“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so…”
The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. (1600)
One by one, the dead led them to their prize.
Like some hideous breadcrumb – trail of morbidity, for each frozen – body they retrieved from the cold and unforgiving grip of space, the crew of the USS Kusanagi was able to glean a little more each time as to the grisly fate that had befallen the crew of the missing USS Condalejo.
It was relatively simple to run a comparative background check on every cadaver that they located and beamed aboard. Despite the damage and depredations meted out upon the unfortunates who they took back into Starfleet’s care, it was clear that the bodies they recovered were indeed the former crewmembers of the lost Nova – class surveyor.
It was also clear that, despite the fact that they all seemed to have died simultaneously (the series of post – mortem examinations carried out by Dr Arruda all conclusively confirmed that each body had been exposed to the effects of sudden vacuum – exposure at exactly the same moment), none of the bodies exhibited any of the tell-tale signs of the type of damage that would be consistent of being within a pressurized structure when integrity failed.
There was no significant trauma apparent externally to the victims (beyond the terrors that the vacuum had wrought), there were no burns, contusions, lacerations, amputations, eviscerations or decapitations that one would associate with being exposed to a sudden high – energy release and the shrapnel of a ship coming apart.
Each body they pulled from the void was perfect in death.
Similarly, the manner in which they were found precluded the destruction of the USS Condalejo.
There was no tell – tale background radiations that would have told of the ever – diminishing proton – shell that would have accompanied the aftermath of a warp – core breach and subsequent containment failure.
There was no localized or distributed debris trail that would have eventuated either from the sudden demise of the ships superstructure or denoted a long daisy – chain of detritus left behind as the ship came apart whilst making way.
But the most telling clue came from the irrefutable evidence that, despite all perishing at exactly the same time, the bodies that they encountered amongst the hellish conditions of The Badlands, were not all found to be grouped together in one location (as they logically should have had if they all had met their fate at the same time), but were in – fact strung out over a distance that could be measured in parsecs, which could mean only one thing.
When the crew of the USS Condalejo died, the ship was at warp.
This meant that the ship was likely not destroyed, but something or someone had assumed control of the vessel and caused the death of the crew. Given that The Badlands was a veritable haven for hostile elements who habitually used the volatile region to hide their ships and criminal activities, this suggested any number of malign actors that may be responsible for such an egregious and callous act of mass – murder, from pirate – raiders to True Way terrorists.
No matter who the culprit may prove to be one thing was certain, Starfleet would track them down and justice would be served.
Working from this assumption, the vessels assigned to search the vast, confounding chaos of The Badlands, were able to narrow their search from the methodical patrol of vast grid – quadrants of challenging space, down to a search that was aligned with the likely course and heading that the frozen bodies indicated the way to, their last frozen duty performed.
So it was, that on the tenth day of the search, it was the USS Atalanta that finally located the errant, fleeting Condalejo and in solving the answer to one riddle, inadvertently opened up a pandora’s box of misfortune that would threaten all life in the Galaxy.
“Captain, I am detecting an emissions signature consistent with a vessel making way at warp, on the long-range scanners.” Reported Lieutenant Commander Thierry LaValle, in his smooth gallic tones, as the Frenchman’s fingers glided through the complex holo – representation that hovered above his duty console, manipulating the date in a series of practiced strokes.
Captain Taesin Girau had not noticed how tense she had become, until the Chief Science Officer had finally given her release. Since the report had come in from the captain of the USS Kusanagi, Tae had taken the necessary steps to re-deploy the vessels assigned to her temporary command, into a new, more focused search pattern and her own focus had been such that the El – Aurian had scarcely moved from the captain’s chair for the last 4 – days, let alone slept.
“Tactical. Distance and Range to Target.” Taesin commanded, a new sense of urgency pervading her slim, pale frame. “Give me Ident when able.”
Korlax, the lithe young Saurian who manned the tactical position, nodded his lilac-colored scaley head and soon reported.
