Thunderbird One, Salem Sector, Stardate 54155.99:
Lady Fantomax stopped and clutched a handhold as her ship rocked sharply once more, but she withheld her instinctive need to protest – the ion storm that had struck the station was abating, but still proved potent, and her computer had his proverbial hands full navigating them away – as she made her way to the cockpit. Bloody Hell, Bloody Hell, Bloody Hell…
At her feet, rats swarmed around her boots and ahead of her, like water, their smaller size giving them an advantage in the turbulence. Not that they could do much more than join her as she looked up to see the swirling miasma of pinks and purples outside the windows. “Status, Parker?”
The computerised male voice with the affected Cockney accent seemed to emanate from every part of the cockpit. “You might wish to take a seat for the next half hour, Milady. As I have no tiny seats for your furry friends, they might want to just hold onto each other’s tails.”
“We’re on it,” squeaked Ben, the largest of the rodents, as he and the rest of the Rat Pack coalesced into a ball around the base of the co-pilot’s seat. “What about Doctor Death?”
Fantomax slid herself into the pilot’s seat and strapped herself in, just as the flyer took a sharp drop to port. Their so-called colleague Orlok boarded along with the rest of them when they fled Salem One, but the Vulcan bioterrorist immediately went her own way, Lord knows where.
As if reading her mind, Parker noted, “She went to her quarters. Shall I lock her in… or better yet, beam her back to the Starfleeters?”
“You have our vote on the latter,” Ben offered from his clump of rats. “Or maybe just send her into space and let them pick her up later?”
“I like how you think.”
The elderly human female ignored them as she gripped the arms of the seat, staring ahead, fighting a growing nausea… one born not from the tumult of the ion storm. She was a thief, someone who could take what she desired and not harm another living soul, and she suspected and feared that her coercion into the Bel-Zon would drag her down a darker, more visceral path than she desired. Still, she recognised that she had little choice in joining this motley band, and had tried to deceive herself into hoping that she could keep her hands and conscience relatively clean.
But if this particular mission was anything to go by, that was a fool’s Hope. The leaders of the Bel-Zon had sent them here, and deliberately sacrificed one of their own, just to give Fantomax and the others the chance to obtain classified data on Commodore Hrelle, his family and crew… savagely killing and maiming several of the last along the way.
It was distasteful in the extreme… and she feared it would only get worse, the longer she associated with these people.
“Milady?”
She blinked herself out of her thoughts. “Yes, Parker?”
“Are we returning to Elba II?”
She swallowed. “Is there any sign of pursuit from Salem One?”
“Not that I can detect, Milady, though sensor efficacy remains reduced.”
“Proceed… but along a circuitous route. And as soon as you can, send a coded message to our… partners… and inform them of our ETA.”
“Yes, Milady.”
Fantomax breathed in, repeating a calming mantra. She should be enjoying retirement back on Risa, not risking imprisonment or worse.
What was she going to do?
*
USS Katana, Deck 3 Mid, Counselor’s Office:
“So, what are you going to do, Captain?”
Weynik fidgeted in his chair, his fingers steepled in his lap as the Roylan male affected a casual demeanour. “Well, I expect to continue in this role for at least a year or two, help re-secure this sector of space for Commodore Fatburger, and enjoy the relative peace and routine after the War. Then maybe I’ll turn the Katana over to Sasha once she’s experienced enough, and seek out a new ship, maybe an exploration mission; it could be fulfilling to boldly go where no one has gone before. Or possibly take up an instructor’s role, an Academy vessel, like Wide Load’s arrangement with the cadets when he still commanded the Surefoot. The Galaxy’s my oyster.”
Sitting across from him, Counselor Bas Vestri smiled and leaned forward, the older Denobulan female reaching for the plate of biscuits on the table between them next to the white ceramic teapot and matching teacups. “Actually, Captain, I was asking what you were going to do, just sit there and keep eyeing the shortbread, or finally give in and indulge?”
“Oh.” His eyestalks dipped down again to the plate she was lifting up now to him, glad that his people’s bony carapace couldn’t display the embarrassment he felt at his faux pas. He accepted one of the biscuits, resting it on the arm of his chair without touching it, and hoping that this would be the end of it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She set the plate down and leaned back. “So-”
He felt his hopes plummet. “Don’t read anything into that.”
“Into what, Captain?”
“Everything I just said, about contemplating a career change. I can do this job perfectly well!.”
“Of course, Captain.”
“I know how you Counselors operate, latching onto every misspoken word, looking for hidden meanings and motivations like some… Mind Detective.”
She smiled guilelessly, her impossibly-wide Denobulan grin lifting up the ridges that ran along the edges of her hairline. “What, me, Captain?”
He ground his teeth; she was being even more insufferable than usual. “Yes, you, Counselor. And if you think I’m worried about being Captain of the Katana-”
“I don’t think that, Captain.”
“Good.”
Then she lifted up her teacup, staring into the contents. “You and Commodore Hrelle graduated from the Academy together, didn’t you?”
He started, not expecting that question. “Yes: Class of 2340. Why?”
Vestri paused and sipped at her tea before continuing. “You’ve both had redoubtable careers, great achievements under your proverbial belts, captaining many ships with distinction, saving many lives, entire worlds. How did it feel when he received a promotion, a squadron and an entire sector of his own to command, and nothing similar was offered to you?”
Weynik froze, shocked that she would ask such a question. “That’s- That’s ludicrous! You’re suggesting that I’m jealous of my best friend? He’s been stuck behind a desk, and now has to spend his time in endless meetings with other flag officers! And you know what? He’s a natural at it… and now he even has a bigger office to hide his snack boxes!
But that’s not the life I want! ‘All I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by.’” He paused and clarified, “Sea-Fever, John Masefield. A Terran poet.”
“Yes, I know, I’ve heard many Captains quote that before.” She rolled her eyes and set aside her cup again. “I’ve also heard many Captains take their tactical perspicacity, the ability to think many steps ahead of an opponent… and trip themselves up with it, by revealing what’s on their mind rather than their opponent’s. Even if the perceived opponent is their Counselor, who’s only trying to help them.”
Weynik grunted.
Vestri smiled again as she continued. “And I have no doubt that you are one of those Captains who would indeed like nothing more than to be surrounded by the Bridge of a starship, maintaining your own autonomy with a minimum of bureaucracy, and if a promotion to Flag Officer was offered to you, you would turn it down… at least, at this stage in your life.
But that doesn’t mean you can’t feel some resentment for not being offered it in the first place. It doesn’t make you petty or immature or anything else negative. It makes you normal. Just be aware of it.
And aware of any resentment you might feel for taking orders from Commodore Hrelle, too. It can be difficult when even best friends have been on an equal level for so long, and then one of them moves into a position of direct authority.”
Weynik grunted again. He knew she’d take this conversation somewhere along those lines.
But was it true? He told himself that he was happy for Esek to be settled in so well, especially in the place that brought him so much misery years before. Was there resentment mixed into that happiness? “Is that it? Are we done now for this week?”
Vestri sipped again at her tea, slowly, deliberately not replying right away. “One more thing: you wouldn’t be feeling any of this as strongly as you are now if you hadn’t suffered so profoundly during the War, with the loss and replacement of your leg during the Battle of Cardassia. You are an accomplished, talented starship commander, but a part of you still feels doubt about your self-worth.
Those doubts will pass, in time.
Don’t forget your biscuit.”
*
Deck 2 Fore - Captain’s Ready Room:
Sasha lifted the biscuit off her plate, holding it between thumb and forefinger and moving it left and right, watching with amusement as Ajax, a fat brown and white English bulldog and the ship’s mascot, sat at her feet, rapt on the potential treat, rocking from side to side.
Meanwhile, she sat across from her lover, Second Officer Lt Mru Mori, the brown-furred Caitian male engrossed in the PADD in his paw. “So, what do you think of Lt Holtzman?”
“She’s got a great ass. Very pert and muscular. And those lips… oooh…”
Mori made a show of scanning through the PADD’s text. “Funny, I didn’t read any of that in her Performance Review.”
“What’s a Performance Review?”
Now he looked up. “Maybe I should go find a Holodeck program that’ll teach me all these Command duties I missed while studying Engineering?” He watched her. “Stop teasing that poor dog.”
Sasha smirked, breaking off part of the biscuit and flinging it to the far corner of the Ready Room, making Ajax move with uncharacteristic speed. “He needs to burn off all the snacks Weynik and everyone else feeds him.”
“Everyone else, huh?”
She nibbled on the rest of the biscuit, swallowing and asking, “So, what points would you award her?”
He shrugged, returning to his notes. “85. She meets the performance targets, manages her team, is never late on duty or with her reports-” He stopped as he watched her shake her head. “No?”
She reached for her coffee to wash down the rest of the biscuit in her mouth, smacking her lips before responding soberly. “50, at best. She meets the minimum criteria for doing her job, but has made no effort to go Above and Beyond: no requests to offer instruction at the Academy Annex on Salem One, no papers submitted to any Starfleet journals, not even any extracurricular activities onboard.”
