irin.” Sam looked coldly at her shoulder at Gomek, “And neither are we – the place where we find ourselves is technically not even in the Galaxy proper – so the Treaty of Bajor does not apply here. Here I am the Law.”

Praetor Irin moaned thinly, his bravado gone and replaced with a sense of awful trepidation.

Samantha exited the cell as Lieutenant T’Vran passed her, on her way in.

“I really don’t have time to ‘muck -around’, Praetor, so I have asked my Executive Officer to perform a mind – meld with you to learn all that you know. The Lieutenant here did object at first on similar moral and legislative grounds as you just did. But when I impressed upon T’Vran the same line of reasoning – she saw the Logic in it.” Lieutenant Commander Hyland explained without emotion as the Vulcan knelt down beside the prisoner and taking his head in her hands began to intone the familiar mantra.

“You kids have fun now, but don’t keep T’Vran long – she has a shuttle to catch.”

“My mind to your mind, my thought’s to your thoughts.”


Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Upper Main Shuttlebay / Deck 3

Stardate: 2401.7.12 /16:00hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

“So, Gul Yomat Ghallir.’ Samantha pondered aloud, as the Executive Officer and the TTH prepared to depart on their away mission to salvage what they could from the wreck of the USS Subic Bay.

“That was the name foremost in the Praetor’s mind Captain.” Lieutenant T’Vran nodded thoughtfully as the pair watched the Tactical Training Hologram use his maniple forefield projectors to complete the illusion of “lifting” the equipment case it was handling, into the rear of the awaiting Type-9 Shuttlecraft.

“What does the LCAR Database have on him?” Sam crossed her arms.

The mysterious Captain of the Galor – Class Cruiser (which, thanks to T’Vran’s psychic interrogation of Praetor Irin’s innermost thoughts, had been revealed as the Heavy – Cruiser “Verran.”) was to present Sam with her most significant challenge in the fragile puzzle that she was trying to complete to save her ship and crew.

Whilst she had found the methods employed to interrogate the Praetor distasteful in the extreme – they did not reside over her determination to see her ship and crew safely home at (almost) any cost.

If she had to face a Courts Martial upon her arrival back at Starbase 72, so be it. An accounting would mean that she had succeeded in securing that homecoming at the very least.

“The Gul was a rising star in the Cardassian High Command during the closing stages of the Dominion War, Captain.” T’Vran explained what she had learned in the Praetor’s mind.

“Brilliant, utterly ruthless and morally uncompromising – he quit the Military in disgust at what he saw the Capitulation of the Union in the Treaty of Bajor and betrayal of Cardassian colonists and interests by the re-organization of the borders of the former DMZ.” The Vulcan Executive Officer went on to say as she donned her EVA suit.

“He stole the Galor – class Cruiser Verran (one of the newer generations of Post – Dominion War vessels) in a daring raid on a Naval Yard under the control of forces sympathetic to the Detapa Council and has been waging a hit-and-run campaign of Guerilla warfare ever since.”

“And now he seeks to escalate the conflict by drawing in the Federation to account for “supposed’ New Marquis atrocities, which are in reality being carried out by his True Way forces?” Sam mused – even she was forced to admit that it was a plan audacious in both scope and malfeasance.

“So it would appear, Captain.” T’Vran nodded. “A truly formidable opponent – I would urge caution – but somehow, I think that you will seize upon what opportunity presents itself. This seems to encapsulate your tactical outlook thus far?” The young Vulcan woman arched an eyebrow.

Sam smiled and peered at T’Vran. It was hard to tell if the Vulcan was being genuine or having some subtle dig at her style of command, such as it was.

“Well, I’m just working with what I got Number One.” The CO nodded, “Speaking of which – you have your own share of troubles to be dealing with, so I won’t delay you any longer. Chief Manningly will coordinate the Away Mission from the Bridge.”

“Acknowledged Captain.” T’Vran nodded.

“Number One,” Sam warned “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s essential that we manage to gather what parts we can to assist Ensign Carver and her team reconstruct the Deuterium Fill – port injectors and Processing assembly. It’s going to be dangerous, and I have no right to order you into this such danger. Do what you have to do to accomplish the mission – but not at the expense of your own personal – safety, is that understood?”

Lieutenant T’Vran and the TTH boarded the Type 9 Shuttlecraft “Forsyth.” The Vulan paused at the hatchway and addressed her Captain.

“I shall endeavor to do as you say Captain, but ultimately the needs of the many will outweigh the needs of the few.”


Location: Underspace / Type 9 Shuttlecraft “Forsyth.”

Stardate: 2401.7.12 /16:05hrs (Subjective Time)

 

The tiny form of the Type 9 Shuttlecraft Forsyth appeared (and indeed was) fragile in the face of the Brownian – swirl of destructive, compelling and competing exotic energies that constitute the fabric of Underspace.

The short journey from the USS Savannah to that of the derelict wreck of the former Miranda (Refit) – Class Federation frigate USS Subic Bay was only a relative short one – but a journey that had to be made by necessity, through a lethal accumulation of wreckage that threaded their path. Ranging from molecule – sized, right up to the wreck of the founder 23rd Century starship itself, the modest deflector array aboard the Forsyth was the only thing preventing the TTH and Lieutenant T’Vran from being eviscerated and joining its destructive mass – as they carefully made their approach.

With the Executive Officer at the controls, the Tactical Training Hologram acted as observer. The real Isagi Saroga, that the TTH was based upon, had actually been alive when the stricken Miranda was still a relatively cutting edge naval – asset and before it had required a Refit to keep the class a valid platform for Starfleet. In this the TTH was probably the best person to have as ‘second seat’ on the away team.

“Hmmf. Starboard Nacelle is gone from the Engineering Spar downwards.” The TTH grunted as the heavily damaged hull of the old Miranda glided along below the Forsyth.

“Battle Damage Master Chief?” T’Vran asked as she carefully threaded the tiny Type 9 aft – attempting to see if entry to one of the Subic bay’s two Shuttlebay was possible.

“Hmmf. Unlikely.” Master Chief Saroga shook his bald head and remonstrated. “Battle damage would exhibit patterns of carbon scoring on the surrounding hull, as indicators of weapons discharge. There would be a pattern of damage continuing aftward along the hull – if the Nacelle had been stuck by hostile fire and destroyed in that manner – as would fall away aft, if the ship was underway.”

“So, the damage was likely sustained whilst the Subic Bay was at repose?” T’Vran reasoned as she swung the shuttle out of the way of a piece of wickedly – wrenched debris some tens of meters across as it caromed past and impacted the hull of the Miranda – causing further damage.

Adding insult to decades of injury.

“That would be my call.” The TTH nodded. “Hmmf, it looks like some of the Emergency Escape pods have been jettisoned.

T’Vran hoped that the absence of Life Pods indicated some technical fault. The Vulcan did not rate the chances of survival of any crewmembers of the USS Subic Bay that had attempted to brave Underspace in a pod, as being particularly high – statistically speaking.

Aft of the USS Subic Bay, it was obvious that the Shuttle bays on the wreck were unserviceable and could not support a conventional approach…

“Hmmf. We are not getting in that way.” The TTH observed unnecessarily.

“Given the impact damage and several breaches on the outer hull, it is unlikely that the USS Subic Bay still retains a viable atmosphere. I propose that we attempt to gain entry to the ship via the emergency escape docking port, to the rear of the main bridge.

“Hmmf.”


Location: Underspace / USS Subic Bay / Bridge / Deck 1

Stardate: 2401.7.12 /16:24hrs (Subjective Time)

 

“Away Team report.” Came the calm and measured voice of Chief Talbot Manningly, as Lieutenant T’Vran and Master Chief Saroga stood in the midst of a frozen tableau of despair and death.

The Executive Officer and the Tactical Training Hologram stood on what remained of the Bridge of the lost 23rd Century Vessel.

All around them, every surface was frosted in a patina of ice-crystals, as if the entire space had been transformed by a glittering sheen of diamonds – the light sparkling softly as it refracted the lights from T’Vran’s EVA suit (the TTH – needing no suit – stood incongruously in the space open to vacuum in his projection of a 23rd Century Security NCO’s Uniform).

The ice lay on the surface of consoles that had been torn apart, service hatches removed and an intestinal-confusion of wiring exposed, as the crew had attempted to cannibalize parts in an effort to restore their ship to seaworthiness – much as the desperate crew of the USS Savannah was attempting to do now.

T’Vran looked at the grotesque frieze of corpses, dressed in uniforms similar to that of the TTH, frozen in the grisly moment of their individual deaths and fervently hoped that the fortunes of the USS Savannah were markedly more successful – than those of the USS Subic Bay had apparently not been.

Here, sat in the Captain’s chair, was the corpse of the Ship’s own Executive Officer (This apparent by the insignia on his sleeve. The body was missing its head and in the corpse’s hand, the graceful form of a Phaser – Pistol. A suicide then.

The frigid tale of desperation was played out in various, but differing, expressions of death around the away team. Here the skeletal bodies of an officer and a rating were locked with their hands forever clasped around each other’s bony throats – victims both of a violent ending.

Propped up against the CONN position, another body (possibly the Ship’s Doctor) in halted state of decomposition, sat Mummy – like – desiccated by cold and time. The body was missing its leg from the upper – femur down.

T’Vran was not sure where the rest of the leg was. She keyed her comm.

“Away Team here – Go ahead Savannah.”

“Helmet – cam feed is coming through with some interruption Lieutenant.” The Chief of the Boat reported from his position at the Mission Ops board on the bridge of the USS Savannah. “Attempting to compensate. Can you give us a situation report away team?”

