“O Savior, whose almighty word

The winds and waves submissive heard,

Who walked upon the foaming deep,

And calm amid the rage did sleep;

O hear us when we cry to Thee

For those in peril on the sea.”

Hymn – William Whiting (1860)

The big pink lizard sat in the captain’s chair and reflected how nice it was to be helping people for a change.

The wide sweep of the bridge was alive with the hum of comforting industry and the familiar pace of routine activity as the crew went about the everyday business of running a starship and Commander Kottu took a moment to relish in the mundane normalcy of it all as the Echelon – class engaged in its core mission of disaster relief to the people of the Encedis system.

The Executive Officer of the USS Astute was a barrel – chested Saurian with a booming voice and a robust manner and he projected a calm sense of authority that the crew responded well to.

His nictating membranes flicked vertically over his large, shining black eyes as they regarded the view of the main viewscreen of the planet below.

The vast mottled orb of Encedis-#5 predominated the view forward and the surface of the planet itself seethed with the turmoil of a continent spanning storm – system that intermittently flashed with punctations of vivid lightning as the perpetually – raging ion storm claimed the skies of the ocean – world.

“Kind of makes you glad you weren’t selected for the away team really doesn’t it?” Smiled Lieutenant Zhelu as the Orion Chief OPS Officer brushed her dark ponytail over her slight shoulder with one emerald – green hand, whilst the other handed the Commander a Padd containing the latest logistical projections for the aid – mission underway.

Kottu’s broad nostrils flared briefly as the big Saurian snorted his assent.

“Duty requires that we all serve as we must Lieutenant.” Kottu rumbled as he took the device in his large pink/purple scaled hand, one of his two great clawed fingers drawing across the touch – screen to scroll the data as the XO smiled with that broad grin that literally split his wide face from tiny ear to tiny ear.

“Although I must admit my preference for an away mission would be for somewhere warmer, maybe with a nice flat rock to bask upon.” The reptilian officer chuckled as the Operations Chief returned to her own duty station where she was overseeing the Byzantian – effort of coordinating the overall mission – activity from the perspective of personnel deployments, systems allocation, engineering requirements and cargo dispersals.

Kottu reflected that if you wanted a logistics job done fast, get a Ferengi. If you actually wanted the job to get done well, without finding out later that all of your collateral had been surreptitiously sold off to the highest bidder, get an Orion to get the job done.

Zhelu had worked hard all of her career to distance herself from the prejudices that were stereotypically attributed to the extra-legal excesses of her race, so much so that she made honor, efficiency and accountability her point of pride.

That that lineage also made the Lieutenant one of the best ‘scroungers’ in the fleet didn’t hurt any, Kottu reflected as he turned back to the view on the screen and pondered how the Captain’s mission to the surface was progressing?

Normally regulations insisted that the CO remain aboard the ship and that the XO lead most away teams.

This preservation of the chain of command was both prudent and essential to ensure continuity of leadership. Although this standing order was tested and tried against by most ship’s captains at one time or another and Kottu could not fault Monique McDowell for wanting to breath air that had not been recycled through the air – scrubbers, just once in a while.

McDowell had not been his commanding officer for long.

Kottu had joined the crew as Executive Officer two years ago and had come to get to know the crew fairly well. With the re-deployment of Captain Hartnett, Kottu had no expectations or designs upon the captains’ chair for his own (he still had more experience to gain before that honor was bestowed, with XO’s normally being handed command of an entirely different vessel) and McDowell had only joined them shortly before the events of the Blackout perpetuated the current humanitarian crises that they had been deployed to alleviate.

If he was being perfectly honest the kind of public relations activities that had taken the Captain down to treat with the representatives of Genodyne Systems were far from Kottu’s comfort zone, so he was happy to keep a watch aboard the Astute whilst Monique got wet.

These ruminations were interrupted by a hail across the internal communications channel by Lieutenant Aslaine.

“Flight Ops to Bridge.” Came the familiar growl of the Chief Flight Control Officer.