Mori made a contemplative sound. “Some people aren’t that outgoing, they just want to do their job. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there isn’t. But Starfleet has always pushed for Personal Development, for their officers being well-rounded people who connect with those around them. If Holtzmann chooses to be standoffish, that’s fine. It’ll just take her longer to make Lieutenant Commander.”
“Or… we could encourage her to open up, join the Katana’s Improv Team or the Choir or even the Poker group-”
Sasha made a noise, leaning back in her chair and pressing the back of her hand against her forehead melodramatically. “I knew it! You’ve had enough of me, and now you’re looking for my replacement! Someone younger, smarter, prettier-”
“Less hammy?”
Now she pouted. “I thought you had a taste for ham.”
“I do: good on the lips, bad on the hips.” Mru smiled, regarding her now. “Congratulations, by the way, on reaching your Hundredth Day.”
He watched with amusement as the biscuit bounced under a chair, and Ajax struggled to get his bulk underneath. “A hundred days sober is a big deal. I’m proud of you, Sasha. Very proud.”
Sasha smiled back; like the Counselor told her, enjoy the victory each day offers. “Just proud?”
He set aside the PADD. “No. I also love you.”
She regarded him back. “I love you, too.” She amazed herself with how readily she could declare it now, no joking, no banter. All this could have just been a fling for them both, a distraction to help relieve the stress they experienced during the Occupation of Cait.
But it grew into something more, much more, and in the weeks following their victory, Mru had even taken her back to meet his mothers and aunts, all of whom ran a hotel near the volcanic springs of Ujanki. His family had embraced her, figuratively as well as literally, though she had initially put it down to the hero worship she was getting from the Caitians for her small part in the Liberation.
It wasn’t some teenage infatuation she felt for the male; for one thing, she was closer to her thirties than her teenage years. For another, she was no fragile virgin, not in any sense of the word. And she knew she was clear in body and mind when she looked at him and felt what she felt. “We should celebrate my milestone.”
He leaned in. “Oh? What did you have in mind, Hellcat?”
She rose, pausing to snap another piece of biscuit and sending Ajax away from her feet once more. Then she came around the desk to face the Caitian, seeing his tail, sticking out through the hole in the back of his chair, swish with pleasure at her approach, and suddenly she straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck and stroking his pointed ears and the fur on the back of his head. “You’ve been patient with me all these months while I’ve abstained from… everything.” She smiled as he began purring. “And on my 100 Day Anniversary, I think maybe I can treat myself… and you… to some Fluttertail.”
She felt his excitement – literally – as he leaned in and began purring directly against her neck. She wallowed in it, ignoring the bulldog that had returned to her feet, whimpering for attention and more biscuit.
Then the door slid open, and Weynik entered, PADD in hand. “Hmph, Performance Reviews have gotten a lot more interesting than when I last did them.”
Sasha immediately hopped off Mori, feeling herself turn shades not usually seen in nature. “Sir! You’re early!”
He dropped his PADD on an adjacent chair. “No, I think I’m just in time.” He bent down as Ajax trotted up to him, stubby tail wagging in delight. He lifted up the dog and let him lick his face. “You poor boy, having to witness these two escapees from Horny Jail.”
Mori rose as well, steadying himself. “Uh, we were, uh, just heading back to the Bridge…”
“Good idea,” Weynik agreed, taking the dog and himself to his chair behind his desk, reaching for a remaining biscuit. “No, don’t worry about all the coffee mugs and snacks you’ve left-” He stopped as Sasha returned to clear up the desk, focusing instead on letting Ajax nibble at the biscuit he had brought with him.
*
On the Bridge of the Katana, Mori recovered quickly – counting the minutes until Sasha and he were off duty – as he strode up to the Ops station. “Status?”
Beside him, Security Chief Lt Jor-Dakk remained motionless, the Brikari male statue-like as he responded in typical laconic fashion. “Operational.”
Silence hung in the air after that, until Lt Grel, sitting at the Helm, turned in his chair to face the rear, the Tellarite male’s snout wrinkling. “You’re tighter with your words than a globfly’s nethers. We’re continuing towards Salem One, Mr Mori, ETA one hour at Warp 6. Long-range sensors indicate the ion storm hitting them has almost all died away. And we received a message from Captain T’Varik on the Surefoot, requesting a rescheduling of her meeting with Captain Weynik, owing to an unexpected delay in their own arrival at the station.”
“Thank you, Mr Grel. Your input is appreciated… now turn around again, the back of your head is the most attractive part of you.”
Grel snorted at the Tellarite Banter and complied, as Jor-Dakk muttered, “Kissass.”
Mori smiled, but then noticed Holtzmann, busy at the Science Station, her burr of honey-blonde hair covering her soft face as she hunched over a scanner, making noises to herself that only he could hear.
Sasha had been right, he conceded. Brianna Holtzmann kept to herself pretty much all the time while she was onboard the Katana, managing those with Science qualifications, seeing to upgrades in training and databases, and performing as and when required. He knew she wasn’t long out of the Academy before being assigned here, and remembered how shy he had been, and welcomed any overtures of building relationships among his colleagues.
He rose from the centre seat and approached. “Lieutenant?”
Holtzmann straightened up abruptly, her dark blue eyes wide with surprise. “Lieutenant! I’m sorry, were you speaking to me before? Is there an alert I missed?”
Mori smiled. “No, and No. I just wanted to say Hi, and find out how you’re doing, that’s all.”
She glanced around nervously. “Why?”
He leaned against the edge of an adjacent station, crossing his arms as he regarded her. “Just being friendly, and realising how little we’ve actually talked outside of ship business, so I thought we could take the time to get to know each other better.”
Holtzmann stared up at him. “What do you need to know, Lieutenant?”
His smile broadened. “Not ‘need’, per se… what about hobbies?”
“Hobbies?”
“Yes! Me, I play Sorcrosse, a type of Caitian tennis, and I’m in the ship’s Improv group, and when I’m feeling adventurous I also dabble in cooking. What about you?”
“I collect spores, moulds and fungi.”
He blinked. “That sounds… interesting. Maybe sometime when we’re both off-shift we could get together and talk about it?”
Her eyes saucered, and her pale Nordic features went russet as her voice dropped to a shocked whisper and she glanced around nervously. “Lieutenant… I thought you were involved with Lt Cmdr Hrelle?”
Mori frowned now. “What? I was! I mean I am! We’re a couple, we’re staying a couple, it’s just- we thought-”
Holtzmann frowned back, whispering, “You want a threesome?”
*
Back inside the Ready Room, Weynik let his dog slide off of his lap as he sat up, glancing over at Sasha in the far corner near the replicator recycling the remains of her snacks and drinks, before he accepted the incoming transmission, his eyestalks dropping in shock at the sight of Hrelle: his face and fur ensanguined, burned in places even, looking exhausted and angry in equal measures. “Bloody Hemra, Esek, what’s happened?“
Hrelle’s jaw tightened. “An assassin was brought onboard the station hiding among the ion storm refugees. We’ve had casualties.”
Weynik’s heart raced. Casualties… his children and mother lived on the station… he resisted the urge to ask about them, knowing Esek would inform him if they had been affected. “I’ll increase our speed, we’ll be there in twenty minutes-”
“Belay that. The assassin is dead, but its accomplices have escaped in their vessel: a modified Opulent-class private flyer designated the Thunderbird One. We’re sending you all the data we have on it and the passengers, and what’s happened here.” He stepped closer to the screen, pointing at him, baring his teeth and his rage. “They do not get to go home. You bring them back… in irons, or in boxes! Is that understood, Captain?”
Weynik nodded curtly; how bad was it there, Brother? “Yes, Commodore. We’ll keep you posted. Katana out.”
The screen darkened.
Sasha drew closer, looking shocked. “What the Hell-”
The young human drew up, obviously wanting to talk more, but falling into Starfleet discipline. “Aye, Sir.”
As she departed, Weynik glanced over at Ajax, who had learned to respond to the Red Alert by retiring to his bed in the far corner of the room, aware that the time for treats and attention was over.
Damn right, Fleapit… The Roylan activated his screen and brought up the received data, all thoughts about resenting his best friend for getting promoted and command over him forgotten.
He was needed. He just hoped he was up to the task.
*
“Milady, a ship is pursuing us.”
Fantomax had been nursing a drink when she sat up in her chair, noting the Rat Pack all turning in the direction of the computer’s voice. “From Salem One, Parker?”
“No, Milady, a Starfleet vessel, the USS Katana. I am detecting transmissions between the ship and the station.”
She set aside her whiskey and turned to her adjacent station, calling up data on the vessel: one of Hrelle’s Sabre Squadron, commanded by Weynik, a highly experienced Roylan officer, assisted by Hrelle’s human daughter. They must have already been on their way to Salem One when the Thunderbird One escaped. Heavily armed, with phasers, photon torpedoes, quantum torpedoes, maximum warp 9.7… Bloody Hell…
Perched on the seat beside her, Ben leaned forward until he risked falling off, as the rest of his Pack scurried around his chair, reflecting his agitation. “Put the speed on! I don’t want to think about the little cages they’ll stick us in!”