“IFF handshake transmitted. No response.” Korlax spoke in that whispery voice of his that sounded like the rustle of leaves before the Universal Translator took over and filtered it. The tactical officer slid his claws upon the controls of his own board, trying a different means to identify the target.
“Seeing as they’re not feeling chatty, let’s see what a resonating pulse can tell us?” The Saurian Junior Lieutenant hissed happily to himself, glad to finally have something to do and feeling the predators thrill at chasing down their quarry.
Korlax re-configured the targeting sensors to compensate for the natural interference of The Badlands and used the secondary deflector to send a photonic – resonating pulse to illuminate the fleeing target, returning a reflected signal in very much way at ancient active sonar would have done (by very different means) back in the mid-20th century.
Taesin tried to contain her inner – frustration and retained a cool exterior demeanour as the seconds ticked by and then Korlax reported.
“Return telemetry is consistent with a vessel showing the same displacement profile and warp characteristics as a Nova – class surveyor, Captain.” The Saurian confirmed, adding with a diffident shrug,” Unless there is a surfeit of such vessels currently lost in the volume, then I would say that we have the USS Condalejo, ma’am.”
Taesin looked at the Saurian askance for a moment, then dismissed the seemingly casual flippancy of Korlax’s response and put it down to the stress of the long search for the lost vessel.
“Very good Mr. Korlax. Helm. Plot a course to intercept. Best speed.” Taesin commanded the diminutive trill woman in whose sure hands they all trusted.
“Laying in an intercept course, increasing to sprint – speed. Time to close, three minutes and forty-seven seconds and counting.” Lieutenant Nema Cas assured confidently.
With the Noble – class Explorer pushing her new engines to the redline and attaining their maximum achievable speed of Warp 9.985, the fleet – hulled new craft would easily outstrip the sedate pace that the much older Nova – class was able to maintain on her far less efficient engines.
“Operations… open a hail to the target vessel.” Captain Girau ordered. The USS Condalejo was intact after all and presumably under the command of whatever hostile forces had assumed control of the ship.
Whether that be through an act of piracy or mutineers, those that had so callously cast aside the lives of so many of Starfleet’s best and brightest would play for that crime and even the normally phlegmatic and calm El – Aurian felt a flash of righteous anger as she prepared to address their leader.
“No answer to our hail, Captain.” Reported the ever-efficient Lieutenant Daniel Bergqvist. “Their subspace transceiver is active, but no one is responding.”
Taesin’s pale lips were set in a pale, hard line. She turned to the CSO.
“Thierry. Can you scan for lifeforms at this distance?”
The handsome Frenchman nodded easily.
“Oui. Naturellement, Captain.” The CSO ran a quick but thorough scan of the mysterious vessel and reported.
“I read no life signs of any kind aboard. Captain.”
Taesin’s frown only lengthened and she turned to address her right – hand, the Executive Officer Commander Mike Logan.
“Idea’s Mike?” She prompted the XO, who had risen from his auxiliary station and crossed the bridge to join her on the slightly raised dais where the CO resided.
Mike Logan’s dark features took on a thoughtful aspect as the USS Atalanta bore down on their quarry.
After a moment, the broad – shoulders African – American officer nodded his bald – pated head as if arriving at some decision and he opined evenly.
“Well, we can certainly rule out any hostile action from any organic – lifeform, that much is certain.” The big Inglewood – native reasoned aloud.
“Doesn’t mean there’s not some kind of non – organic at play or something that can mask itself from our sensors. Bottom dollar is that the Condalejo’s still operable and travelling at warp. Boarding her and taking her out of warp should be our priority.”
Taesin had reached pretty much the same conclusion as her XO, but a wise Captain always sought a second opinion. With both vessels travelling at warp, neither had their defensive shields up (it would be impossible to create a stable warp field travelling thus), so it was feasible that they could insert an away team aboard the USS Condalejo.
It was just incredibly risky.
Transwarp beaming was a warp – dynamics theory, originally postulated by the legendary Commander Montgomery Scott in 2258 AD, whereby it was possible to beam an object or person from one star system to another, or even to a starship travelling at high warp.