Somehow the Caitain always seemed to project an aura of suppressed annoyance, usually expressed non – verbally by the continuous writhe and tick of his prehensile tail or the bristle of the fur of his prodigious sandy – mane.

Aslaine had formerly served as a Squadron Leader in the Starfighter Corps, before an injury had grounded him. Despite a naturally competitive sense of aggression and immediacy that typified those of his former profession, Aslaine had assumed his current duties with something close to acquiescence, if not the actual thing.

Kottu supposed that it couldn’t be easy for a predator to give up the hunt that came so naturally to him.

“Bridge here, go ahead Flight Ops.”

“Commander, we’ve been tracking the Captain’s shuttle.” Aslaine murred, a tone of caution in his voice. “We’ve lost track of her transponder signal 30 seconds ago and have not been able to re-acquire.”

Commander Kottu sat up a little straighter in the chair.

“Is ion – interference likely?” The XO asked, trying to gauge the situation unfolding.

There was a pause before Aslain responded.

“Highly likely, Sir.” The Caitain flyer agreed. “It’s a real witches brew down there. Sensors are having a hard time tracking our birds that are transiting down to zones where the planetary weather control net is still functional. Rapid windshear variations, convective-turbulence, microburst activity well into category – 5 ranges. Visibility poor to nonexistent.”

“Outside those zones, where the Captain was headed – it’s even worse. Permission to launch an SAR – flight Commander. Could just be a downed transponder but better be safer than sorry.”

Kottu considered the vast span of storm that shrouded the world below. He’d relented and allowed the CO to embark on the away team as the threat – evaluation for that mission had been minimal. Now he was being asked to consider launching a rescue mission.

“Agreed Lieutenant, better to be safe than sorry.” Kottu confirmed. “Permission to launch granted.”

“Aye Commander, standing up the alert SAR.” Aslaine growled with satisfaction. “With your leave Sir, I think I should command that mission, I’m the best pilot you’ve got and, frankly, this is an elevator – ride into hell.”

Kottu’s first instinct was to deny that request.

The Chief Flight Control Officer was responsible for the management of all Small – craft operations aboard ship and the Astute had already deployed its entire compliment of shuttles and runabouts to support the engineering support mission currently underway. A continuous necklace of flight operations strung between orbit and surface to compensate for the fact that the extreme ionic – activity of the planet made transporters a near – suicidal option to consider.

But the CO and her team may indeed prove imperiled and Aslaine was, by some scale of magnitude, the most accomplished and experienced flight officer onboard and best qualified to undertake such a perilous air/sea rescue.

Kottu sighed, it had promised to be such a wonderfully mundane day.

“Permission granted Lieutenant. Launch when ready.” The XO confirmed, before adding “Good Hunting.”

Stardate: 2402.6.20 / 13.52hrs

Location: Shuttlecraft “Sounion”, 6 Nmi South/South-east of RigD31, Encedis-#5

The crush of freezing ocean tore Monique from dark unconsciousness.

All within the confines of the wrecked cabin of the tiny type – 10 shuttle was dark and indistinct as the paralyzing rush of stinging seawater roared, flooding the remaining space within, the water – level rising steadily and dangerously.

Captain Monique McDowell struggled against the persuasive flow, realizing that her other hand was (miraculously) somehow still clawed firmly around the away team jacket of the stricken Lieutenant Søgaard.

Nat floated face – down in the churning foam caused by the invasion of Seawater into the cabin. Unsure if her Chief of Security was alive or not, Monique turned Nat over so that her pale, slack face was out of the water and activated the small emergency beacon on her chest, that was part of the equipment that the away team garment included.

The sudden confusing staccato strobe of light that suddenly plunged the nearly – submerged interior of the “Sounion” into a helter-skelter of nightmarish confusion, illuminated the interior sufficiently for Monique to confirm the rush of seawater intruding through the damaged rear – hatch.

Purposefully propelling Nat’s limp form before her, Monique reached down and her hand closed around the emergency lever that initiated the explosive bolts that blew the hatch free of its twisted housing.

The hatch exploded outwards and the remaining ocean exploded inwards.