“Our stealth fields won’t function properly beyond Warp Five,” Fantomax informed him, searching through the records; the stealth technology she had purchased for the Thunderbird One had been the very best… some years ago, before she had retired. Now, however, Starfleet will surely have upgraded their sensor capabilities, especially after dealing with all of their adversaries with cloaking technology. “Parker, open a secure channel to Dumont… we’re going to need assistance…”
*
Elba II:
Bastien Dumont sat behind his desk, half-listening to the voice on the comlink providing an update on a potential sale of contraband thalaron radiation stabilisers to some ambitious Reman warlord. He should be devoting his full attention to what could be a significant profit for the Bel-Zon, over and above the primary mission running for their sponsor Zorin.
Dumont looked up as his office door slid open, and one of his assistants poked his head through, offering an arresting expression that made Dumont sit up. “I’m not interested in excuses, Monsieur Fajo. If you wish help to restore your former collection confiscated from you upon your arrest, then I suggest you deliver. Dumont out.” He closed the channel and rose to his feet. “What is it?”
“Fantomax has contacted us, Sir; they’ve escaped from Salem One, but are being pursued by a Starfleet vessel.”
Dumont followed him back to their Operations Room, a circular room of stations and screens, where technicians laboured to maintain not only the environmental and security facilities here, but also the encrypted communications and advanced sensor webs in place.
Nearby one tactical screen stood the self-styled, self-titled Highwayman, the older Zeon male who supplied their legitimate and illegitimate shipping support. With his white mane and beard and aged face, he resembled a Moses who had joined the Merchantfleet, and his leather jacket was festooned with many patches indicating how far and wide he had travelled in this part of the Galaxy. “You have trouble, Bastien.”
Dumont ignored him and glanced up at the screen, seeing the tagged dots of the Thunderbird One, moving away from Salem One, and a Starfleet vessel, one labelled the USS Katana, on an intercept course. “Are any of your ships nearby that can rendezvous with them and engage with Starfleet?”
The Highwayman nodded, but then clarified, “But they won’t; they’re built for hauling, not fighting.”
Fantomax and her team wouldn’t escape, and they couldn’t afford to lead Starfleet here. Time to prepare to sacrifice some more pawns… “Open a channel to the Thunderbird One.” When the technician complied, he announced, “This is Dumont. Help is on the way. Stay on your present course, but in the meantime transmit the collected data so we can begin examining it.”
*
Fantomax stiffened on hearing the instructions, glancing once over at the Rat Pack, before asking, “Repeat your message, please.”
“Help is on the way, stay on your present course and speed, and transmit the data you were sent to collect.”
“No! Don’t!”
Fantomax turned to see Dr Orlok, the Vulcan appearing intense, anxious even by human standards. She entered the cockpit and drew closer.
The human looked back. “Parker-”
“I’ve muted the transmission, Milady.”
Orlok came up to her, turning her chair to make Fantomax face her directly. “Do not comply! They’re lying! They’re more interested in the data than in helping us escape!”
Fantomax stared up at her incredulously. Could it be true? Would their paymasters really be so ruthless? Then she wondered why she was even asking herself that. “They must know if we’re captured, we could talk.”
“Yes,” Orlok agreed soberly. “Which makes me wonder what might have been secretly deposited on your vessel while we were being briefed on Elba II. Computer viruses, a bomb-”
“Impossible!” Parker protested. “I would have detected it!”
“Would you?” Orlok looked up at the interface. “Their resources are considerable, and their ruthlessness has been illustrated before us… graphically.”
Fantomax’s eyes moved from the Vulcan to the Pack, Ben looking back at her and noting, “For once she’s not wrong. Zorin killed his own son in front of all of us, remember? In fact, he had you bring him all the way to Elba II just so he could do that!”
She remembered, and remembered the horror and guilt in her own assistance towards that dreadful act, no matter how oblivious she had been to Zorin’s scapegrace son’s ultimate fate. “Parker, reopen the channel.” At the confirmation signal, she cleared her throat and announced, “We can’t transmit, Mr Dumont; there’s- there’s-”
“Residual interference from the ion storm,” Orlok prompted aloud.
Fantomax nodded at that, continuing. “Yes, ionic interference.”
Dumont sounded agitated. “Nonsense! Your current signal is strong enough-”
She cut him off. “Please send assistance immediately, before we’re captured. Thunderbird One out.” She paused, scanning the maps ahead of them, before ordering, “Parker, drop the stealth fields and go to Maximum Warp, taking us close to the Deertail Cloud, but don’t enter it, and keep blocking any incoming transmissions. I don’t want any self-destruct codes transmitted to us.”
“Yes, Milady.”
As the ship jumped to a higher level of faster-than-light speed, she turned to the Rat Pack. “Take your portable scanners, examine the interior, top to tail, look for anything suspicious and report back.”
The rats unknotted themselves from their protective bundle and scurried away. As they departed, Orlok noted, “Without the stealth fields, we will be visible to anyone with sensors.”
Fantomax nodded. “Yes. Visible to Starfleet… and to our ostensible allies. Now we can test how willing they are to save the data… and us.”
*
Dumont slammed his fist onto the console, cursing through clenched teeth as he turned back to the Highwayman. “Your vessels may not be warships, but surely they have some weaponry?”
The Zeon male shrugged. “Sure, but not against a Sabre… or the man commanding it.” He indicated the Katana avatar. “I knew Weynik when he commanded the Starsong. I saw him take on four Klingon Birds of Prey I was delivering torpedoes to. He made scrap out of all of them.”
“I’ll double your commission!”
“And I’ll double my refusal.”
Dumont pointed a finger at him, sneering as he argued, “Do you think Monsieur Zorin will appreciate your lack of cooperation in protecting his interests?”
But the Highwayman crossed his arms, looking and sounding unintimidated. “I think Mr Zorin will be more likely to vent his spleen at the management of this operation for any failings. Especially given you already have a ship nearby that’s stronger and faster than any of my freighters or couriers.”
The Frenchman stopped arguing - he wasn’t wrong – and turned back towards the communications console, already knowing his next steps. “Hail Captain Kazan on the Molotok.”
*
“‘Molotok’? Who’s that, anyway?”
Crosby looked up from his station on the Bridge of the new ship, his gaze following his friend’s to the simple brass dedication plaque currently being fixed to the wall near the doors. He shook his head and breathed out. “You’re so uneducated.”
Hope turned to him from his adjacent station. “You don’t know either.”
Crosby leaned back in his armless chair and crossed his arms. “Molotok was a Russian Revolutionary, actually. Uh, Ivan Molotok.” As he captured Hope’s attention fully, he continued, allowing his creativity to flow fully. “On a starship called the Red October, he killed Peter the Terrible with a poisoned drink that would later be called the ‘Molotok Cocktail’.”
Hope nodded in acceptance, but then quickly recovered. “I know all that!”
Crosby’s sallow face creased with a smirk. “Really?”
“Yeah, sure! Molotok Cocktails- I heard that’s what they used to kill John Lenin too-”
“Peasants!”
Both men turned as one to the centre of the Bridge, to the Captain’s chair, and the large, bald human male sitting there, staring ahead at the viewscreen, never looking at them but acting as if expecting them to be rapt. His voice was deep and booming as he continued. “It’s called a Molotov Cocktail, and it’s not an actual drink, it’s an incendiary device named after a Twentieth Century Soviet Foreign Minister.
The original Molotok our ship is named after was an armoured cruiser built for the Imperial Russian Navy, a raider that served with distinction during the Russo-Japanese War early in the Twentieth Century, sinking many enemy warships and freighters much larger than itself. Across the Yellow Sea, they spoke of the Hammer in fearful whispers.” He paused and explained, “‘Molotok’ is Russian for ‘Hammer’.” Now he turned his chair to face them, his broad-nosed, beefy face a stony mask as he barked, “School Time’s over! Back to work, peons!”
His previous command, the Fort Wayne, was an ancient Soyuz-class border cutter refurbished and brought into service against the Cardassians, and the fact that they got through that conflict and not fly apart at the seams was a victory in itself… and a testament to his own skills.
This ship, on the other hand, would have helped them win that War in a week. It would serve the Bel-Zon, and himself, well. Very well-
An alert, and from Ops came the announcement, “Captain! Urgent message from the surface!”
Kazan straightened up, his pulse quickening even as his face hardened. He had been onboard preparing to take the newly-acquired ship on some test runs of the systems and crew, with communications to be kept to a minimum. “Onscreen.”
The image of Elba II was replaced by an angry-looking Dumont. “Arkady, the Salem One Team have fled the station with the data, but are being pursued by a Starfleet vessel. They are claiming not to be able to transmit the data to us first, and are requesting assistance.”
Kazan grunted, echoing the dubious tones of his colleague; I would have said something similar in their place. “What vessel is pursuing them? A runabout from the station?”
“No, a Sabre-class, the Katana.”
Now the Siberian-born man leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Send me all updated intelligence on the ship. I’ll take care of it.”
Dumont frowned. “We were to keep the existence of the Molotok a secret until absolutely necessary. If the Katana takes back word to Hrelle-”
Kazan waved a beefy hand dismissively at the screen. “No one will survive to inform Hrelle. The intelligence?”