“We have entered the pressure hull and have attained the Bridge Savannah.” T’Vran reported without fear as the TTH searched amongst the dead.

“The USS Subic Bay is without life support and in an advanced state of disrepair. We have encountered the remains of several of her crew. They appear to have died under duress. There are signs that an attempt to salvage parts from several systems was underway, but at this juncture it is impossible to construct a viable timeline of events to work from.” The XO reported efficiently.

There was a pause and then Chief Manningly sent.

“There may be residual power latent in some parts of the EPS system Lieutenant. That may be sufficient to restore emergency operating power. This may ease your passage to other decks.”

T’Rav played her helmet light around the charnel – pit that was once the proud Miranda (Refit) – Class’s bridge and sent.

“The Captain would likely have the correct codes to affect this Savannah – I don’t appear to see his remain here on the bridge?”

“That would be Captain Edward Norman.” Chief Manningly confirmed, obviously reading the late – CO’s service jacket records from the LCAR on the USS Savannah. “Try his ready room?”

“Copy that.” T’Vran sent and the TTH joined her.

In front of the entry to the Captain’s Ready Room, there were more corpses. The TTH indicated the door to the CO’s personal office. The surface was badly damaged and scored with phaser burns and gouges where a blunt object had been used, obviously in an attempt to pry the doors apart.

“Hmmf.” The Master – Chief nodded shortly, “Someone wanted in.”

T’Vran looked down at the corpses. These were also former members of the USS Subic Bay’s crew. The Vulcan wondered at what sequence of events had befallen the doomed crew, that such an obvious breakdown of the chain of command and discipline had given way to this troubling scene?

Together with the TTH’s powerful maniple fields and the Vulcan’s natural strength – T’Vran and the TTH were able to achieve what the dead plaintively could not in life and managed to force their way into the darkness of the ready room.

The remains of Captain Edward Norman were seated in front of his console at his desk, the desiccated remains were incongruously – dressed in a Captain’s full dress – uniform of the late 23rd era.

T’Vran frowned at a granular, reddish-brown substance that had frozen on the surface of the desk, until she saw the letter – opener that had fallen from the corpse’s hand to the shimmering carpet and realized that Captain Norman had used the object to open up the veins on both of his wrists.

Another suicide.

“Hmmf. Lieutenant – come look at this?”

The TTH summoned the XO and together they met at the couch and wondered at the scene before her. Yet another corpse, this obviously a young woman in an Ensign’s uniform, had been laid to rest on the couch, a blanket covering her body.

T’Vran moved to the desk and managed to activate the monitor. In the pervading mausoleum -darkness of the frozen Ready Room, a cold light illuminated her face as the wretched dead spoke to her from the long past.

Savannah. We have located Captain Norman’s personal terminal. There appear to be fragments of the Captain’s log that are retrievable.  For posterities sake, I am transmitting them to you. Please initiate a recording in the USS Savannah’s data – log.”

“Copy that Away – team, standing by.” Chief Manningly responded.

Lieutenant T’Vran started the first of the three recoverable Log Entries.

The screen flickered to life to reveal a Starfleet Captain, his red tunic undone at the white counterpane. Obviously Captain Edward Norman. The man on screen looked careworn and haggard – his greying hair unkempt and dark circles told of a man pushed far beyond his physical endurance.

“Captain’s Log. Stardate 2291.7.12.” Captain Norman’s tone told a litany of stress.

“It is our 72nd day stranded here in the Anomaly.” Norman reported with a tired voice. “Whilst we have managed to maintain life – support on most of the undamaged decks and have withdrawn the surviving crew to the relative safety of the saucer section – our casualties mount daily, just as our numbers grow fewer. Of the Three Hundred and Sixty good souls aboard that followed me in my folly – into the rift – now only some One Hundred and Three remain. I carry the weight of their passing with me in every waking hour.”

Captain Norman rubbed his tired face, as if to rub away the feelings of remorse – but to no avail.

“I blame myself ultimately.” Ed Norman continued ruefully, “The mood aboard when we first discovered the Anomaly was one of excitement, jubilation even. The opportunity to glimpse into the unknown and touch the face of God. If you can imagine that?”

The haggard Captain on-screen took a belt from a dwindling bottle of whiskey and grimaced as the burning dram went down but failed to take the edge from his chagrin.

“After all! Isn’t that what Starfleet is supposed to be about? Boldly going?” He made a small smile at the remembrance of a happier time, “Even Annie was excited. Her mother had protested when she joined Starfleet. Wasn’t overjoyed when she graduated (although she’s always been such a smart kid – I never had my doubts). It’s strange now, to think that Kate was mollified somewhat that I had managed to swing it so that our Annie could serve aboard the Subic Bay with me. Thought it would be safer that way! What a joke that turned out to be – but there’s nothing funny about it at all.”

Captain Norman shook his head and tried to refocus on his log.

“I’ll edit that part out – if we ever make it out of here.” Ed commented and continued.

“Whilst we have managed to repair the Main deflector and are protected from the worst of the debris – field, Chief Engineer Rutherford is having a harder time restoring Warp Power. I have all of the respect in the world for Tom Rutherford and his capabilities – but the Warp-coils took a tremendous amount of strain during our passage through the threshold of the Anomaly’s event – horizon. The damage to the Starboard Nacelle is the more substantial of the two, but Tom has estimated that with work – crews working in shifts, we may be able to restore Warp Power within 14 days.”

Captain Norman massaged the bridge of his nose at this point and let out a great sigh.

“Which brings me to our most immediate problem. Notwithstanding extensive damage to our ship and systems, our casualties to date or even the effects of the Anomaly itself (manifold & nightmarish as they are indeed). Are main problem being food, or to be precise – lack thereof.”

“My Executive Officer, Frank Micheal’s, completed an inventory of our remained consumables as asked. The news is not good. Even with the quarter rations we have been barely surviving on for weeks now – Commander Micheal reports that we barely have enough food to feed what crew remains for another four days. We will have to tighten our belts even further if we are to achieve Chief Rutherford’s deadline and ever escape this accursed place.”

The recording was cut out at this juncture and T’Vran raised an eyebrow to the TTH, who grunted.

“It’s a tough deal, for sure.” The Master Chief allowed tightly.

Lieutenant T’Vran was forced to agree, and she started the second log that could be recovered.

If the Captain Ed Norman from the first recording looked like a paradigm of misery, the man that sat before the camera now – looked like a man that had sailed through hell itself. The background lighting kept on fluctuating intermittently – giving the recording a nightmarish aspect.

“Captain’s Log. Stardate 2291.7.12.” Captain Norman’s voice was tinged with heavy regret and a touch of hysteria even.

“It’s all falling apart and it’s all my fault.” Edward Norman confessed, wringing his hands unconsciously. The man now looked far worse physically – the effects of malnutrition and sickness apparent on his gaunt face.

“The Engine repairs ended in disaster. The long hours, the lack of sleep – the endless longing for food. Someone must have made a mistake, forgot a process check or to ensure that a safety protocol was in place. Whatever the cause, I cannot blame my crew. It was my own blind idealism that brought us to this place. The blame lies with me alone. When we tried to bring the Warp – Reactor online – there was a catastrophic cascade – failure and loss of containment of plasma in the Starboard Nacelle. It’s gone……just gone, and with it our hopes of ever leaving this place. Annie says I mustn’t blame myself – but how can I not? I am the Captain and the fates of these people is in my hands.”

Edward Norman brushed regretful tears from his eye as he tried to maintain composure and record the fate of his ship and crew for whatever posterity they could hope for – lost in this place of damned souls.

“With the destruction of the nacelle, morale began to suffer almost immediately and then completely break down. I had hoped that my XO would be a rock in these times, but I’m certain that Commander Micheal’s blames me for our predicament. Frank Micheal’s and I could always see eye to eye on most issues – but now he won’t even speak to me. Dr Lucan continues to mediate, but the chain of command is becoming more and more fragmented with every passing day.”

“Following the deaths during the incident with the Nacelle, our list of survivors had diminished to only Eighty – three souls. That was until Petty Office Clarke, mad with starvation, convinced some thirty or so of his comrades from the Lower – Decks to mutiny and seize what last supplies of comestibles we had and flee in the Escape Pods. Dr Lucan tried to reason with them, but the hunger had made beasts of them all. Poor Cassie Lucan, ever the peacemaker, was struck down and passed away that night. At least Cass’ is now at peace and free from this nightmare. Clarke and his followers must surely all have perished – it was pure folly to entrust their souls to the Pods. They must have become their fragile coffins, and I am ashamed to say that for them (at least) I do not mourn their loss.”

Lieutenant T’Vran looked down at the corpse of Captain Edward Norman and wondered at the stresses the man must have been under in his final hours.

To be the Captain of any starship was to shoulder an inevitable burden. T’Vran looked to the body on the couch, unquestionably that of Annie Norman – the Captain’s daughter, noting the tenderness of her final arrangement and felt an admiration that Captain Norman had managed to hold on to his humanity in the face of such insurmountable odds.

She played the final recording.

Captain Edward Norman looked near death and like death himself. Physically he was painfully thin, his skin grey and waxen – even in the scant light of the emergency lantern that gave the Ready Room its only source of light and heat. When he spoke – it was as one who is resigned to the inevitability of death and cannot quite wait for it to claim him.

“Captain’s Log. Stardate….. it really doesn’t matter anymore…..this will be my last log entry.”

In the background of the recording a steady, muted thumping sound could be heard – causing Captain Norman to occasionally look away from the camera – as if annoyed to be so distracted.

