” 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!”