The Frenchman looked to his left and nodded at someone unseen, before facing forward again. “You were supposed to use this time to test the ship, Arkady.”
“And we shall, Bastien… and paint our hull with the blood of the crew of the Katana. Molotok out.” He rose to his feet, feeling animated in a way unfamiliar to him for a long time. A saner man might have had qualms about facing Starfleet, his former organisation.
If you’re scared of wolves, stay out of the forest… “Red Alert, you dogs! Helm, plot a course in the direction of Salem One! We have a Starfleet vessel to annihilate!”
The crimson strip of lighting circling the Bridge overhead flared angrily to life, as his crew hastened to ready the Defiant-class vessel for battle...
As the crew of the Katana hastened to ready for battle around her, Sasha leaned forward at the Auxiliary Ops station and read through the data received from her father, horrified at the deaths that occurred – and from some fakakta cybernetic, fire-breathing Dragon of all things? – and confused by the discovered identities of the Dragon’s accomplices. Why would an elderly Terran thief and a fugitive Vulcan bioterrorist be involved in smuggling an assassin and saboteur onto Salem One? None of it made any sense.
She looked at the list of the dead and wounded. Of the latter, there were many, some she knew, including that big Hroch Ensign Kaldron – Great Mother, you recover soon, Man Mountain – but not recognising any of the casualties, feeling grateful not to know them… and then guilty for feeling grateful. She knew that every life lost mattered, and that any relief she might have felt at not knowing them personally was just a selfish reaction at not having an emotional connection to cause her pain.
She looked around the crew. She knew them all, some more intimately than others, but she knew them all. Some will fall during the course of their time on the Katana, she knew, and she would grieve. But she would also treasure them in the time they had together… and she began to better appreciate her Dad’s preference for commanding smaller crews.
The doors to the Ready Room swished open, and instinctively she announced, “Captain on the Bridge!”
She watched Weynik react slightly to her words, but barely so; normally he eschewed formalities like that whenever he appeared here, but they had both agreed that it was appropriate during Red Alerts, to heighten everyone’s attention. Then he strode up to her, his eyestalks focused up. “Report, Number One.”
Sasha straightened up formally. “All systems online and ready, weapons fully charged and primed, Mr Mori has attuned the sensor algorithms and now the Thunderbird One is on our long-range scans, approaching the Deertail Cloud. I’ve adjusted our course to intercept.”
He nodded. “They know we can outrace them, so they might be looking for a place to hide in there.” He grunted. “Hemra help them if they go too deep into the Cloud and wake it up.” He approached the centre seat. “Helm, increase speed to Maximum. Aim straight for the flyer, let them know we’re on their tail, order them to power down and await us. Inform Salem One we have located the criminals and will apprehend them shortly.” He sat down.
Sasha followed him to the adjacent seat, glancing at him. She had learned to read him over the last couple of years, and could feel the anger and determination that suffused him. “You think they’ll put up a fight?”
He continued to stare ahead at the onscreen dilated warpfield. “For their sake, I hope not.”
Fantomax glanced at the sensor readings, and hoped it was a ghost.
It was a futile hope, as Parker confirmed, “There is an incoming audio transmission from the Starfleet vessel, Milady.”
“It’s definitely from them? Not anyone else?”
“Yes, Milady.”
She breathed in. “Run a security scan of the message before playing it anyway.” The Rat Pack and Orlok had swept her vessel and found nothing suspicious, but that didn’t mean the Bel-Zon couldn’t have inserted hidden programs in Parker, ready to trigger some self-destruct protocols.
Her colleagues drew closer as the message played. “This is the USS Katana. You are ordered to halt with immediate effect and await our arrival. Do not attempt to continue to escape. This is the USS Katana. You are ordered to halt-”
“Turn it off,” Orlok ordered. Although she was not authorised to give commands to the computer, it complied, as the Vulcan turned to Fantomax. “Ignore them.”
The thief looked up at her. “Really? With all the carnage we left behind?”
The Vulcan glanced up at the tactical display. “The Bel-Zon will almost certainly be sending assistance, but if they see us comply, they could end up firing upon us just to keep us silent, whether or not we provide them with the gathered intelligence.”
Ben rose up on his hind legs, his whiskers twitching. “Such loyalty. How you bipeds have managed to survive until now is beyond us.”
“Petulance ill-becomes you, Rodent.”
Fantomax tuned them out. Perhaps they should give themselves up… and she could confess to her participation in the crimes on Salem One, in exchange for protection from the wrath of Zorin and the Bel-Zon? No doubt she would still serve time, but then she thought of the decades she had spent getting away with so many crimes?
She glanced up at the viewscreen, seeing the edges of a crimson nebula, identified as the Deertail Cloud, and according to the surrounding Starfleet beacons, a navigational hazard. It reminded her of the time she stole the Sceptre of the Royal Family of Luria, and hid from the local authorities in the neighbouring Ionite Nebula, taking advantage of the sensor interference.
“Parker,” she announced. “Ignore the navigational hazard beacons and take us further into this cloud. We may not be able to run from Starfleet – or our employers – but we don’t have to make it easy for either of them.”
*
An alert prompted ears on the Katana Bridge to turn to the Ops station, as Mori announced, “Captain! Incoming audio message from Salem One!”
Sasha watched Weynik tense, before he responded, “Let’s hear it.”
She leaned forward as her father’s voice filled the air, albeit with a taut tone that made her own body stiffen. “Captain Weynik, we have just confirmed that the principal mission of the attackers on Station Salem One was not assassination or sabotage, but theft of classified data concerning this sector, this station, and the ships, crews… and family members… assigned to these.
Under my personal authority as Commanding Officer of this sector, I am invoking Starfleet Security Directive 27: you are hereby ordered to take any and all steps necessary to prevent the stolen data from leaving this sector. These steps include, if required, the destruction of the attackers’ vessel, those onboard, and any associates or interlopers.
Rules of Engagement have been rescinded for the duration of your mission.
Signed, Commodore Esek Hrelle, Station Salem One.”
The breath caught in her throat; her father had publicly and officially given them execution orders… if it came to that.
She looked to Weynik again, who now looked back, nodding once before ordering, “Lt Mori, acknowledge receipt of our orders and inform Salem One we will be incommunicado for the duration.”
*
Milady, the Katana is rapidly approaching.
Fantomax started; Parker’s announcement came to her, not over the loudspeaker like before, but from her subdermal implant, heard only by her. She glanced casually behind her; Orlok was busy scanning the data they had acquired, as if they weren’t in imminent danger of capture or worse, and the Rat Pack were scattered.
You can type in your answers without them knowing, Milady, Parker added.
She turned forward again, as if studying the cloud they were approaching, her fingers moving deftly over the keypad. WHAT ARE YOU DOING, PARKER?
Offering you an opportunity to converse discreetly. You need to surrender to Starfleet.
SURRENDER? SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE IMPRISONED? WHY WOULD YOU SUGGEST THAT?
Because my priority is to preserve your life, Milady. You have a better chance of survival with Starfleet than you would remaining with our erstwhile allies. I can feign our continued escape, but in fact turn us back to the approaching vessel so as not to alert Orlok or the Pack. Or… if you think it would be more efficacious for me to eliminate them-
NO. I’VE SEEN MORE THAN ENOUGH DEATH. AIDED AND ABETTED IN IT. WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT WILL YOU DO?
I will stop in the path of the Starfleet vessel and power down. Then I will purge my memory; it holds too much incriminating evidence against you. He paused, adding, Milady, incarceration is preferable to being crushed in some random gravimetric eddy in this cloud… or from betrayal from the Bel-Zon.”
Fantomax stared blankly ahead. So this was it. And Parker was right; whatever their authoritarian predilections, Starfleet will be honourable.
YOU HAVE BEEN THE MOST FAITHFUL COMPANION AN OLD WOMAN COULD EVER HOPE FOR, PARKER. THANK YOU, FOR EVERYTHING.
It has been an honour, a pleasure and a privilege to serve you, Milady.
*
“Approaching the Thunderbird One,” Lt Grel reported from the Helm, his Tellarite hooves tapping lightly on the console. “They’ve stopped and turned to face us!”
“They’re giving up?” Sasha asked.
“Let’s find out,” Weynik responded, “Drop us out of warp, Mr Grel. Ms Hrelle, on reaching transporter range, beam over all lifeforms straight into the Brig, no warning. Mr Jor-Dakk, prepare an Away Team to beam over and secure that vessel, in preparation for tractoring it back to Salem One.”
Sasha breathed out. “What a relief: a mission that didn’t end in bloodshed.”
Her captain remained taut as a wire. “It hasn’t ended yet, Number One.”
*
Orlok faced forward. “What is happening?” She strode forward, examining the stations and looking upwards. “We have turned around, we are facing the Starfleet vessel! But the readings state we are continuing into the Cloud!”
Fantomax rose to her feet to face the Vulcan. “You can drop the pretence, Parker. You are correct, Doctor; we’re surrendering. I’m willing to face justice for my crimes.”
“I’m not!” She reached for the human.