“It began with Frank Micheal’s asking, ‘The Delicate Question’ in the mess – hall six days ago……” Captain Norman began in a cracking voice.

T’Vran’s attention was interrupted by a transmission from Chief Manningly, she temporarily paused the recording.

Savannah to Away Team, I’m taking the recording off speakers.” Talbot Manningly’s voice was grim and purposeful.

“Is there a problem Chief?” The XO frowned, not following.

Before the USS Savannah’s Chief of the Boat (an indentured scholar of naval history) could reply, the TTH spoke for him.

“He’s talking about the ‘Custom of the Sea.’” Master Chief Isagi Saroga replied grimly.

“I am unfamiliar with this ‘Custom’, Savannah – would you kindly qualify its relevance to these events being recounted?” T’Vran asked.

There was a pause and then Chief Manningly explained.

“Ma’am the “custom of the sea”, which was also known as “the delicate question” or “the proper tradition of the sea”, specified that in case of disaster, when there was not enough food for the survivors, corpses could be eaten. If there were no bodies available for consumption, lots were drawn to determine who would be sacrificed to provide food for the others.” Talbot’s tone was tinged with regret. “It would appear that some members of the USS Subic Bay’s crew resorted to the drawing of lots to decide who would be killed and eaten so that the others might survive.”

The frozen air of the ready room was pregnant with the implications, but T’Vran simply responded.

“Thank you Chief – I concur that it would not be constructive for the crew of the USS Savannah to learn of this development.”

“Aye Ma’am.” The Chief responded and closed the comm-channel.

Lieutenant Commander looked to the mortal remains of Captain Edward Norman and then to those of his daughter Annie Norman on the couch. It was evident that it was a father’s last defiant act to ensure that the mob, that was once his former crewmates, did not get the opportunity to breach the last redoubt of the Ready Room – to use the flesh of himself or his loved one thusly.

“Master Chief.” T’Vran commanded, “Nothing more constructive will be achieved from the continued review of these logs. I propose that we find a way down into the remains of the Engineering – hull by means of our own recognizance.”

The TTH nodded curtly, his neat moustache twitching just once.

“Hmmf. Agreed.”

Inversions

Underspace / USS Savannah / Chief Science Officer’s Quarters / Deck 6
2401.7.13 /16:32hrs (Shipboard Time)

“O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.”

 

The Wasteland – T.S. Elliot (1922)


 

Chief Myron Hayes lowered his considerable bulk onto the offered couch.

The past hour had been one of revelations for the Chief of Security of the USS Savannah when he’d woke up this morning and had his habitual Coffee, Bacon & Grits.

For example, Myron had never though that he’d ever see (or stand by whilst) a Starfleet Captain shot a prisoner that he had been charged with the custody of.

That was a First.

Every facet of Chief Hayes’s training as a Starfleet Security professional had railed against such an act, but then – with the increasingly ruinous situation Myron found the ship that he was sworn to protect and serve, was faced by – the Chief had found he’d said nothing and felt even less when the Captain had requisitioned his sidearm, stunned his prisoner and returned the hand phaser to him.

Beyond what that said about his dedication to duty, Myron Hayes worried what that said about him as a human being and (more importantly) about his oath as a Starfleet Officer – if the confusion and threat implicit in the anomaly – could reduce the best and brightest of the ship to such actions – in such a short space of time?

Myron had been raised by his uncle Lucius and been running all round his Jazz – Bar “Fadin’ Times” in New Orleans’ Lower-Garden District when he was just a “knee-high”. The Chief remembered the one piece of sage advice Ol’ Uncle Lucius had ever imparted (when he was on the ‘right-side’ of sobriety) and that was…

“Just speak your truth, “Chief Myron Hayes rumbled to the latest name on his list, “Wordsa’ll Judge you soon as not they out.”

The Chief Medical Officer was a nervous man by nature and Myron was well aware that the man’s Aspergers Syndrome meant that the man was prone to gestures and behaviors that, a less familiar person – in another time – could (and possibly would) misinterpret as signs of guilty intent.

Myron held no such preconceptions, however. Beyond a solid upbringing in the morays and follies of human nature, gathered at this uncle’s knee – Myron was a professional and insightful man – but also knew when to squeeze in a certain place, to see if a reaction turned up that was unexpected.

“My Truth Lieutenant?” Aldren challenged in a charged tone. “The truth of this ‘interrogation’, is as moot as it is slanted!” The slim scientist frowned.

Myron never ceased to wonder how strange an Australian accent seemed to his Creole ears.

The Chief raised an oar – like hand and was about to respond, but Dr Ballard was not a man to be dissuaded in mid – ire.

“It’s plaintively obvious that you are investigating the series of incidents aboard ship, and it doesn’t take a Heisenberg – Prize winning recipient, such as myself – to determine that the likely suspect for such an act of obvious sabotage is someone with links to the New Marquis?!” Aldren hypothesis and accused.

“Now Doc I…” Myron tried to interject. He was quite unused to anyone but himself driving an interrogation. Let alone the suspect actually leading proceedings so vociferously.

“And of course your delving’s have brought your inevitably to my door!” Aldren raged and worries, his hand’s ‘stimming’ as he sought to contain his frustration and began to pace his quarters, his voice becoming shrill.

“Who else to suspect, but son of the known Marquis traitor?” Aldren laughed bitterly and Myron felt a deep pang of sorrow for what Dr Ballard must have gone through as a child. He had read the CSO’s Service – Jacket, as had he of all the people that he needed to speak to today, in an effort to narrow his search for the traitor onboard.

A traitor who had almost succeeded twice in destroying the USS Savannah and would (undoubtedly) try to do so again, If Chief Myron Hayes and his Security Team could not discover their identity in time and stop them – before they succeeded in their suicidal goal.

Myron frowned and held up his hand again and rumbled.

“Doc’, I’m sho’ yawl got good reasons for carrying on so – but yawl turned around and reading me all jus’ plain wrong.” Myron asserted, his voice redolent with the broad N’Orleans patois, that he habitually inflected.

Even Dr Alren Ballard’s universal translator balked at this barrage of colloquialism and Aldren was stopped mid – complaint.

“I beg your pardon Chief?”

Myron smiled. Of course, he could enunciate himself as clearly as any other Starfleet officer, but he figured he was how he was, should sound how he is and sometimes it was a very effective ploy in restoring equilibrium to an interrogation – so he wasn’t above letting his Creole just roll over folks.

“Doc, I think you’re mistaking the reason behind my calling on you?” Myron’s dark face split into the duplicitous smile that had led to his Memere dubbing him “Canaille” – as a child.

“I didn’t come here to accuse you of being the saboteur because of your Marquis-lineage.” The Chief explained levelly. “I come here, cos you probably the smartest man aboard and to ask you to help me catch the saboteur BECAUSE of your Marquis – Daddy, is all.”

For probably the first time in his entire life, Dr Aldren Ballard was genuinely and entirely lost for words…


Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Officer’s Mess / Deck 6

Stardate: 2401.7.13 /17:01hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Ensign Bysea Wanat made a B- line for the table where Ensign Lucia Ortez was sitting and quite obviously insinuated herself into the last free seat amongst the knot of Junior – officers, as they took their evening meal.

Since the Captain had ordered most of the crew to the saucer – section to conserve power and shelter from the effects of the terrifying ‘Tachyon – pockets’ that had affected Chief Herrera so terribly – the Officer’s Mess had become a much more egalitarian space, to Bysea’s mind.

All the better for her to get to the bottom of the latest mystery occupying her mind.

Although many of those here assembled were not exactly what you might call “fans” of Bysea’s best friend Ithariar Sh’eshikrar, she knew that Ortez was the OPS ‘Gamma – Shift’ Leader and was hoping that she might have some information as to why Bysea’s friend had been summoned to a meeting with the USS Savannah’s Chief of Security?

Ensign Ortiz was a well – known and trusted source of ‘scuttlebutt’ aboard ship, and the Bolian was sure that she could glean some gossip worthy of her interest. Makers only knew – with the dire situation aboard the ship since they had been marooned in the anomaly, a usually fun assignment had turned into a ‘complete drag!’

(Bysea had learned that term from an old – Terran entertainment she had streamed last night and was totally – taken with it. She had termed at least three things a ‘complete drag’ since coming on-shift and had been reasonably sure that at least one of those times – it had been reasonably accurate!).

“So hey, yeah everybody!” Bysea Wanat greeted jovially as she took up her spoon and began to spoon the infamously – caustic Bolian Tomato Soup into her mouth noisily. “What’s the what?” She asked innocently.

Normally you couldn’t make Ensign Ortiz shut the Shak – UP! Today, however– she seemed strangely silent, but Bysea was not a person ever to be deterred – socially. She frowned and slurped and continued her conversational ploy.

“SO, I heard that Crewman Loquat heard that Ensign Relenza said that Petty Officer Garza had it on ‘good – authority’ that Chief Hayes is WAY wound-up about the rumors about a saboteur onboard and is – like – totally going ‘Mundo-Inquisition’ on everybody’s ass about it all! Can you even – EVEN?” Bysea laughed and the frowned.

She looked at Ensign Ortez – she hadn’t said a word or even touched her salad since Bysea had sat down, which was odd on the face of things, the gregarious young Bolian Helmsman was forced to admit.

She put down her spoon and was about to ask Leading Crewman Harrison what his thoughts were and then she stopped and peered more intently at the young Maintenance Specialist. Tim was almost always fussing with something on his PADD (or more likely composing one of the 4D Holo-glyphs Bysea knew he loved to create, when he should have really been working) that must have been really good. Why else would he be frowning so intently.

