Commander K’lev settled back in his seat as he considered the information that Captains Kerak and Boudreaux had just relayed. After a moment, he became conscious of the fact that every eye on the bridge currently rested on him; their collective gaze felt like a series of spotlights pointed at him, causing beads of sweat to form and start making their way down the back of his neck. He swallowed once – when did his throat become this dry? – then sat up again. “Red alert,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t crack; fortunately, it held strong. “Tyrisa, raise the shields, charge phasers, and load torpedoes. Ari, put us between the Klingon ships and the Moorpark, so they can focus on completing the evacuation and recover the Goldfinch. And be ready, we’ll probably have to move quickly. Tiza, ask Commander Temoris to coordinate her runs with Captain Kerak; something tells me those two could be really dangerous together.”
As the ship’s overhead lighting shifted darker and red lights began to flash from the bulkheads, an irony suddenly struck the young Orion. The orders he’d just given were likely very similar to the ones given by the late captain of the Helena around a year ago before she ultimately sacrificed herself in defense of the Culver City at Palix Bravo, and here he was now, once an ensign on the latter ship and now a captain – by role at least, even if not by rank – whose command was now in the position of the former ship. Despite himself, he found the irony rather funny, in a very morbid way, though hopefully it would come out differently this time.
Tiza looked up from his console. “Kormoran confirms; they’ll coordinate with Slivin directly, while still watching our flanks.”
Down below in sickbay, Vasira was laying back on a biobed as a nurse prepared an osteoregenerator. “Where am I? What ship, I mean?” she asked, her voice a bit light and airy on account of the medicines coursing through her bloodstream.
“You’re on the USS Appalachia,” the nurse replied.
The name sent a jolt through Vasira, bringing clarity to her mind, just as the lighting shifted and red flashes began to strobe from the bulkheads. “My brother! I need to see my brother!” she said, trying to push herself upright on one good arm.
The nurse laid a restraining hand gently on her unhurt arm, looking around. “I’ll gladly pass a message to any of your family aboard, but right now something’s going on; I’m sorry, but it’ll have to wait until after we’re out of red alert.”
A call from another bed drew the nurse’s attention and they moved away, turning their back for a moment. That moment was all Vasira needed; she pushed herself upright and slid off of the biobed, running for the door. The swish drew the nurse’s gaze back around, just in time to see the door close.
Back on the bridge, a series of flashes of light appeared on Appalachia‘s viewscreen, resolving themselves into four shapes. Two appeared to be birds of prey, which quickly cloaked themselves and disappeared from view. The third seemed to be some sort of light cruiser or destroyer, possibly an old Qugh-class ship by its lines. The fourth, though, was unmistakable, the hulking and predatory form of a D7-class battlecruiser dominating the center of the screen. The two ships that remained visible bore quickly towards Appalachia and Moorpark, seemingly either not picking up the cloaked forms of the Slivin and the Kormoran, or not caring.
The Moorpark rumbled faintly, like that of a vehicle with poor suspension on a rough gravel road as the wreckage of the Goldfinch was slowly brought through the atmosphere by the towing tractor. Red alert had already been enacted by the command of Boudreaux, who stood out staring at the blackness of space ahead of them away from the planet.
“We’ve got company, the Slivin and their pursuers have just dropped out of warp,” Commander Demux stated plainly as she turned to the captain.
Wayne tapped his combadge swiftly in return, “Lieutenant Commander Hathaway, this is Boudreaux, how close are we to having shields?”
“Ten minutes, tops,” The voice of the chief engineer recited between labored breaths.
Boudreaux scratched his beard as he stood, noting the Appalachia placing themselves in between the Moorpark and the incoming Klingon vessels, two of which were rushing in like lions, hungry for battle, “Ten minutes won’t do, I need them in two, understood?”
An exasperated sigh, one of frustration but also understanding, emitted from the other side, “I’ll get it done.”
Boudreaux shared a glance with Demux, it was a solemn, silent understanding of what might befall them soon. Despite the stakes, despite the dangers, even if this was his last voyage…
No, it would not be, he thought. He and the crew would steel themselves, take their blows, and fly home. That was the only fate for the Moorpark, and the blood and breath of the ship would will it to be so by their tenacity and spirit.