“Touch her and I’ll beam you into space,” Parker warned.
Orlok stopped, still glaring with taut fury. “Even beyond my complicity with the deaths on Salem One, I have warrants for my arrest for mass murder! Illegal experimentation! I will spend the rest of my life in a Federation penal colony! Away from my projects! What do you expect me to do?”
“I recommend taking a job in the prison kitchen, you can be guaranteed a decent meal free of bodily waste products.”
“What about us?” Both women turned to the Rat Pack, all collected together again, Ben at the forefront as he continued. “We just want a home for ourselves, away from you gigantic bipeds!”
Fantomax looked at them with some sympathy. “No one knows about you. Hide yourselves, your abilities and intelligence, and you can make your way onto another starship. The Galaxy is a big place.”
“Not for me,” Orlok countered coldly, clearly wanting to grab Fantomax but still aware of the computer’s warning. “And not for you either, if you betray the Bel-Zon. They will kill you… or order one of us to kill you.”
“No one is killing anyone here!” Parker exclaimed.
*
Kazan’s jaw tightened with anticipation as they continued their approach of the Katana. Perfect. So many weapons at their disposal: phaser cannons, photon torpedoes, quantum torpedoes, subspace mines, the Nine-Killer... their Special Operative in one of the Shuttlebays… though even he was unsure about unleashing that last one. What would he use?
Maybe them all?
This was meant to be a shakedown cruise, after all.
*
“Weapons status?” Weynik asked, watching as the Thunderbird One filled up more of the viewscreen on their approach.
“Phasers,” Jor-Dakk responded in his typical laconicity. “Inactive.”
“Any other vessels in the immediate area?”
“None.”
The Roylan nodded. “Well, Number One, perhaps you were right to be optimistic after all-”
Then Sasha exclaimed, “Captain! Vessel decloaking off the starboard bow! I’m raising shields!”
*
Kazan’s iron gaze stayed fixed on the Sabre-class vessel rapidly filling up the viewscreen, as the Molotok dropped its recently-acquired Romulan cloaking device.
“They’re raising shields!” Hope, his man at Tactical, reported.
“It won’t make a difference,” Kazan reassured them.
It’s Hammer Time… “FIRE!”
*
Within, the Red Alert klaxon reflected the chaos on the Bridge, as the attack momentarily overwhelmed the inertial dampeners and gravity plating, sending those unprepared for the reaction sprawling to the floor.
Weynik was ready; his experience, and his Heavyworld centre of gravity, kept him in place, as he saw the attacking vessel move offscreen – Bloody Hemra, that couldn’t have been what it looked like – and called out, “Evasive Pattern Beta One!”
Beside him, Sasha worked furiously at her station. “Shields down to 30%, warp drive down, rerouting remaining power to impulse engines and weapons-”
“Helm, Attack Pattern Beta One! Tactical, lock phasers on that vessel, fire when ready!” For all the good that will do.
As his crew returned to action, Sasha added, “Having trouble with dorsal shields! Forward shields are currently the strongest!”
“You heard the lady!” Weynik barked. “Take us in, full ahead!”
Grel, his boots pressed hard against the base of the Helm to keep him in place, pounded his hooves against the station to comply.
Weynik looked up to see their opponent once more onscreen, confirming his worst fears: a Defiant-class vessel, like his last command, the Ajax. One of the most powerful starship designs Starfleet ever created.
Sweet Bloody Fucking Hemra… “Phasers and torpedoes, FIRE!”
*
The Katana drove forward, phaser beams and torpedoes jumping forward, striking the shields of the Molotek.
With little apparent effect.
*
From the Thunderbird One, all eyes turned to the battle, Parker reporting, “That appears to be another Starfleet vessel: its configuration, energy signature-”
“It was,” Fantomax surmised, surprised at how… disappointed… she felt at the prospect of not surrendering to the authorities. “It’s property of the Bel-Zon now… and appears far more powerful than our pursuers. Parker, continue on our original course to Elba II.”
“It will take a few moments to power up the warp core again, Milady.”
“Do it.”
As the ship began powering up again and veering off, Orlok looked accusingly at her now. “So, you’ve decided to remain loyal after all?”
The elderly thief crossed her arms. “Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t betray the Bel-Zon, the rest of us, if it served your purposes. You’d do it without a second thought.”
“Or even a first,” Ben added.
The Vulcan glanced between the two of them, clearly more relaxed now following this reversal of fortune, before finally deciding, “I am retiring to my quarters to begin analysing the Caitian genome data we’ve collected, in preparation for my expected role in the next phase of Mr Zorin’s plans.”
She left without another word.
Ben crawled up onto the unoccupied copilot’s seat. “And she calls me vermin.”
*
Weynik watched the other ship bear straight down upon them, resisting the Katana’s attack and not even bothering to fire back again. Just showing off, huh? “Helm! Attack Pattern Gamma-One, keep it tight! Tactical! Ready aft volley, quantum torpedoes!”
At the seeming last possible second, Grel dipped them below the other ship, feeling like they were only metres apart, before flying away, Weynik ordering, “Now, Jor-Dakk!”
The Brikari Security Officer complied, firing three torpedoes, a trio of electric-blue packets of doom towards the other ship’s impulse engines, where Weynik suspected – well, hoped – the shield strength would be at its weakest.
The viewscreen momentarily switched to an aft view, watching the torpedoes strike, momentarily bringing down the shields and triggering a temporary shutdown of their impulse engines. “Hard about! We strike again while their impulse engines are disabled!”
*
“Propulsion offline!” Traxin reported anxiously. “Warp and impulse down! And we’ve lost Phaser and Torpedo control! We’re helpless!”
Kazan examined their axis against the trajectory of the Katana as it was returning for the kill. Not as far away as he would have liked, but needs must… “Divert all power to the shields. I’m launching the Nine-Killer. ”
He ignored the reactions of those around him to his announcement as he keyed in the necessary command codes onto his chair panel.
The Shuttlebay 1 hatch on the dorsal side of the Molotok slid open, and an octet of missiles in a cradle dropped out, the missiles launching and spreading out in a wide expanding pattern in the direction of the Katana.
Kazan watched them veer out. Fortune Favours the Ruthless…
*
The Katana nearly spun in place on its own axis as it returned towards the enemy ship, which was now listing out of control, even as the enemy launched… something…
Sasha looked up in terror. “Isolytic elements detected! Warp us out of here, Grel!”
“No!” Weynik countered, almost simultaneously. “Impulse only! Full Impul-”
*
The objects detonated in the space between the two vessels.
Nightmare blossomed.
Space and time broke and twisted and compressed and split and combined and shifted and reversed and distorted and kaleidoscoped and coalesced and consumed.
And grew.
And grew.
And grew.
*
Weynik could swear he heard the bulkhead scream around him, even over the Red Alert.
Still, as he stared at the Abyss that was reaching out to them like the hand of some God of Disorder, he called out, “Helm! Reverse Full Impulse!”
“We’re there already, Sir!” Grel called back.
“Some sort of subspace rupture!” Sasha reported. “Gravimetric shears- Critical stress- it’s catching up with us!”
The viewscreen, the lights around them went dead.
Yes, he remembered this…
“We have to go to warp!” she declared.
“No!” Weynik responded. “Eject the warp core! It’s drawn to it like a magnet! Hurry!”
“Ejecting!” Sasha updated. “It’s being pulled into the rupture!”
Which means there’ll be a shockwave… “Cut impulse! Divert all power to the shields!”
He hoped someone heard him.
If they were alive in the next minute, he supposed that they-
The Katana lurched hard to one side, as the shockwave sent them tumbling like a stone skipped across a pond, and his crew struggled to sit or stand. They were out of control.
Time to get back some of it… “Helm! One-tenth impulse power, no more than that, adjust port and starboard thrusters as necessary to stabilise us!”
Beside him, Sasha was moving over her own controls. “Reconfiguring the shield shape… flattening and adding stabiliser fins, like a boat or a surfboard…”
“Cowabunga,” Weynik muttered.
Then he felt their ship begin to centre and right itself. Weynik rose to survey the Bridge crew, watching with approval as they assisted each other in righting chairs and themselves and returning to their posts amidst the clatter of damage reports and the Red Alert klaxon. “Cut the alarm but maintain Red Alert, Sasha… anyone need Sickbay?” He watched Mori move quickly around, as the klaxon ended. When everyone appeared to be suffering from nothing more serious, he added, “Maintain our present position, keep those shields up until our sensors and weapons are back online, initiate damage control protocols. I want a briefing in thirty minutes.”
Sasha nodded at him. “I’ll inform all Department Heads.”
He nodded back, but then annexed with a sharp, “We don’t need the Counselor!”
She regarded him for a second, before replying, “Aye, Sir. You want to go have a check on Ajax? Maybe one of you can have a biscuit and a belly rub?”
Weynik glared at her for a moment, before leaving.
*
The Bridge of the Molotok was cramped, Spartan; even discounting the modifications the Bel-Zon had made to this one after it was found and salvaged, the Defiant-class line was designed for combat, not comfort.