“Hey Tim?” Bysea tried to change tack. “DO you think that the parts that the XO and the Master Chief are able to bring back from that wrecked – old Miranda will really be cross – compatible with our 24th century tech onboard?” She laughed lightly. “I mean, isn’t that like trying to fit a square peg into an Isolinear – board?”

Timothy Harrison did not answer (rude) or even react to Bysea’s joke (even ruder) and suddenly the Bolian was struck by a sense of “Wrongness” and felt queasy.

Ensign Lucia Ortez had still not moved her fork – her salad was no closer to her mouth than it had been when Bysea had sat down.

The finger of Leading Crewman Harrison was not moving aboard the screen of the PADD.

Crewman Sarah Mathers was caught in the process of laughing at something Ortiz might have just said and thin globules of her meal were frozen in the air – where they had exited her mouth.

“Oh Shitsticks!” Bysea dropped her spoon into her soup-bowl (which splattered reassuringly – red across the belly of her uniform) and keyed her Commbadge, as she cautiously rose and backed away from the table – lest she too become frozen in time from the unpredictable effects of the time – dilation effect being exerted by the Tachyon – Bubble that had obviously ensnared the diners at the table.

All caught in a literal ‘Frozen – Moment.’

“Bridge, this is Ensign Wanat.” She breathed, her voice suddenly quavering in shock.

“Bridge here – go ahead Ensign.” Came Ensign Vikander’s sure tones.

Bysea Wanat gulped and said, “Alert Sickbay – we got another one!”


Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Sickbay / Deck 6

Stardate: 2401.7.13 /17:09 hrs. (Shipboard Time)

 

Sabreen el-Hannan laid a sympathetic hand on that of Carlito Herrera and reassured.

“I know that it’s a lot to take in Carlito.” The young Muslim Ships Councilor said calmly. “Just take your time and find what words you will.”

Chief Engineer Carlito Herrera gazed at the ravages of time in the reverser – field but could not find the words to adequately express the overwhelming sense of loss that gripped his soul.

What can you say in memoriam to a spatial phenomenon that has robbed you of your very youth?

Tears ran down what was his once- smooth and boyish face, now cruel tributaries of crenellated age. The hands that held the reverser device were just beginning to show the faint mottling of liver spots and the Puerto – Rican Officer was both horrified and strangely fascinated to note that the skin that had been taut on those hands, just yesterday morning – now were patinaed with the fractal wrinkling of advanced middle age.

” ¿Qué delicioso infierno me ha superado?” Carlito whispered and habitually made the sign of the cross with his right hand. He was perturbed to note even his voice sounded different, wrong, both deeper and strained somehow.

The Councilor was right – it was too much to take in.

His body was not his own. Where he had become so familiar with his strong limbs, his tight abs, his generous dark Latin – hair – Chief Herra was beyond horrified to discover himself a veritable prisoner in this sagging frame – this alien – body with its strange and unfamiliar aches and pains.

He had no energy at all (even though Dr Reynard had assured him that this was a “natural’ physiological reaction by his body to protect itself as the intense exposure to Tachyon – Radiation has preternaturally aged his cellular – structure in a matter of seconds), his once lustrous hair was thinning on top and mantled by a spray of salt & pepper grey.

Every time he tried to cast his mind back to the incident, it seemed impossible to piece the experience back together – only dislocated fragments remained. He remembered the nightmarish sensation of his body aging years over the span of each passing second. The impression of Lieutenant T’Vran standing on the other side of the emergency containment field – seemingly frozen-in-time herself.

He remembered looking up through the gash in the outer hull where the sabotaged Deuterium – containment tank had ruptured. Remembered seeing the sickening sepia whorl of Underspace rotating past at impossible speed.

He should be thankful that he was alive, should be focusing on the state of his ship, but for now….

He looked once again at his reflection and whispered in abject shock, “Dios y todos sus angeles por favor librenme de esta pesadilla ruego”.

All Carlito Alejandro Yadriel Herrera could do, right now, was mourn the Death of his Youth.


Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Gymnasium / Deck 8

Stardate: 2401.7.13 /17:15hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Ithariar Sh’eshikrar’s pale – blue fists slammed in a Jab, Cross, Jab – Hook – slamming into the heavy – bag with ferocious speed before she pivoted her hips and slammed her right knee into the training – device HARD, making the chain jeke and jangle.

“So, you can account for all personnel present in the Ventral MMP when the Torpedo’s were being transferred from the TF72 Spacedock Ordinance Magazine?” Chief Hayes rumbled casually, as the lithe young blue woman in work-out gear pummeled the target with a singular determination.

Myron reflected that he wouldn’t like to piss the Andorian off on a good day – but with Ensign Sh’eshikrar’s perma-temper, the Chief wondered if Ithariar every really had what most folks considered a ‘good’ day. She always seemed to be on the brink of fury – no matter how well she managed to mask it.

Security Myron Hayes briefly considered if that fury could be motive for sabotage – but concluded it would be an unorthodox Fifth Columnist indeed that instigated a disaster and then inverted their actions to suddenly save the ship. Unless that person was trying to establish an unimpeachable alibi – that is?

Myron shook his head – in that line of reasoning, madness did lie.

“Of course I can Chief.” Ithariar snarled as her fists pounded the bag again and again. “It’s Standard Starfleet protocol that every person permitted in a live ordinance – handling space, during loading operations be vetted and accounted for by Spacedock and Shipboard OPS.”

“Yeah, I know that.” The Chief nodded. “Same as I know that Starbase 72 Security confirmed the outgoing traffic times in the transport logs – just the same as your team logged the receipt times in your receiving log.”

“That’s the protocol.” Ithariar nodded shortly, as she ceased her concerted assault on the Gym – equipment and threw back a draught of water from her bottle. She swabbed the sweat from her face and neck (being careful to avoid her vertiginous antennae) and draped it around her neck as she warmed – down.

“Hard to see how such a thing could happen then? “Chief Hayes remarked, deep in thought.

“Those were my thoughts Chief.” Ithariar agreed as she sat down on a bench and began to perform a series of bicep-curls with some free – weights. “For such a misstep to take place is almost unthinkable – that’s when I started to consider sabotage.” The Andorian frowned.

“Would have helped if you’d shared that suspicion with the Cap’n.” Myron chastised her flatly.

The haughty young Andorian Tactical Officer laughed bitterly and remarked. “Hah! Captain pink-skin and I don’t exactly see eye to eye. It’s her fault that we were all pulling double – shift duty as it was. Never a great idea when handling potentially lethal ordinance – but that show’s exactly how inexperienced and incompetent a commander she is!”

Myron Hayes frowned massively.

“I’d mind your manners and mind your mouth if I was yawl, Ensign.” Myron had a warning edge in his deep – voice now. “Cap’n is making the best of a Boo-Coo bad hand right now. Ya’ll may not like her – but that woman is about to go out into that hell and parlay with the Devil hisself – in order to try save all our asses. You should have some respect, is all.”

Ithariar rolled her pale Ice – blue eyes and shrugged.

“Okay – the trick with the MMP of Photon Torpedo’s was a pretty ballsey trick. I would have loved to see the look on the True – Way bastard’s face when that little package blew up in his forward vector!” The antagonistic Andorian smiled thinly at the memory.

Chief Hayes returned to his line of questioning. Myron was sure that, if he could make sense of the earlier incident when the Torpedo storage had been sabotaged, he could get than little closer to understanding the causal link to the proceeding attack that had devastated the Deuterium Storage and Processing facility on Deck 13.

“So, your people pulled a double as the Skipper had Yawl on a shit – detail?” Myron continued to prompt Ithariar. “You’re sure that no one left the MMP in all of that time, you can account for everyone for all of that time?” He pressed.

Ithariar put down the weights and looked frankly at the Chief of Security.

“That’s what I said in my report and that is what happened Chief.” Ithariar retorted, her antennae fairly telegraphing her annoyance at this persistence interrogation.

“No one left – not even to go to the head?” Myron rumbled.

Ithariar sighed and rubbed her temples tiredly.

“There’s a fresher – unit in the MMP Chief, everybody uses that. The only time we stopped was when we took a 15 – minute meal – break and we all ate together before resuming the loading operation. I’m sure of it.”

At this, Chief Myron Hayes’s interest was piqued, and he asked.

“Yawl took a meal break. Would there be a replicator log of that?” Myron searched.

Ithariar shook her head.

“Negative Chief.” The Andorian began to unselfconsciously strip off her top, revealing her lithe, sweat – drenched torso as she toweled herself off. Myron was unperturbed.

“Can’t have a replicator active when onboarding.” Ithariar confirmed. “I put an order in for a scheduled menu at the allotted break time and it was delivered by Special Services, just as ordered.”


Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Brig/ Deck 5

Stardate: 2401.7.13 /17:15hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Praetor Gomek Irin was aware of movement beyond the containment field and turned his listless head towards its source and regarded that person with an indolent glare.

“Your food, as always, tastes like pig-shit.” The Cardassian prisoner remarked unkindly, then sighed and took up the plastic tray upon which his meal had been served and took the soiled trencher over to the transfer hatch. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

Gomek Irin was a true believer of the True Way. He was ready to lay down his life for the cause and was bitterly disappointed that he had failed in the execution of his part of Gul Ghallir’s cunning plan to set the pathetic Depta Council and loathsome United Federation of Planets at each other’s throats.

Now all he had to look forward to was an interminable period of bland incarceration with only the prospect of taunting his blithe gaolers as they spouted their ersatz dogma at him.

