“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.”