Which suited Kazan. He was no soft Starfleet officer demanding carpets and paintings and fish tanks in his Ready Room.
He had almost been flung from his chair in the centre when the Nine-Killer detonated. Fortunately, his Helmsman had the discipline to follow his orders and ride the shockwave backwards instead of warping away, using their remaining shields like a surfboard and minimising damage as much as possible.
Still, the Bridge was almost black, with only the crimson Red Alert lighting strip circling overhead, and various stations still functioning, while the rest of the Bridge crew fared worse, sprawled on the floor by their respective stations.
Kazan rose to his feet and roughly helped them back up to their seats. “Crosby! Restore power and propulsion! Traxin, get me eyes on the Fleeters! Hope, we need weapons back online! Danetha, the Cloak!” He drew up to Vargas, returning her to the Helm but noting the heavy gash on her temple. “You did well. Can you still function?”
Vargas, a broad-framed, middle-aged Terran brunette with a snub nose and spade jaw, grunted as she wiped the blood from her right eye socket. “Watch me, Captain.”
He patted her appreciatively on the shoulder – he expected no less from one of the Highwayman’s best pilots – as the lights returned, and he saw the extent of the damage at several stations. “Traxin! The sensors!”
“I’m on it, Captain! But the Nine-Killer-”
“I want results, Bolian, not excuses!” Now Kazan returned to the Captain’s chair, sitting down and accessing the status panels on either side: warp drive was down, but that didn’t matter now, since the aftereffects of the Nine-Killer would make warp speed, subspace communications, sensors and transporters dangerous or impossible to use for the next several hours.
He checked the rest of the damage they received: ruptures on Deck 5 adjacent to Shuttlebay 1, the landing struts were fused, and both aft torpedo magazines were damaged when the Katana’s torpedoes took out their impulse engines.
Well played on that one, Captain Weynik. Enjoy your meagre victory while it lasts. “Traxin, I want eyes out there, now, or I swear I’ll take yours-”
The viewscreen came to life… revealing a shimmering, coruscating mass, as if part of the Deertail Cloud had caught fire. Perhaps it had; he guessed the makers of the Nine-Killer, like the creators of all weapons of mass destruction, never fully understood or appreciated what they had produced.
“The subspace rift is gone,” Traxin surmised. “It must have eaten the Fleeters.”
“No,” Kazan growled. “It was robbed of the chance to destroy the Katana. We will not be!”
*
The Thunderbird One was literally jumping to warpspeed, when it abruptly dropped out again, shaking violently as if attacked. Fantomax looked up in alarm. “Parker, what’s happened? Is it Starfleet?”
“No, Milady: the other vessel launched some sort of weapon that triggered a subspace shockwave that has affected real space. If we try to go warp, or even high impulse, the results could be… unfortunate.”
*
Weynik stared at the visual of the Katana’s port nacelle, half of it missing just below where the emergency plasma vents. Now the plasma haemorrhaged unchecked, like the stump of a severed limb, bringing back unwanted memories of his own critical injuries on the Ajax. Only this time, you didn’t need Lt Cmdr Giraffeski to use her Kaetini blade.
Around the Ready Room table, Sasha glanced over at him. “Damage Control can’t shut that down remotely; Chief Maryk’s got a team in exosuits on their way out there now to get that sealed off. She said they’ll be done in an hour.”
“They have thirty minutes,” he told her.
“Thirty? Really? I told her fifteen.”
Weynik made a sound. “I must be getting soft in my old age.” He turned back to the others. “Report, Doctor?”
Their Klingon civilian CMO, Dr Jiyajh, looked over at him. “We have four with injuries requiring surgery, two of them have been moved to stasis pods, the other two won’t survive in there without prior surgery. The rest of the wounded have been treated and are back on duty. I should return and prepare; your EMH is capable, of course, but-”
“Of course, Doctor. Dismissed.” But as Jiyajh nodded and rose, he added, “Prepare for more casualties. This fight isn’t over.”
She nodded again and departed, as Weynik looked to Jor-Dakk. “Tactical status? And drop the customary Brikari one word replies, because I’m not in the mood.”
The huge, purple-grey Security Officer turned to him, his stony face suddenly animated. “Forward phasers and torpedo launchers damaged beyond our current ability to immediately repair. I am transferring the torpedo magazines to join those at the aft launcher. Shields back at 60%, expected return to full strength in one hour.”
“Good, we’re going to need them. Mr Mori, what’s our propulsion status?”
The Caitian male set down his PADD. “Well, lacking a warp core we’ll have to rely on impulse drive; it’s functioning, but our inertial dampening and structural integrity systems are running at safe but reduced levels, so any sudden movement can be expected to be rough.”
Weynik nodded. “We’ll be operating at slow speeds for the time being anyway, not unless we’re interested in mass suicide.”
Sasha looked in his direction. “Does that cryptic statement have something to do with that subspace weapon they employed? Something you know that the rest of us don’t, Sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Commander; one of the advantages of reaching my age. Years ago during my Starsong days, I fought the Tholians, who had crossed over into Federation space to test an experimental interphasic weapon utilising a set of missiles with isolytic warheads, the type banned by the Second Khitomer Accords for their effects on subspace.
They tried to use it on us, and like we did today we sealed the subspace rift by letting it eat our warp core… but afterwards we discovered that the weapon had a secondary effect, a way of levelling a playing field, by creating a zone of subspatial interference and instability a cubic light year in diameter. Subspace communications, transporters, long-range sensors are out… and warp drive and even travel at high impulse speeds could trigger a compressive subspace sinkhole that would crush us like an egg.”
“In other words,” Sasha concluded, “We’re skating on proverbial thin ice. What about our attacker? And the Thunderbird One?”
Jor-Dakk called up a tactical display on the main viewscreen, displaying the Cloud and several dots. “This is the best estimate given our limited sensor capacity. The Thunderbird One is a small vessel, but will have most likely survived. Our attacker is closer, so may have been caught up in the rupture before we destroyed it.”
“Don’t count on it, not with that ship of theirs,” Weynik replied. “At best there will be a delay in their pursuing us once more.”
“That ship,” Mori echoed, his tail snapping. “Where did they get a Defiant-class starship anyway? They’re not exactly on the open market.”
“It was salvaged,” Sasha informed him, “Or stolen, depending on your definition.” She brought up an image on an adjacent screen of the ventral side of the other ship, obviously recorded during their initial engagement, alongside the same image, but enhanced to reveal a designation that someone had almost completely removed from the hull, but was now computer enhanced back into visibility. “This was the USS Dallas, NCC-69713, part of the Second Fleet during the Dominion War, reported lost on Stardate 52113.11 during the Second Battle of Chin’toka.”
“Hundreds of ships were lost in that battle,” Weynik noted. “And there are Intelligence reports of criminal elements scouring battle sites salvaging weapons, hardware, shuttles… they must have thought they hit the Jackpot finding her.”
“And with a working cloaking device onboard,” Lt Holtzmann added anxiously. “I thought only the original Defiant had one of those.”
“It did,” Jor-Dakk corrected. “On loan from the Romulans in exchange for a share of any gathered intelligence on the Dominion in the Pre-War days. This one will be an addition from the thieves, along with that vortex weapon, both equally illegal.”
“So…” Holtzmann interrupted, seemingly working up the courage to continue with expressing her thoughts. “We’re going to leave? Get away from this ‘thin ice’ and call for backup?”
“No, Lieutenant,” Sasha answered, beating Weynik in response. “We’re not.”
The young woman faced the First Officer, her expression creased in incredulity. “They have phaser pulse cannons, torpedoes, ablative armour, subspace weapons, a cloaking device - they have a dozen different ways of blowing us out of space!”
Sasha remained resolute. “You heard Starfleet Security Directive 27 when it was issued; we have to take every step necessary to stop the criminals from getting away with the data they’ve stolen. Our own safety is not a priority.”
At Holtzmann’s blanched reaction, Weynik turned to her, offering a sympathetic, “Lieutenant, the appearance of the USS Dallas has made our primary mission more… challenging… but not impossible. We worked for a long time on a ship of that class, we know its strengths… and its weaknesses. And while the Thin Ice will limit us somewhat, it will also restrict our opponents.
As soon as Maryk’s team is back inside, we’ll proceed for the Thunderbird One at best possible speed. Mr Mori, prep and launch a recorder marker with our updated logs towards Salem One, programmed to leave at sublight until it escapes the Thin Ice, before going to warp. Mr Grel, prepare for Sublight Tactical Operations. Ms Holtzmann, you’ll study the Thin Ice Zone and determine its size and the decay rate, to see how long it will last and how far away from the epicentre we need to get. Mr Jor-Dakk, ready our remaining weapons, and analyse the data on the enemy’s cloaking device to find a countermeasure.” He looked around them again. “Dismissed… except for you, Number One.”
The others rose and departed. He leaned forward, lifting up a PADD. “I have some ideas I want to run by you-” He stopped and noticed her expression. “What?”
She watched as Ajax waddled around the desk and could be heard whimpering at Weynik’s feet. “Nothing, Sir. Just being all First Officer-like and curious.”