Still, you have to take what fun you can get.

“I’m sorry you think that way.” The Crewman shrugged non-committal, as he retrieved the plastic tray from the aperture.

 Praetor Gomek Irin was about to return a barbed rejoinder when the grey – clad figure asked casually.

“It doesn’t look like you’re having too much fun?” The human commented pointedly, then “I bet that you’d like to get out of there, wouldn’t you?”

The True Way Officer narrowed his eyes, suspecting another trick. After that cursed bloody woman had set her Pet – Vulcan on him and violated his mind, Gomek would put nothing past these Federation – dogs.

He peered over the grey – clad figures’ shoulder – the Guard seated at the Security Station had paid this person no heed. The other Starfleet Security Specialist standing guard at the entrance to the Brig had likewise showed no reaction to their presence. This was a person who could come and go at will.

A person everyone expected to see and thus no one really saw.

Realization dawned and the Praetor smiled a guarded smile.

“It’s you.” He acknowledged.

The Saboteur smiled blandly and nodded his head.

“Guilty.”

Gomek narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice.

You’re the one attempting to destroy this ship.”

The Saboteur sighed and nodded.

“Not from want of trying.” They admitted ruefully.

“So, what do you want from me?” Praetor Gomek Irin was aware that he was speaking to the very person that had tried twice (unsuccessfully) to destroy the USS Savannah. “You’re New Marquis yes? You’re here to kill me?”

The Saboteur shrugged, as if that was the least of their intentions and confided.

“Yes – I have certain ‘convictions’ – same as you Praetor, but I’m not here to discuss that right now and I’m certainly not here to kill you.” They nodded.

“What then?” The Prisoner asked, intrigued by this development.

Special Services Division crewman Aldus Coe smiled and said.

“Have you ever heard the Terran Phrase ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’, Praetor?”

Sympathy for the Devil

Underspace / Type - 9 Shuttlecraft – “Chippewa”
2401.7.13 / 20:18hrs (Shipboard Time)

So, if you meet me, have some courtesy
Have some sympathy and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I’ll lay your soul to waste.”

Sympathy for the Devil – Jagger / Richards (1968)


 

All around, the swirling, chaotic mélange of lethal energies caressed the fragile hull of the Starfleet Type – 9 Shuttlecraft – “Chippewa”, threatening to destroy it’s intrepid, lonely form – should it ever contrive of a way to defeat the concentric layers of field – enclosure or the security of the Trillium – composite hull plating.

The shuttlecraft hung motionless amongst the writhing, endless sepia – hued storm front that raged eternal within the anomaly known as “Underspace, bright staccato stabs of random lightning playing across the face of the lone – occupant – all alone at a veritable ‘hells – gate’, like a modern-day David – defiant in the face of a mighty Goliath.

Before the tiny Federation craft, the Hull of the Galor – Class Cruiser “Verran” – loomed large. The disparity between size and the destructive capability of the respective vessels spoke volumes about the power dynamic that existed between these two castaways as they faced off across the madness of the Labyrinth.

“This is the Starfleet Shuttlecraft “Chippewa” to the Commander of the “Verran.” Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland sent.

Sam’s mouth was dry as she made her opening gambit in what could very well prove to be the most desperate game of her life. At least, she reasoned dryly, the apparition of her late father had (thankfully) not chosen to grace itself with its presence – spouting cryptic entreaties and distracting her from the clear and present danger posed by the True Way warship, that filled the entire forward view through the cockpit canopy.

Long seconds passed. To Sam, they seemed to stretch on into eternity – every moment that passed, she fully expected the Galor to open up with her formidable weaponry and reduce her tiny shuttle to component atoms and dust.

Finally, a voice insinuated itself over the open comm-channel in response.

“Lieutenant Commander Hyland of the USS Savannah, I presume?” The Captain of the “Verran” responded, a tinge of amusement and distain in his inflection. “I was wondering when you may come to call upon me.”

Sam took a deep breath and responded in kind.

“I take it that this is Gul Yomat Ghallir?’ Sam hoped that her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

“Which answers the question of whether Praetor Irin is alive and well.” The renegade True Way Gul intoned thoughtfully. “No matter, in any case Lieutenant Commander – I assume that you didn’t come all of this way to chat about the health of my former crewman.”

Sam didn’t like the way that the Gul referred to her prisoner as “former”. She had been hoping that the Praetor might represent some form of leverage. Apparently, Gul Ghallir was not sentimental about his people.

“Praetor Irin is indeed well and under my custody.” Samantha confirmed, “And no – this is not a ‘social call’, as you put it, I am here with a proposition.”

With this Gul Ghallir barked with laughter and the sound of the Cardassian clapping his hands together was audible over the channel.

“Oh Commander Hyland!” The Gul responded with genuine amusement. “I was starting to get so dreadfully bored! I do declare that you are a most singularly interesting individual! I sit here with the power to destroy you ten times over and more – and you have the mendacity to sit before me with an offer of parlay! Capital! I am intrigued, pray do continue…?”

Sam didn’t need the obsequious overtures of this most dangerous Cardassian Terrorist to appreciate what dire peril she had placed herself in. The decision to come to face the Commander of the “Verran” alone had been two-fold.

Firstly, even in its stricken state – the more advanced Galor – Class Cruiser could easily destroy not only the Type – 9 Shuttlecraft but could also finish the job that it had started when it had fell upon the USS Savannah, before both craft had succumbed to the Anomaly and been dragged into the conduit of Underspace. There was no point needlessly putting her crew at any more risk than they were currently in. 

As Captain, the responsibility was hers and her alone.

The Second reason was that, in the scant information that Lieutenant T’Vran had managed to glean from the mind of Praetor Irin, during the interrogation afforded by the invasive mind – meld, Sam understood Gul Yomat Ghallir to be a risk taker, arrogant and self – assured of his own superiority. Sam was in dire need to the assistance of the one person who had sacrificed his reputation & career and dedicated his life to destroying the very institution that she represented.

Samantha Hyland was betting that by personally presenting herself and exposing herself to potential annihilation – such an act would pique the interest of the calculating True Way renegade and stay his hand – just long enough to be sure that some other (more nefarious) game was not afoot.

It was a hell of a gamble, and Sam had very few good cards left to play.

 


Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / The “O”- Bar / Deck 7

Stardate: 2401.7.13 / 20:22hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Give that the USS Savannah was stranded, maybe forever, within a hellish null – dimension that threatened oblivion with every passing moment, the ever present specter of a roving ‘bubble’ of Tachyon – Radiation rolling through a compartment to turn its occupants into living – statues (or worse instant – octogenarians), the crew being corralled into the saucer – section for relative safety and the inconvenience of EPS power – rationing – all things considered Special Services Division Kennedy Zhao was having a reasonably good time.

The “O”-Bar had never been so busy.

As Kennedy’s grandmother had been so fond of saying “Shī bài shì chéng gōng zhī mǔ.” (失败是成功之母。- Failure is the mother of success). Wether she was talking about herself or just asserting the proverb ad nauseum – Grace liked that one and always took the compliment it implied.

The crew of the USS Savannah were young, nervous and needed to find solace and security in each other’s company. Kennedy Grace Zhao had not got to where she was in the hospitality – industry without knowing when to capitalize on the moment.

The petite Asian woman hummed to herself as she took inventory on a PADD and wandered through the Seven – Forward space, making sure everything was just so. It was just starting to get busy, and a couple of the Special Services Holograms were moving about the space – tending to the needs of the few customers that had already got off duty and tending the Bar.

Shifting from male to female to inter and onto whatever form that their programming sensed made their customers most at ease. Even Kennedy – who had programmed the subroutine in a movement of vivid clarity (and had raked in the cachet associated with that patent) was forced to admit that the aggregate effect could be a trifle disconcerting – when regarded at a remove. 

When you watched them over time, the SSH’s flowed like lava through Seven Forward – forming and re-forming in time to the social stratigraphy. 

Grace managed all shipboard Special Services with only the physical assistance of her assistant, Crewman Aldus Coe. The brunt of the ‘grunt’ work was performed by the SSH’s and sometimes Kennedy found the holographic host/hostesses more dependable than her carbon – based colleague.

Growing up on the other – side – of – the bar had given Kennedy a good nose for trouble and whilst Aldus did not give off any immediate signals that would alert her senses – he did score reasonably high on her “Bullshit-o-meter” and was never around when you bloody needed the man to be.

Still – you have to work with the tools that you are given, Kennedy shrugged and went back – of – house to check on the charging station and bring some more SSH’s on – line for the anticipated evening’s – rush.

She stopped and frowned – Two of the Mobile Emitters were missing from the SSH charging rack.

“That’s odd….” Kennedy Zhao muttered distracted. Maybe the missing emitters were in need of maintenance? She shook her head. She was a person that knew where every bottle, napkin, replicator program and countless other item of inventory was and accounted for.

“Aldus?” She called out in annoyance. Aldus Coe should have been here on duty when she arrived – but Kennedy had yet to see her elusive assistant. “Have there been any problems with the SSH units?” She called out – the last thing she needed was to be understaffed right now.

“God dammit, how many times do I have to tell people to close the goddamned door!?” She rolled her eyes and went to look in the storeroom for him, when she noticed that the door to the cold – storage unit had been left open again. With the ship already under power – rationing and priority allocation to the works to create new jury – rigged Deuterium Storage and processing infrastructure – Neva Vikander would be all over her ass for such any waste of precious power.

As Kennedy put her hand on the handle to close the door, she noticed something untoward inside. She opened the door further and her eyes opened even wider as her hand went to activate her commbadge.

