“The cores on each ship are reaching critical levels.”  Ensign Fiona Jammer sat at the front left station on the bridge.  She had carefully watched the three ships as they pushed their engines to the limit.  Part of her was unable to sit still, knowing what was going on in each of the cramped engine rooms.  From what she could tell, each ship had a competent engineer, but how they kept the ships going while the engines were cratering was upsetting.

Captain Peter Crawford sat in the center chair, leaning forward.  They had been waiting and watching as the clock ticked forward.  The prediction of four hours had passed thirty minutes ago.  He asked calmly, “Does it look like they’re going to shut it down?”  He had kept the USS Franklin D. Roosevelt at a distance, hopeful they would be able to let nature and engineering take their course.  The trouble, he was realizing, was that the nature of the crew and their leader could take an unexpected swerve.

Fiona scowled as she ran the scanners through a loop, watching every available detail.  “I think they’re going to try and push it right to the limit.”  She didn’t add that disaster and destruction were jockeying for position at that delicate and precarious spot at the limit line.  “It doesn’t make sense, and it does,” she muttered a little too loud.  She caught the curious look from her CO, “They’re desperate to do whatever they want…cult beliefs can be a powerful motivator against reason and logic.  It doesn’t make sense to you and me because we’d never want to put our crew and the ship in that much danger.”

Peter lamented, “But we’re not them, and we don’t know how deep the belief runs or how many are true believers.”  He sat back in his chair, wondering if he would have to do something drastic to prevent a diplomatic incident with a species known for not playing nice.  He amended his thought – not playing nice as the nice way of saying it.  The Sheliak Corporate played for keeps.  Brutally.

Fiona’s console beeped, “Two out of the three cores have overloaded…looks like an automatic shutdown did the work for us.  The third…captain will enter a critical warp core breach in five minutes.”  She shook her head, not believing what she saw, “The two ships have come to a halt, but the third is pressing on.  Four minutes and forty-five seconds.”

Crawford stood, “How many on that ship?”

“Thirty.  Based on my readings, the young family is aboard the ship.”

Peter knew they could go to emergency speed and make it well in time to do something.  What impact would that have on their chances of saving these people from the fate they seemed determined to experience?  He grimaced, frustrated at his lack of choices and time.  “Increase to emergency warp speed – signal all three ships we’re detecting engineering distress and are inbound to assist.  Ensign Jammer – assemble teams and get them in the transporter rooms with the greatest speed.”  Fiona was already in the turbolift, tapping her badge to make the calls.  Peter turned back to the screen as the helm announced they were arriving in one minute.  A junior officer replaced the Chief Engineer at the console. The CO asked, “Update?”

“The two ships are holding – the third is still in motion—four minutes until warp core breach. We’re thirty seconds away.”

Ensign Merlin Markell, at communications, held his earpiece as messages streamed in: “Captain, the two disabled ships are declaring an emergency and requesting assistance.  The cores are stable.  The third ship is not responding to repeated hails on all frequencies.”

Peter stood, knowing that in less than thirty seconds, he would have to order his engineers to board the larger vessel and attempt to save thirty lives that, as far as he could tell, did not want to live.  “Keep trying, ensign.  Time?”

“Fifteen seconds.  Their shields are offline due to the power they’re pushing into the engines and the core.  Chief Jammer reports teams are assembled with light security escorts.”

He sighed at that, knowing sending his engineers without some support would be as close to dereliction of duty as he could get.  The air on the bridge felt heavy, and the crew’s eyes were torn between the main viewscreen and their CO.  The clock ticked forward.

“Five seconds.  We’re matching speed with them…..now.”

Peter shifted his feet to face Markell at communications, “Anything?”  A shake of the ensign’s head was his answer.  The CO tapped the console on his chair, “Civilean vessel – you are three minutes away from a warp core breach.  We’re coming aboard to save you and your ship.  Please let us save you and your ship.”  He waited seconds.  Nothing.  Another tap of his chair, “Chief Jammer – energize.”

“There’s no one in engineering, sir.”  Ensign Jammer’s voice was on the speakers.  “We’re working to stabilize the core, but this ship needs to come to a stop.  I can’t hold her together beyond an extra ten minutes.”

Crawford turned to his right,  “Lieutenant Vlokar – can we override her controls?”  He had never considered himself a desperate man, but this mission was coming up short on solutions.

The Chief Science Officer had the ship’s schematics on his console, and he spoke as he casually scrolled and scanned the data, “It is within the realm of possibility, captain.  Sensor readings confirm a good portion of the crew is on the bridge.  There are three exceptions.”

Peter stared at the screen, “The family.”  They had ten minutes.  “Chief Jammer – have a team go to the location on your map – I need to be able to talk to the family.”  The channel closed. He turned back to Vlokar, “Why didn’t the family join them on the bridge?”

The Vulcan answered, “Several possibilities.  One – they refused and locked themselves in the quarters, and the ship’s crew simply did not have the time to attempt to bring them along.  Two – they are prisoners already, and the risk to the ship’s crew was too great to have them on the bridge in the first place.”

“Is there a third option that doesn’t involve having a bad feeling about all this?”

Vlokar stared back at his CO, “Such an option does not enter into the realm of possibility or logic, captain.”

Jammer’s voice was back, “Captain, we’ve reached the quarters.  They’re willing to talk to us, but they are scared as hell.  They barely opened the door until they saw my comm badge.  They’re requesting immediate and expedited asylum.  They claim they were kidnapped and held hostage.”

Peter’s feelings about the mission were not improving.  “Start the paperwork.  Have them transported to quarantine in sickbay before we do anything else.  Can you bring the ship to a stop from engineering?”

“I can.  It’s going to take some work, and they aren’t going to be happy about it.  We will have to eject the core no matter what we do, sir.”

The CO drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair as he stood.  He was either going to save lives or watch them die at their own hubris-calloused hands.  “Get it done.  Send a team to bang on the door to the bridge.  Be ready for an emergency transport if this doesn’t work out.”  The channel closed again.  Peter stood as silence echoed across the bridge, ambient sound from the stations filling the gap.  He turned to the bridge, “I’m open to alternatives.”  The empty looks he received in reply were of little help.  Should he have just let them turn into a fireball in space?  Should he have allowed the family to die for nothing?  A captain’s choice was never easy and never perfect.

Jammer’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “We’re ready to bring her to a stop – my guys have been banging on the door and not a word.  On my mark.”

Crawford nodded to the helm, “Drop us from warp and bring us close to the ship on her mark.”  A few seconds later, Chief Jammer gave her command, and both ships came to a halt. The warp core ejected from the smaller civilian ship, arcing down and away at speed.  Crawford ordered, “Shields up – and bring them around the civilian ship.”  A tap of a console, and it was done. The core exploded minutes later, and the shields shimmered.  Both ships remained unharmed.  He tapped the arm of the chair again, “This is Captain Peter Crawford of the Federation Starship Franklin D. Roosevelt.  Your ship is disabled.  We’d like to find a way to help you.  Please respond.”