The Roylan bent down to help the bulldog up onto his lap, letting the plump bundle twist onto his back to let his master rub his belly. “Curious? About what?”
She shrugged. “Normally Counselor Vestri is included in these meetings; now, you deliberately excluded her. Given that you had just left a session with her immediately before this crisis arose, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
He dutifully fussed over his pet. “Don’t read too much into things, Lieutenant Commander, I just didn’t think she had anything of value to add to our current tactical situation. Let’s be honest, you have to be in a pretty sorry state to want a Counselor around for any reason.”
She crossed her arms, her expression tightening. “Thanks, Boss.”
He winced, remembering too late the amount of personal issues his First Officer had faced, and conquered, and with the help of Counselors like her kin-mother Kami, and Vestri herself. Then he thought about how much her father Esek had been helped as well. And yes, you too, Groucho. “Apologies, Sasha. I didn’t mean it like that.”
She remained indignant – for a heartbeat. Then she shrugged again. “What would my Dad say? ‘Forget about it, Short Round’.”
Weynik grunted. “More likely it’d be, ‘Shut up, you little crotch goblin, before I sit on you’.” He sighed. “I just want to put what’s happened to me behind me and move on. It’s not happening fast enough.”
“Thank you.” Grateful for her understanding – how did she get to be so damn mature? – he shooed Ajax off his lap and picked up a PADD again, calling up images onto the main viewscreen. “Now, onto more urgent matters. Stopping the Thunderbird One is doable, even in our current damaged state. But not with that bastard coming back after us.”
“But you said you have some ideas about that?”
“Yes, and I think we’ll need them all, and we’ll need to have them all in place in the time it takes your father to clean a plate of shuris ribs.” He called up schematics and details of the upgrades that went into the Ajax in the time after the Dallas had been abandoned. “Now, if you’re done sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong…”
“Shut up, you little crotch goblin, before I sit on you.”
*
Kazan was crouched down by the station, as if his proximity could somehow compel the Romulan technician halfway inside the station to make physics work more efficiently.
Then, suddenly, the station above returned to life, and other lights seemed to feed from it to the rest of the station. He grunted with satisfaction. “Excellent.” He glared up at a sheepish-looking Crosby. “And not impossible, despite your assurances!”
Danetha sat up, the slim, sallow, pointy-eared female rising up. “Do not chastise your underling too harshly, Captain. I have reactivated the cloaking device, but it will require realignment in order to properly mask the significant power output of this vessel. This will take a minimum of one hour.”
“I want it ready sooner!”
“Impossible, as Mr Crosby has already stated.”
Kazan snarled. “I am not used to accepting such answers!”
The Romulan merely raised an eyebrow in a very Vulcan-like way. “Then there’s never been a better time to learn to do so, Captain. This was meant to be a shakedown cruise, not a combat mission.”
Vargas slid out from under the Helm console where she had been working, sitting up and wiping the sweat from her brow. “We won’t need it, Captain. We have other tricks up our sleeves, as well as strength and power. The Katana is living on borrowed time.”
He helped her up, straightening himself out as he looked around the rest of the Bridge. They all had talent and experience, not just Vargas. But they were still getting accustomed to this ship, and each other. And him. He looked around them. “Yes. Yes, it is. Alright, you dogs, let’s get moving!”
*
Sasha and Weynik entered the Bridge, Weynik taking his seat as Sasha drew up to Mori, forcing down her anxiety and all other emotions. “Okay, Lieutenant, I’ve got some work for you Down Below.” She paused. “Yes, I just heard how that sounds out loud. I mean on Deck 8; grab an Engineering Kit and follow the guidelines here.” She handed him a PADD.
She saw the furred frown crease his sable features as he accepted and quickly read, looking up again. “Really? I didn’t know we could do this.”
“I still don’t know if we can,” she admitted. “I’ve had Maryk send down a few spare bodies to help you. But hurry, we don’t know when the Dallas will catch up with us.”
Now he nodded, offered her a look and departed quickly, allowing her to linger for a heartbeat of indulgence, before she resumed her duties, moving to check on the rest of the Bridge stations and crew, providing encouragement to those who seemed to need it.
“Is there a reason we’re not resuming, Lieutenant Commander?” Weynik asked, his voice as taut as his body language.
Sasha turned to him, needing to put aside any stubborn thoughts remaining about his state of mind. “The Engineering crew completed the interim repair work on the nacelle, Sir.” She turned to Grel. “Lieutenant, proceed on an intercept course with the Thunderbird One, maximum safe speed.”
The young Tellarite nodded, having adjusted his station to include a seat harness and a manual steering column. “Aye, Ma’am. One-twentieth impulse.”
The Katana lurched as it proceeded, an inevitable and unavoidable side effect of the damage they had already suffered.
And it might just be the start, she reminded herself. In fulfilling their mission, they might not survive the day. That wasn’t exactly a new thought to her, and she knew it wouldn’t sway her from doing her duty, from protecting the Federation, Starfleet… her family.
The ship shuddered sharply again. “Ayin kafin yan! If you screw like you pilot, Grel, no wonder you spend your Saturday nights alone with your right hoof!”
He glanced at her and nodded, grateful for the reassuring banter.
*
Another subspace ripple made the Thunderbird One lurch, and Fantomax glance up in alarm. “What’s happening, Parker? Another of the Bel-Zon’s weapons?”
“Just the aftereffects of one they already launched, Milady. We will be okay, however.”
“Any sign of the Starfleet vessel? Or that monstrous ship that came to our aid?”
“Both are still behind us, Milady, but precision is impossible with the lingering subspace interference.”
She nodded at that and sat back. Next to her, Ben sat up, twitching his whiskers. “You’re not still thinking of surrendering, are you?”
She didn’t answer. Under her skin, Parker’s voice asked, Do you wish me to return to the Starfleet vessel, Milady? Or even back to the station?
Fantomax stared ahead. She had a Hobson’s Choice: imprisonment, or continued threat under the Bel-Zon- no wait, that’s not a Hobson’s Choice, is it? She was thinking of a Morton’s Fork-
Oh, who bloody cares? “Parker, is there a third option? Somewhere else we can get to from here not within reach of either Starfleet or the Bel-Zon?”
“What?” Ben asked.
“The Kzinti Patriarchy is reachable, Milady,” Parker replied aloud. “Slightly farther, we also have the Paserak Openlands. Of course, there’s also the Sling. It’s the most distant, but the jump it offers straight into the Orion Empire could be worthwhile, they have no extradition treaty with the Federation, and we have had some successful dealings with the Orions in the past. Our contacts there might still be alive.”
“Yes…” The Orions were not among her favourite people, but at least they appreciated talent, even from foreigners. She looked back at her rodent companion. “You think you and your Pack will mind finding a home in Orion space?”
Ben provided a tiny shrug. “Bipeds are bipeds, no matter the colour and temperament… no offence. But what about Orlok?”
“We’ll sell her to the Orions, they can claim the bounty from the Federation.”
The rat squeaked with amusement at that.
“Shall I set a course for the Sling, Milady?”
*
Weynik kept his eyestalks fixed on the viewscreen, as if transfixed by the gentle pastel swirls of the Cloud to the side, thankful at least that the effects of the subspace weapon hadn’t seemingly affected this mysterious lifeform.
Then he focused on listening to the sounds around the Bridge, the constant reports from the various stations, relayed through to Sasha, who efficiently managed it all, only forwarding anything she considered relevant to him directly. She was good, real good. However proud you are of her, Esek, it isn’t enough. She could easily take the reins when I-
He stopped himself, before he completed that thought. He hated to have to admit it to anyone, especially himself… but after all that had happened to him, a part of him was doubting his abilities now.
And that was the last thing his ship, his crew, needed now.
He heard Sasha behind him approach Holtzmann and Jor-Dakk. “Lieutenants, any progress on identifying the type of cloak being employed?”
Holtzmann’s youthful voice seemed on the verge of cracking. “Um- I mean, Ma’am- we’re still analysing, and-”
Jor-Dakk punctuated the response with the more concise, “Negative.”
Weynik, still staring ahead, asked, “Can you read the temporal flux density? Is it over 200 Manheims per second?”
Now it was Sasha’s turn to respond. “Yes, Sir: 350, in fact.”
He nodded. “It’ll be a Romulan cloak, probably from a D’deridex class vessel. The larger Romulan ships generate power using artificial quantum singularities rather than matter-antimatter reactions, and so in order to remain undetected while cloaked they need to compensate-”
“-For the chroniton particles being generated,” Sasha finished, sounding impressed. “Nice one, Sir.”
“They didn’t just make me Captain because of my good looks, Number One.”
“My Dad would certainly agree, Sir-” A signal from Ops had her report, “Emerging from the Cloud, Sir; Thunderbird One spotted .6 light years distant; they’ve altered their course, aiming for Open Space, possibly Orion territories.”
Weynik tensed. “Any sign of the Dallas?”
“Nothing, Sir; I’ve refocused the algorithms for Romulan cloaks, but we’re still getting background sensor interference.”