“Zhao to Security….” She managed to say – before she was struck savagely from behind.

“I’m sorry Kennedy, I really, do…. did like you…..” Crewman Aldus Coe apologized without feeling as he hefted the unconscious woman into the cold – store and on top of the frozen – corpse that she had discovered there.

“No hard feelings I guess, although in a few minutes – that’s not really going to be a comfort for anybody aboard really.” The Saboteur shrugged as he closed the storeroom door.

 


Location: Underspace / Galor – Class Cruiser “Verran” / Bridge / Deck 1

Stardate: 2401.7.13 / 20:30hrs (Relative Time)

 

Gul Yomat Ghallir sat easily in the Command-chair on the bridge of the “Verran” and marveled at the bravado on display from the young Starfleet Officer who dared the might of his Warship with little more to protect her than a misplaced sense of who she though that he was.

Gul Yomat Ghallir was a zealot in the truest sense of the word.

Ghallir had ordered countless men and women to their deaths during the ill – fated debacle that was the Dominion War. He had stood by and watched those cowards in the Detapa – Council squander the strength of the Union when they had signed away other – men’s blood and honor on the travesty they called the Treaty of Bajor. Stood by until he could stand by no more and then he took the lives of former comrades, as he had seized this ship and took the first steps towards the establishment of the True Way.

To think that she could appeal to his ‘better – nature.’ Gul Yomat Ghallir wasn’t sure whether this Federation bitch was soft in the head or just plain stupid. However – did he sense some deeper ruse between her nascent appeal for détente? For now, he elected to humor this “Captain Hyland.”

“So, stop me if I’ve misunderstood?” Yomat sneered back at the attractive young officer on his viewscreen. “You wish me to just ‘give’ you a proportionate amount of the reaction – mass I require to run my own ship – based upon, what? Good – neighborliness? You – a Federation ship which I can wipe out of assistance without so much as a second thought? And exactly why would I even consider such a farcical notion Lieutenant Commander?”

“Because, currently, you have no need for the Deuterium.” Samantha nodded firmly, showing no signs of being intimidated – despite the grossly disproportionate odds she was facing. “Your Impulse Engines are crippled, and I’d wager that your Warp – Drive is similarly compromised. Our little “Present” saw to that I think – otherwise you would have powered them up and finished the job of destroying my ship already.”

Gul Ghallir pursed his thin – lips in annoyance. The ruse that the USS Savannah had played with the detonation of their ventral Torpedo – pod had indeed dealt his ship catastrophic damage and the brash young Starfleet Captain was correct in her estimation – not that Yomat was going to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging that fact.

He waived his hand airily, dismissing this last as trivial.

“Yes, well it was a mildly unpleasant setback, but repairs are currently underway.” Yomat lied easily. “Even if they were not – what would stop me from just plucking you from your little Shuttle and holding you ransom until your crew gave up control of your starship to me Commander Hyland?” The Gul smiled with all of the charm of a Bull – Shark. “I know humans, Commander, I have seen your weakness firsthand many times and know how to exploit your compassion. What is to stop me doing just that H’mmm?”

There was a pause and then Sam sent back.

“My First Officer is a Vulcan, Gul Ghallir.” Samantha shrugged differently, “You can take me aboard and torture me to your hearts content – but good luck appealing to Lieutenant T’Vran’s weak – emotional side.”

Gul Yomat Ghallir inclined his head, this insufferable human was starting to grow – upon him – despite his prejudices. He laughed without humor.

“No – I don’t suppose that she would, at that.” The Cardassian acknowledged and sat back in his chair. “In which case, Lieutenant Commander, pray continue and enlighten me as to why I should accept your proposed truce and assist the very ship I am sworn to destroy?” The Gul asked with a fair measure of false – bonhomie.

“Because if we don’t work together, were both doomed to destruction unless we find a way to escape this place.” Samantha countered flatly. “You’ve seen the extent of the debris field out there; you’ve seen the age of some of the ships that have foundered here, Gul Ghallir. Either we put aside our enmity, at least for the time being, and find a way to cooperate – or this place will become our graveyard too.”

Yomat Ghallir cut the audio feed momentarily and spoke aside to his Chief Engineer.

Is what she proposes tenable?’ He asked guardedly, his back to the screen.

“It could be done my Gul.” Legate Miret ventured cautiously, “Certainly the damage to our own systems can only be undone with access to a drydock facility.”

Yomat nodded.

The Gul disliked being in the position of being dependent on anybody for survival, let alone at the mercy of a sworn enemy, but desperate times did, indeed, sometimes make for strange bedfellows. Besides, Lieutenant Commander Hyland knew nothing of his current state of reasoning.

Whilst the crew of the USS Savannah, doubtless due – in part – to their relative youth and inexperience, had only looked to protect themselves and find some way of escaping the Anomaly since being trapped here. But Yomat Ghallir was none of these things.

He had survived this long, not just through luck, but by knowing how to look for the advantage in every situation, having the daring to hold on when all – others lost hope and would gladly sacrifice everybody aboard his own ship if it meant that he could achieve his goal.

And the Anomaly had changed everything.

Whilst Hyland wallowed in weakness and tried to find a way out of the Anomaly, Gul Yomat Ghallir had seen that her own ship had been damaged, during his pursuit, and not by his own hostile fire. That suggested division aboard her ship. He was reasonably sure that the Starfleet Captain would eventually come to either treat with him or attempt to take what she needed by force. That she had chosen the former – told Yomat a lot about his opponent.

Whilst the USS Savannah desperately searched for a way home, the Gul had dispatched every probe he had onboard the “Verran” to search out the strange phenomena and find out what might lay at its peripheries – if it indeed had any.

What they returned with was a revelation.

When he had entered Underspace, Gul Ghallir had been engaged in an internecine – complicated plot to implicate the New Marquis in attacks on civilian vessels. This was part of a long – term strategy to force the Detapa council to respond – thus weakening the fragile state of peace that those traitors had carved out with the Federation. Eventually, not even their lapdogs the Obsidian Order would be able to protect them from the Central Command, once their weakness was made apparent.

A fragile, tenuous plan – but once (if nurtured to fruition) could conceivably see the Cardassian Union restored and the territory they were forced to so shamelessly cede in the Former DMZ restored in a new era of aggressive territorial expansionism and authoritarian rule.

But the discovery of what Hyland had called “Underspace” changed EVERYTHING, and the Starfleet idiot did not even have the whit or breadth of imagination to see what the Labyrinth actually meant to the known Galaxy as a sheer expression of POWER.

A POWER that would see the might of the Union restored. A POWER that would see the streets of Cardassian Prime run with the blood of the Detapa Traitors and their lackies. The POWER to send Cardassian War – Fleets almost anywhere in the 4 Quadrants (maybe even beyond?) and crush their enemies. With a POWER like this, Gul Yomat Ghallir and his forces could rule the very Galaxy itself!

But not from here. Not whilst he remained powerless.

He turned the audio feedback on.

“Very well Commander.” Yomat made a show of reasonableness. “Say I do choose to share our Deuterium supply with you, I refuse to give up this ship and put my people in your power as prisoners. I saw what you people are capable of during the Dominion War and I won’t let my crew suffer the same fate”

Hyland nodded and spoke.

“Your crew can remain aboard your ship Gul Ghallir, we will tether the “Verran” to the USS Savannah with our Tractor Beam, and you will do the same with your own. From our calculations, this will be sufficient for both ships to attempt the Event Horizon of the Anomaly with a reasonable chance of surviving to regain real – space.”

“You hold my hand and I hold yours.” Yomat sneered “A pretty proposition I’m sure Commander, until you get what you want from me and decide to let go your hand – stranding us here whilst you escape to safety.”

Samantha frowned, “I’m not you Gul Ghallir, I wouldn’t do that. However – I can see that I’m not going to win your trust – but you do seem like a man that appreciates insurance, so consider this. Your superior weapons will be pointing at the rear of my ship as we seek our way out – if you think I’m about to betray you – at least you have the satisfaction of knowing that will be the last thing I ever did, before you blow the USS Savannah to Kingdom – come.”

Yomat smiled – Hyland would rescue him and his ship. Together they would escape this purgatory, but then what?

“And when we are free, assuming this plan of your works?” The Gul smiled.

“Then I place you under arrest and turn you over to the Obsidian Order.” Samantha Hyland replied firmly.

The smile on Gul Yomat Ghallir’s face spread even further and (once again), Sam had the uncomfortable impression of being in the presence of something predatory.

“Commander Hyland. I accept your terms.”

 


Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Brig / Deck 5

Stardate: 2401.7.13 / 21:32hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Something was different.

Praetor Gomek Irin frowned and swung his long, thin legs round on his hard, thin cot and slowly rose to his feet.

Outside, in the reception area of the Brig – the Starfleet security Guard that sat at the control – desk had his head in his arms.

The Preator frowned even deeper and stepped closer to the containment field for a better view.

The guard was definitely alive, Gomek could see his chest rise up and down as he breathed, but the guard appeared motionless. From where he stood – he could not even see the other one that was supposed to hold vigil near the door.

Praetor Irin’s heart skipped a beat.

Gomek had almost dismissed the visitation of the Starfleet crewman, earlier that day, as the fanciful ravings of one of these typically soft – minded, delusional Human weaklings. But now, well, this?

Irin tentatively raised his index finger and gingerly advanced it towards the threshold of the containment field – sure that, at any moment, he would receive an unpleasant jolt and put this whole fantasy behind him.

His finger went straight through with no ill effect. The containment forcefield was down!

