The heartrate of the Moorpark raced as her crew flooded about her veins and organs. Survivors of the Goldfinch were being transferred over in droves, enough to keep Dr. Tekav and Omur, along with their subordinates, all in a semi-frantic rush as they directed, administered aide, and comforted the refugees that had made their way aboard. From within the main staging area within one of the ship’s cargo bays, the groups sorted those who were uninjured from those needing treatment, some being ushered henceforth to sickbay, and once that had filled, others to the mess hall, which had been repurposed to function as an overflow triage hall.
Meanwhile, the heart of Engineering experienced its own triage, as Lieutenant Commander Mirian Hathaway was knee high in components belonging to the new power distribution matrix. Her toolkit was half emptied, with its contents strewn about, either being utilized by her or by the two officers beside her whom she barked orders at as they worked.
“You keep that microspanner still, Ensign… Steady… Steady. Edwards, what about steady do you not understand?” Hathaway’s words stabbed out as she worked with two of her own tools in either hand. Stressed wasn’t a sufficient descriptor for the state of the Chief Engineer’s mind. A more apt description would be that of Mount Saint Helens erupting and setting the entirety of North America under a thick cloud of dark, desolate smog. In other words, she loved her job and was determined to get the job done, in her own way.
Up at the bridge, Wayne Boudreaux looked at his PADD, reviewing all that was taking place below. The captain’s brow was furrowed deeply, like that of a chess player considering what piece to sacrifice.
Sacrifice.
Wayne didn’t have that concept as a considered option, but the reality of it grew more and more by the passing minute. If the distribution matrix wasn’t brought online in time, they would be defenseless. Hathaway had informed him that thirty minutes prior when he had asked for an update on their progress. Given the choice between towing the Goldfinch and having shields, Wayne had proceeded with the former, relying on the hope that the other three vessels in the flotilla would be able to protect them sufficiently. If something in the operation went awry in the coming minutes, the Moorpark would likely sacrifice more, whether that be by souls or by circuits.
Then there was the other matter at hand. Starbase 80 had informed Boudreaux of an additional task to complete whilst in this alternate dimension. The Klingon vessels on their way towards the little formation were, according to the latest information from the Traveler, supposed to be destroyed in a battle taking place some lightyears distant, as was a Starfleet ship that also had not shown at the battle, but fate – in the form of a wrecked transport, two Starfleet ships, one Romulan ship, and one Klingon ship – had intervened. This was not a deviation that would pass unnoticed; if it was to be set to right, the ships would all need to be destroyed, lest the Loom turn their attention to the anomaly and potentially erase the timeline wholesale.
“Yeoman, relay the additional information provided to us about the Klingon and Starfleet ships when we briefed with Starbase 80 to the rest of the allied ships. They need to be as aware of the situation as we are,” Wayne said as he handed the PADD to the Betazoid standing near him. She regarded the device and then the captain before heading off to a communication console.
At his own console, Lieutenant Commander Rroren chimed with a delighted tone, “Ah! Thank you Hathaway! Captain, you’ll be pleased to hear that our towing tractor is operational! We may begin pulling the wreckage up from the surface whenever you wish.”
“Do just that,” Wayne said with a utilitarian nod, “Helm, bring us into a tighter orbit, we’re going to be playing tug of war with the planet’s gravity when we start to pull this hunk of junk out. Let’s make sure to mitigate as much strain as we can. Lieutenant Commander, keep that beam stable. I want it flowing like an upstream river.”
“Hah! If this towing tractor is a river, then I am Scamander!” Rroren exclaimed as he got to work.
Boudreaux gave a final nod of affirmation before leaning over to the Commander to provide a quizzical, hushed inquiry, “Scamander?”
“The Iliad.”
“Ah.”
“How close are they?” Kerak snapped at his temporary first officer.
“Six minutes behind us sir.” Ka’hor replied from tactical.
“Get word to the Appalachia, let them know we will be arriving with targets on our tail.” Kerak had received the message from the Moorpark and noted with dismay that his father, or rather this universe’s version of him, was fated to die, and now they in turn must destroy him and his ships to set the timeline right. He was able to remain somewhat disspassionate about it as he realized that that meant he would never be born in this reality at all, so what did any of it matter?
The ship was already at battle stations and in combat condition one. All that was left to do was to finish reeling in the catch.