Taking a deep breath, McDowell pushed the recumbent security officer free of the shuttle and activated the small, compressed gas cylinder that would turn the collar of the away team jacket into an emergency flotation device and watched as Nat rode the stream of bubbles up the short distance to the surface, before she turned and swam back into the dark interior of the shuttle.

After the fateful impact into the ocean that had drove her from consciousness, the rush of ocean into the “Sounion” had pushed the remaining air in the cabin to the front of the wounded craft, making the type-10 ‘turn – turtle’ in the raging waters, with its snout bobbing free of the waves, whilst it’s stern remained submerged.

Monique’s head broke water as she clawed her way up the remaining seats, reaching the cockpit area, where Director Delain had attempted to pilot the shuttle up and away from Rig D31 and the assault of the strange and terrible energy – being.

It took only a moment to confirm that Jenna Delain was dead.

The front of the Genodyne Executive’s skull had been stoved-in by the violent and sudden impact with the flight control panel, leaving a perpetually surprised expression frozen in her dead – grey eyes that were slightly crossed, one sclera flooded entirely red with burst capillaries.

In her frantic attempt to flee the creature that seemed responsible for all the deaths of those she was responsible for aboard the rig, Director Delain had neglected to strap herself in. This last oversight in life, ensuring that she joined her people in death.

Monique cursed bitterly and tried to activate the shuttles comms unit to send a mayday, but the controls were as dark and lifeless as the pitiful corpse occupying the pilot’s seat.

Unsure of how long the equilibrium of displacement between water and air would maintain buoyancy and keep the shuttle afloat, Monique plunged back down into the frigid waters and sculled her way downward to where the emergency survival kit was normally stowed.

It was gone.

Probably displaced in the impact and floated free of the craft, Monique weighed her options and swam free of the “Sounion” and swam up it’s bobbing flank to the churn of the surface.

McDowell broke surface to the perpetually dull – grey of the midday storm clouds, a hard – driving rain stinging her face.  She looked frantically around for Lieutenant Søgaard through the undulating peaks and troughs of the swell, riding the unsettling rollercoaster of foam – flecked waves until she suddenly made out the strobing beacon that signalled Nat’s position.

She had drifted some tens of meters away from the shuttle, her unconscious form being dragged by the persistent ocean currents.

Lacking the survival advantages of her own away team jacket (which she had used to cover the corpse of Gloria Chan, back on the distant rig) Monique struck out through the heaving waters, her slim hands angling determinedly through the sea as she swam strongly out to rendezvous with Nat.

The ocean battered and the winds blustered, but she could not be dissuaded from her path.

Reaching out, Monique managed to grasp Søgaard under her shoulders and, with the inflated collar of the away team jacket under her chin and the pulse of the strobe – light bright in her eyes she set off in a backstroke in the direction of the wreck of the “Sounion”.

As she labored towards the fragile safety of the bobbing nose of the shuttle, Natalie Søgaard expelled a ragged cough of seawater that told Monique (very much to her great relief), that Nat was very much alive, despite the terrible bolt of energy that had slammed into her chest when she undertook the wonderful, foolish and unquestionably-brave action to throw herself between her captain and harm’s way.

“Hang in there Nat….” Monique attempted to reassure as she struggled to swim them both back to safety.

She couldn’t see Nat’s face, but she could just about manage to make out her weakened voice between the wash of water that ran in and out of her ears and protestation of the storm all about.

“Are we dead, Captain?” Søgaard wondered in a weak voice, full of confusion.

“No, we are not Lieutenant!” Monique persisted decisively, as her freezing limbs kicked defiantly against death and her lungs burned with the effort.

“Oh!” Nat replied with the floating dreamlike inflection of the severely concussed.

“I thought we were because I can see the Angels.”

Monique frowned at this but said nothing as she dragged them both through the swell.

Nat’s pale, wet face was lifted to the raging heavens and a faint smile tinged her bluish lips.

“I can see them right now, Ma’am. So bright. They’re beautiful. They’re hovering all around us, looking down……”