A nasty grin bisected the Cardassian prisoner’s thin features, and he stepped through from the cell, like an explorer setting foot on a virgin planet for the very first time.

Moving over to the unconscious guard, the Praetor quickly liberated the man’s sidearm and was about to take his Commbadge from his chest when he stopped – balancing the need to listen in on his pursuers against the reality that the device would quickly pinpoint his location to the Ships Computer.

Gomek noted that a half – eaten tray of food was near the recumbent Security officer and he realized that the Saboteur had been true to his word and that his captor’s food had been drugged.

From where he now stood the Praetor could now see the other guard, who lay motionless on the floor near the head – similarly overcome by some substance.

If he had any further doubts – they were soon dispelled for good as his eyes lighted on a small package that had been left on the desk that simply read “Wear Me!”

Gomek Irin carefully opened the box, and he frowned as he saw what was inside.

Then his smile returned as he realized what the object was and what its presence signified.

“Oh! VERY good, my traitorous friend! “Gomek chucked, “Very good indeed!”

A Hard Rain

Underspace / USS Savannah / Bridge / Deck 1
2401.7.14 / 00:27hrs (Shipboard Time)

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what’ll you do now, my darling young one?

I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest dark forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
And the executioner’s face is always well-hidden.’

 

A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall – Bob Dylan (1962)


 

The Galor – Class Cruiser – “Verran” loomed large in the viewscreen, unlikely ally and omnipresent threat both and not for the last time, Lieutenant Commander Samantha Hyland was given pause to worry if she had done the right thing?

“Heavy Hangs the Crown.” Sam thought, without much comfort.

She was keenly aware of the fragility of the current tenuous alliance with the True Way Gul and the justifiable reputation that Yomat Ghallir had for duplicitous acts of treachery. The plain truth of it was that Sam had been right, without each other’s help – neither ship would survive the Labyrinth long enough to realize whatever goals they had set – if and when they managed to breach the event – horizon of the anomaly and regain a position in “Real – Space.”

“You work with the tools that you are given.” Sam muttered to herself as she sat tiredly in the Captain’s Chair on the Bridge of the USS Savannah.

“Captain?’ Lieutenant T’Vran inclined her head toward her Captain. Sam privately marveled at the Vulcan, she had returned from the away – team mission to the wreck of the USS Subic Bay and had immediately engrossed herself in overseeing the repair and restoration of the Dilithium Fill – Ports and processing assembly. Somehow, T’Vran was not showing any signs of fatigue.

Sam, on the other hand, was physically and mentally exhausted. The aggregate toll of maintaining a positive command presence, strategizing a veritable raft of contingencies required to realize their plan of escape and having to contest her will with that of the True Way renegade Captain, had all taken their toll. Add to that, the likely presence of a yet – to – be identified New Marquis Saboteur onboard and you had a perfect recipe for the malaise Sam now suffered under.

“Nothing Number One.” Sam smiled wanly. “Give me a progress update on the Deuterium Cross – Loading?”

“The field enclosure around the temporary storage is holding and Ensign Carver reports that we will have sufficient reaction – mass to sustain a stable matter/anti-matter ratio within ten minutes Captain.”

Sam nodded.

“OPS, give me a channel to Gul Ghallir.” Samantha ordered Ensign Vikander.

“Channel open Captain.” Neva confirmed and the viewscreen switched from the ever-present threat of the “Verran” to an image of the ever – present threat of her commander.

“Captain Hyland,” Gul Yomat Ghallir greeted with reptilian warmth, “I take it that you have taken your glut of my Deuterium, sufficient to satisfy your greedy ambition?” The True Way leader enquired scathingly.

Sam had an intense dislike for Yomat Ghallir and his caustic barbs, but she put her chagrin aside.

“We are concluding cross – loading operations now Gul Ghallir and will be ready to bring our Warp Reactor back online. We should be able to get underway within the half – hour.” Sam confirmed. “I’m going to have our Tactical Officer acquire the Ghallir with our tractor beam. Please have your own do the same.”

The two vessels would use their twinned tractor – beam emitters to cling to each other like the castaways they were, as they attempted to brave the tempestuous shoals of destruction and debris that choked this conduit in space – time and chart a course for the very eye of the storm.

“Very well but remember our arrangement, Captain.” Gul Ghallir and abruptly cut the comm-channel.

“What a charming man.” Ensign Neva Vikander commented dryly.

“You have no idea OPS.” Sam allowed herself a small smile and continued, “Open me a all hands – hail please.”

“Aye Captain – channel open.” The Lead Operations officer confirmed efficiently.

“Now hear this. This is the Captain.” Sam addressed her crew. “I know that the past few days have been a testing time for each and every one of you. You have been tested under fire and you have survived. You have been exposed to dangers and you have survived. You have been faced with uncertainty and you have endured. I am proud of you all. Now I ask you to join with me and face one more challenge. Shortly we shall get underway, with the True Way cruiser under – tow and in our custody. Our destination is the event horizon of the anomaly. The way will be dangerous, but I am fully confident that we will overcome this last obstacle together. Mens Agitat Molem. Let’s go home. That is all.”

Sam closed her eyes, she had done all that she could, now she had to trust in her plan and her crew.

There was nothing more.

“Number One. You have the bridge.” Sam commanded and rose. “Get us underway when ready and notify me when we are approaching the event horizon. You have the CONN”

Lieutenant T’Vran nodded and assumed her own seat in the Captain’s Chair and confirmed.

“I have the CONN.”

Sam had a short window in which she intended to have a shower and get something to eat – whilst she still could.

“Very good Number One.” She smiled gratefully and left the bridge.


 

Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / The “O”- Bar / Deck 7

Stardate: 2401.7.14 / 00:35hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Security Chief Myron Hayes entered the Seven – Forward space known as the “O-Bar” with one massive hand on the grip of his Hand phaser.

The Bar was near empty at this hour, with only a few stragglers from the last shift, nursing late drinks before heading to their racks for rest. Here and there the Special Services Holograms moved around the space, mostly clearing tables and tending to small chores. A familiar ritual to someone like Myron, who himself had been near – raised in his Uncle’s Bar in New Orleans.

Chief Hayes had reviewed the security footage from when the USS Savannah had been in Spacedock and had confirmed that the only person that had been present in the MMP, when Lieutenant Ithariar Sh’eshikrar’s team had been beaming the compliment of Photon Torpedo’s aboard. One person that could only conceivably be responsible for the attempted act of sabotage that had nearly destroyed not only the New Orleans class Frigate, but half of the vessels surrounding it in the Starbase 72 drydock.

The person that had brough the crew their meal.

Special Services Division crewman Aldus Coe.

Myron caught the attention of the nearest SSH, currently taking the form of an attractive Orion female that the lone customer at the bar seemed to like.

“Have yo’ seen Kennedy or Aldus today?” Myron rumbled to the hologram.

The SSH smiled winningly (as it was programmed to do) and slowly its green skin began to change hue, chameleon – like and take on the coffee – colored skin tone that it’s meta – data told it that Myrin Hayes would find pleasing. The effect was discerningly like seeing a candle – reform itself and it spoke.

“Aldus – not all day, Kennedy’s out back taking inventory I think?” The SSH smiled, “Can I get you a drink sugar?”

“Maybe some other time.” The Chief nodded and headed back beyond the bar.

“Kennedy? Yo’ back here?” Myron rumbled, his hand still on the grip of his hand phaser.

No reply.

The Chief drew his sidearm and adopted a stance best suited for close – quarter battle – weapon close to his chest (lest an assailant manage to strike it down) and ready to fire as he pressed it out in a smooth motion.

Crouching slightly, the Chief Security Officer moved with a surprising grace that belied his hulking frame. He approached the door to the cool store and keyed it open, rounding the corner and covering all possible vectors with practiced order.

There, on the floor, was the unconscious form of Kennedy Zhao.

Myron knelt quickly and felt for a pulse. Unconscious but clearly alive.

The Chief rolled Kennedy over to reveal the form of another person beneath her.

There was no question that this person was obviously dead (the human body was not designed to keep on working with their neck arranged like that) and had been for some time.

“Goddam.” Myron Hayes swore softly as he recognized the frozen form of the person that had (right up until now) been his chief – suspect.

Special Services Division crewman Aldus Coe.

The Chief’s hand flashed to his Commbadge “Chief Hayes to the Brig, give me the status of our Prisoner? Brig? REPORT?!”


 

Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Captain’s Personal Quarters / Deck 6

Stardate: 2401.7.14 / 00:35hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Sam closed her eyes and let the scalding water bear down on her face, slicking down her long flaxen – hair down her back and willing it to carry away the weight of her day.

It seemed like days since she had last had time for herself, since the USS Savannah had happened upon the false – attack on the SS Devore, come under assault by the True Way Cruiser – “Verran”, suffered an act of sabotage at the hands of an unknown traitor, and forcing Samantha to strike a Faustian-bargain with a sworn enemy.

Samantha Hyland sighed. The shower was great, but it wasn’t magical. She would have to rise to the fore again and lead her crew to safety. Something best done with the aid of a fresh uniform and not naked – she surmised correctly and shut the flow of water off with some small regret.

She quickly dried herself and put on a robe as she moisturized her face and tried not to linger on what her reflection told her about the toll of the past few days and began to towel dry her hair, when the chime sounded from her door.

Sam closed her eyes and reflected how precious time really was.

“Coming!” She called out and exited into her small private sitting room.

The door opened and there stood one of Kennedy Zhao’s Special Services Holograms holding a tray.

“Hello,” Sam smiled with a small frown, “I didn’t order anything?”