Transporter technology was as commonplace to an inhabitant of the 25th century as it was using a pedestrian crossing was to someone from the 20th century, yet it itself was not without some degree of attendant risk. When to considered next to transwarp theory, it was like trying to operate a pedestrian crossing at the Indy 500.
Taesin was a tenured research fellow at the Daystrom Institute, majoring in temporal astrophysics (amongst other things) and you didn’t have to hold multiple PHD’s to appreciate that the most significant limitations to Transwarp beaming was the presence of high – energy particles, such as plasma.
As if to punctuate her misgivings, a bright ejecta of white-hot plasma careened wildly across the main viewscreen, as one of the discharges from a particularly vast and volatile plasma storm, reminded all upon the bridge exactly why this volume of space had been dubbed ‘The Badlands.”
The attendant risk was obvious to all and Taesin turned to Logan and began.
“Mike, I can’t order you to go….”
But Commander Logan put one of his solid, slab – like hands on Taesin’s comparatively frail arm and assured her.
“You don’t have to, Captain. I volunteer to lead the away team.” Mike Logan nodded, as if that was final. “Those were Starfleet lives lost out there and god only knows how many more may be put in danger if we can’t stop that ship and find out what happened aboard her.”
Taesin felt a great warmth and regard for the stoicism of this man yet found it hard to quell a sense of imminent foreboding.
“Very well, Commander.” She nodded. “Assemble your team. You have your orders.”
Mike Logan nodded again and tapped his Commbadge.
“This is the XO to Chief Craver. Assemble a Security detail and have them meet me in Transporter room #3. Full hostile insertion protocol.” Mike ordered as he made his way off the bridge and towards the turbolifts.
=^= “Carver here. On our way. ETA five minutes” =^= Came the sure New England tones of Lieutenant Kaye Carver, the USS Atalanta’s sure and serious minded Chief of Security.
Logan entered the turbolift car and was already opening another channel to Main Engineering.
“XO to Lieutenant Commander Jassal. Sukhram, I need you to assign a member of your Engineering team to accompany the away team, someone competent.” Mike relayed to the Chief Engineering Officer.
Sukhram’s avuncular sub – continental tones floated back over the airwaves.
=^= “I’m already on my way to Transporter room #3.” =^= The talented Indian engineer assured the XO over the comm.
Mike winced and replied firmly.
“Belay that Commander. We’re inserting into an unknown situation, and I need you and your expertise aboard ship to advise us. Sorry my friend, but I just can’t permit that. You stay.”
There was a pause and Mike dearly hoped that Sukhram would not fight him on this. Logan knew that the fatherly Indian engineer looked after his people like a fussing hen, but Sukhram Jassal had been a member of the team who had designed and built the Noble – class and his knowledge of the ships distributed systems architecture made him too invaluable to risk.
That and Mike did not relish having to face Aadhya and tell her that he had gone and got her husband killed.
He was relieved when the engineer responded.
=^= “Very well, Commander. I will assign Lieutenant Javers to assist you. Tom’s a quick study with a bright mind and as loathe as I am to spare him I will do so, but I want to note that I do so under sufferance.” =^=
That last elicited a grim smile from Mike Logan.
“Forbearance duly noted, Commander.”
The Turbolift doors hissed shut and the car began its short journey downwards, as Sukhram Jassal added poignantly,
=^= “I’ll still meet you in the Transporter room. There are complex and intricate calculations that must be made to ensure a successful Transwarp transfer, especially within an environ such as this. Besides where I come from, when you lend a man a tool, you look him in the eye, and you make him promise to return it in the same condition in which it was given.” =^=
Sukhram’s warning came as a grim and timely reminder of the unknown dangers that he and the away team were about to face. The same unspecified threat that had seen over 80 Starfleet Officers and Enlisted crew murderously consigned to the void.
Mike Logan nodded ruefully as the Turbolift doors hissed open again.
“Yeah, that’s the same from where I come from too….”