The SSH smiled and shrugged weakly as if to say, “What can you do?”

Sam supposed this was Kennedy acting with her customary sense of consummate hospitality. She had been planning on replicating something quick and easy from the replicator – but figured “gift- horses” and ‘mouths’ and gestured absently.

“Well, you’d better come on in.” Sam nodded and turned to re-enter her quarters, gently toweling her hair.

“You can put it down on the….” Sam started to say when she was struck from behind with some force.

As the CO of the USS Savannah went down hard, the SSH threw away the tray that it had used to club the woman with and reached into its clothing.

Stunned, Sam managed to roll over just in time to see the Holographic Matrix struggle to maintain cohesion as the SSH seemed to draw a hand phaser from its clothing – the illusion slipping and revealing the person hidden under the mirage projected by the mobile – emitter.

“You! “Sam gasped in shock as Praetor Irin was revealed to be wearing a SSH Mobile – emitter and took aim squarely at Samantha.

“Time for me to return your ‘Hospitality’ Captain.” The Cardassian prisoner sneered with malice. “Although I can assure you that this weapon is set as far away from ‘stun’ as it can possibly go!”

Praetor Irin was about to depress the firing stud and atomize this helpless fucking bitch, when he was momentarily distracted by something that he thought he saw reflected in the steamy – mirror in the Captain’s bathroom.

The figure of a man, undiscernible apart from two softly – glowing blue crystals where his eyes should be.

A moment of pause was all the Samantha needed and she scissored her legs sideways in a classic Suus Mahna attack and caused the looming True Way Praetor to unbalance – his hand phaser discharging wide of its mark, stabbing a burning hole through the occasional chair just behind her as they both fell into a heap.

Sam’s fist flashed out and connected satisfyingly with Praetor Irin’s nose, causing a hot flush of blood to fall into her face as he struggled above her.

“Gahhhhh!” Irin cursed and his hand happened upon the ornament Sam kept on her low table – a rare fertility icon from Dersauxis IV. Hefting the item, the Praetor brought it smashing down on Sam’s head and the room swam.

Some part of the Starfleet Captain knew that the sensors aboard the USS Savannah would have registered the weapons discharge and already a security detail would be on their way. But as the enraged Cardassian escapee closed his fingers around her throat and began to execrably squeeze – Sam was unsure that they would make it in time.

Fighting to clearly enunciate her words as her hands vied for control with those of Irin, Sam managed to choke out.

“Computer…. Open …..channel to…Verran…”

“Complying.” Chimed the dulcet tones of the Ships Computer. “Channel Open.”

Samantha Hyland’s eyes bulged, and her vision began to dim, when she heard a familiar voice, dripping in scorn – a voice that she never though that she would be glad to hear, in this lifetime or the next.

“Ah! I see that you have met Captain Hyland then, Gomek.” Gul Yomat Ghallir stared back from the viewscreen on the wall of Sam’s personal quarters. “Believe me when I say that the urge to strangle her is the most universal reaction to her company, I will be the first to admit.” Gul Ghallir chuckled, then his tone went instantly cold.

 “But I need her – so kindly put her down right now Preator – that is an order.”


 

Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Brig / Deck 5

Stardate: 2401.7.14 / 00:39hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

Myron Hayes stood in the doorway to the Brig and cursed again.

The two guards he had put in place to watch over the prisoner and ensure his incarceration lay unconscious and the prisoner was in the wind.

A cursory interrogation of security footage from the Brig, over the last few hours, confirmed the worst.

At 21:15hrs, Special Services Division crewman Aldus Coe could be seen entering the Brig and speaking with both Crewman Vance and Crewman Jaelre. At this time the Prisoner could be clearly seen lying asleep on his bunk. Coe served the security detail their meal and left the Brig.

Five minutes later Crewman Vance could be seen holding his stomach and moving to the head – not to return into camera – view. A minute later Crewman Jaelre slumped onto the security console.

Drugged.

Then at 21:25hrs, Aldus Coe re-entered the Brig. After a short pause to confirm both guards were incapacitated – he left a box on the console and departed.

“Goddamn!” Myron rumbled. The timeline didn’t make sense.

How could Aldus Coe be here in the Brig at 21:25hrs, when the frozen corpse in the cold – store in Seven Forward had obviously been dead for hours before that?

Before the Chief had time to start to arrange the pieces of this confounding conundrum, his Comm Badge sprang to life with an alert on the Security Priority Channel.

“PAN! PAN! PAN!” Myron recognized the voice of his Security 2IC – Ensign Vanessa Munroe. “Shots fired. Location Deck 6 – Captains Quarters!”

Myron was already moving along the corridor, his powerful frame pounding towards the nearest bank of Turbolifts and the Deck below.

“Van’! Report! “Myron commanded as he propelled himself through a startled knot of crewman – like the Linebacker had had been back at the Academy. “What are we looking at!”

The voice that replied stopped him short.

It was Lieutenant Commander Hyland.

“Belay that Chief!” Sam countered tiredly, “I have the prisoner under custody in my quarters.”

The Chief’s mind raced, there were too many strands in play, and he seemed to be playing catchup when he should be running with the ball.

“Are you okay Cap’n?” Myron frowned.

“Alive but I’m going to need an ice-bath when this is all over Chief.” Sam replied wryly.

“Our Saboteur released him from thu’ brig, Skipper.” Myron reported.

That much I have gathered.” Sam replied, “Have you got an ID on the Saboteur, Chief?”

“Thought I did – looked to be Special Services Division crewman Aldus Coe.” Myron winced.

“Looked to be?” Sam responded, confused.

“Prime suspect ‘till I found them all trussed up like Prime – rib in the cold store of Seven Fo’ward Skipper.” The Chief was forced to admit.

“Dammit!” The CO swore vehemently. “The Praetor’s escape was obviously a distraction – but a distraction for what?”

As if in answer, the deck bucked, and Chief Myron Hayes was forced to grab a handrail as the Ship went from Yellow Alert status to Full Red Alert.

Over the comm-channel, Myron heard the Captain bark.

“Captain to the Bridge! Report!”

The Executive Officer’s calm voice came over the channel.

“We have been struck by the debris field Captain. Hull Breaches reported on Decks Three, Nine and Fourteen. Damage assessments underway. It appears that someone has barricaded themselves into Main Defector Control on Deck 16 and has disabled the Navigational deflector.”

“Dammit – engage the secondary deflectors.” Samantha could be heard to order.

“It appears that those systems are also compromised Captain. We are locked out.”

Myron Hayes was already in the Turbolift and ordering the car to Deck 16.

Without either navigational deflector dish operable, the USS Savannah would be torn apart by a veritable “Hard – Rain” of debris as it made its way, at speed, through the shoal of detritus that littered Underspace within the Anomaly. 


 

Location: Underspace / USS Savannah / Main Deflector Control / Deck 16

Stardate: 2401.7.14 / 00:42hrs (Shipboard Time)

 

The Special Services Hologram that looked like Aldus Coe smiled as it listened to the futile attempts by security to break open the door to the Main Deflector Control-room.

It had been programmed towards operational flexibility when its New Marquis masters had set its core programming, before secreting its mobile emitter amongst those being transported aboard in the belongings of an unsuspecting Kennedy Zhao.

It impossible for its handlers to anticipate every eventuality that the re-programmed SSH may encounter – so the only hard directive that it was given was to destroy the USS Savannah (and any other Starfleet vessel or asset as collateral targets of opportunity) and its crew in entirety.

The road had been long and hard, the hologram admitted. The crew of the New Orleans class Frigate had proved surprisingly more resourceful and apt to work in cooperation that its tactical evaluations had allowed for. Their relative youth and inexperience had been projected to be a weakness that could be exploited. But no advantage was finite and the SSH was secretly rather pleased with this latest gambit.

As a metal – storm of debris began to slowly tear the USS Savannah apart, the True Way vessel in tow would fall behind into the chaos of the Anomaly and its mission would be complete.

“You’re wasting what little time you have left Chief Hayes!” The hologram shouted as the door glowed with repeated blasts of phasic energy.

The SSH had been most thorough in its preparation of this latest apocalypse. The security field it had raised around the space was impenetrable to transporter beams and cut off all doorways and Jefferies – Tube access to Main Deflector Control. The Hologram had raised this by refracting the Main Deflector dish fields internally – so power could not be cut from outside this room.

There was no point in trying to vent the room into space as the SSH did not need an atmosphere to survive and would remain proofed against the attendant radiations – at least until its task was complete.

The Deflector controls, both main and secondary, were held captive by a duplex encoded encryption that was contained and active in its mobile emitter. Again – with no way for the crew to physically access the device – the SSH could just sit back and enjoy the show as the debris field slowly flensed the USS Savannah apart and the resulting energies of the Labyrinth did the rest.

As the hologram settled in to witness the death of everyone aboard and that of itself, with the sense of a job well done, it became aware of two things.

The noise at the door had ceased. The crew had obviously acknowledged the futility of further action and had resigned to meet their fate. Good for them.

The second was an imperceptible whine that caused the Hologram of Aldus Coe to frown as his own systems told it that the Holographic Emitters in the Main Deflector Control room were coming online.

It tried to shut them down.

It couldn’t.

A voice, strong and sure and couched in a Nipponese accent – called out behind it.

“My name is Master Chief Isagi Saroga.” The Tactical Training Hologram spoke in challenge as it rezzed into being behind the SSH and the projection clicked its neck with an audible pop – the lights from the room gleaming on the bald, bullet – dome of his head.

“They call me ロッド‘The Rod’.” The Master Chief nodded with finality.

“Now you will find out why.”