“And if I were them, I’d be using that to my advantage. Keep your eyes peeled.” Weynik rose to his feet. “Get Mr Mori back up here, he’s taking over as First Officer. As for you, Ms Hrelle… you’ve grown far too tall for my liking. Get off my ship, this instant, and take that garish hot rod of yours too.”
Sasha snapped to attention, offering an archaic salute of her right hand – or at least the middle finger of her right hand – to her forehead. “Aye, Sir.”
The Roylan indulged in the reactions of those around him to his cryptic commands to Sasha as she departed. No, boys and girls, not everything gets spoon fed to you.
*
Sasha rushed into the Katana’s Forward Shuttlebay on Deck 5, tapping her combadge. “Hrelle to Tailless: Power Up.”
The large enclosure was packed with numerous Starfleet support vessels of sizes and types, from the relatively tiny work bees to the largest shuttle, the Type-10 Wakizashi.
She ignored these, however, to move to an aerodynamic, raptor-shaped flyer, almost twice the size of the Wakizashi, in blood-red colours and an armoured black cockpit section, its wings folded inward… and the hatchway on the port side in the central fuselage opening up on her approach.
The Tailless was Caitian in origin, a gift from her kin-grandmother, First Minister Ma’Sala Shall, and contained features that, technically, were borderline illegal in Federation space. Any Starfleet commanding officer in his right mind would have ordered the ship removed.
And then there were moments like this, as she entered her ship and strode up to the cockpit, planting herself into the seat and opening another channel. “Tailless to Shuttlebay Operations: open the doors.”
Seconds after piercing the invisible atmospheric shield and entering space, the flyer spread her wings.
*
Mori had returned to the Bridge. “The modifications are complete, Sir, but Chief Maryk can’t promise how long it’ll hold before burnout-” He paused and looked up to see the Tailless on the viewscreen, its wings unfolded as it flew away. “Sasha?”
“Lt Cmdr Hrelle will deal with the Thunderbird One; take her seat and her place.” Weynik ordered, needing the young Caitian focused on his job rather than his lover – she’s more likely to survive to fulfil our orders than we will, Furball – adding, “Scan the area behind us again, Mr Jor-Dakk.”
“Scanning,” the Brikari responded, “No cloaked vessels, no Dallas- Sir! The Surefoot is approaching!”
Weynik straightened up, not expecting that. “Are you sure? Scan again! See if you can raise them!”
Interminable heartbeats passed, before Mori, sitting beside Weynik, reported, “Subspace communications are still disrupted, passive sensors still working… their energy signature, their profile- all match the Surefoot!”
“Onscreen.”
Mori looked at Weynik, looking pleasantly surprised. “Commodore Hrelle must have sent Captain T’Varik to support us!”
Weynik didn’t answer. Instead he stared at the approaching ship.
*
“The Mask is holding,” Traxin reported, his anxiety manifesting through the staccato taps of his blue Bolian fingers on the console. “Holographic projectors fully operational, energy signature skin and transponder code attuned in case they can scan for it.”
Kazan allowed himself a slight smile; at least this functioned, and functioned well. And the choice of disguise was ideal, given what he had learned about the ships under Hrelle’s authority. “Keep us at a steady pace as we draw closer, Vargas, nothing alarming, nothing unusual; we’re all one big happy Fleet out to help each other. Tactical: do not lock weapons, they might detect it. Wait ’til we get close enough… and then hit them with everything we have.”
“A ship has launched from the Katana,” Danetha advised him, assisting at the Ops station now that the cloak had been abandoned for the time being. “Just as you predicted, it’s proceeding towards the Thunderbird One.”
Kazan made a sound, though he had expected a standard Starfleet shuttlecraft. He glanced at the readings from his chair: a small flyer, definitely not Starfleet, almost certainly armed. Its wings and colours reminded him of the red kites he once saw in the Siberian steppes, elegant birds of prey that could spot field mice, swoop down and grab as easily as they could breathe. They were fast, efficient raptors.
But even predators can have predators of their own. “Time to awaken Mickey. Have him ready to launch.”
He felt the reactions of those around them, only Danetha daring to ask, “Captain, are you certain you wish to unleash that… thing? Perhaps one of your shuttles would be more likely to fulfil their part of your plan? What will keep it from just flying away?”
“That flyer would easily take out one of our shuttles. Mickey will not not be so easily defeated… and the thorium bomb attached to its transport sled will make Mickey think twice about deserting.” A slight curl lifted one corner of his thick lips. “Besides, why should it leave, when we’re giving it an opportunity to sate its cybernetic bloodlust right here, right now?”
*
Weynik rose to his feet, still staring ahead. “Mr Grel, guide us on a slow, easy curve, ensuring our aft ends up facing the approaching vessel, without making it look like that’s what you’re doing.”
“Sir?” the Tellarite asked, but still complying with the orders, working the manual steering column with both hooves.
The Captain turned sideways, looking behind him. “Mr Jor-Dakk, don’t lock weapons on the vessel, but be ready to fire.”
Mori rose to his feet now, his tail twitching. “What’s going on, Sir? The Surefoot-”
“-Reported being delayed before we received the Commodore’s alert, did they not?”
The Caitian’s expression changed and grew with the reminder. “Yes, they did, a last-minute delay no one else would know about… they couldn’t possibly have gotten here in time to join us!”
“And even if it were them, they wouldn’t be coming to us, they’d be under the same Security Directives as we are, to stop the other vessel at all costs.” He faced forward again, feeling the tension rise around him as he watched the approaching craft. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, or so the Terran expression goes… assuming he wasn’t wrong.
But if he was wrong, he could end up firing on a sister ship, filled with people he knew and respected… “Mr Mori, access the Starfleet Security Registry, find the prefix code to the Dallas. Transmit orders to shut down their weapons and propulsion.”
“Transmit how, Sir? The subspace interference-”
“Real space EM communications still function, and are practical at this distance. Hurry! Before they get within firing range!” He kept staring at it, his doubts pushed aside, hoping that the present operators of that vessel never thought to change the prefix code. “Everyone, be ready…”
*
“Everyone,” Kazan murmured. “Be ready… Be ready…”
An alert from Ops prompted Traxin to report, “Captain! We’re receiving an EM transmission from the Katana! A coded security beam-”
“A prefix override attempt,” Kazan declared instantly, rising to his feet as he ground his teeth. He had the foresight to change the prefix codes long ago, but it meant their ruse had failed. Your reputation is justified, Captain Weynik. But it still won’t save you. “Drop the Mask! Launch Mickey to deal with that flyer! We’ll take care of the Katana, once and for all!”
As the holographic skin around the Molotok dropped, revealing the angry powerhouse beneath, from its dorsal side, the shuttlebay doors parted, allowing a small black object the size of an industrial work bee to drop out, as if in free fall, before the transport sled it was mounted onto came to life, the impulse engines glowing bright as the object swung about and went in pursuit of the Tailless.
*
“They’ve launched something!” Mori snapped anxiously. “At Sasha’s flyer!”
“She can handle herself,” Weynik reminded him sharply. “Focus on keeping us alive! Launch Volley One!”
From the aft, half a dozen torpedoes emerged, moving in a swarm towards the Molotok… which fired a volley of its own, a collection of phaser pulses, catching most of the torpedoes and detonating them, even as the Defiant-class ship flew through the explosion.
Weynik watched, expecting that reaction, knowing it would momentarily blind their opponent’s short-range sensors. “Launch the decoys! Evasive Pattern Gamma One!”
The Katana banked sharply upwards, as a dozen sensor decoys, training modules for when Flight Ops and Tactical cadets practised tracking manoeuvres, the decoys moving in all directions.
*
Vargas cursed. “I’m detecting multiple Katanas!”
“The targeting sensors are getting confused!” Hope added.
“As is his intention,” Kazan reminded them, more loudly shouting, “Rely on your eyes as much as the sensors, fools!” Oh, how I wish we could have met in person, Captain, and drained a keg or two of beer with you before I slit your throat-
Wait, what is he doing?
*
The Katana drew up into a tight loop, spun onto its ventral side and dropped down onto the dorsal forward side of the Molotok, slamming hard over the Warhead nose and making the other ship spin away, even as the Katana went in another direction, albeit with more control.
On the Katana’s Bridge, Weynik’s stomach threatened to expel his lunch. He ignored it to order, “Report!”
“Damage reported on Decks 4 and 5, including the Shuttlebay!” Mori responded, clutching the arms of his chair. “But otherwise major systems are still online… and I think we were successful, Sir!”
Weynik, grunted, still feeling his stomach curse him. It was his first experience employing the Surefoot Pounce, a manoeuvre he only half-believed was legitimate when described by Esek and Sasha. Fine, it’s real, now let’s never do that again, okay people? My teeth are still rattling… “Well done, Mr Grel, but now let’s move onto the next part of the plan, and offer the enemy another opportunity to blow us to bits again…”
*
Ben leapt onto the cockpit console to get closer to the viewscreen. “What is that? Is it one of the Bel-Zon’s ships?”
Fantomax stared at the approaching red-winged ship, as Parker responded, “No, it came from the Katana. It must be a new Starfleet design; it’s small but fast and heavily-armed – very heavily-armed – and its weapons are trained on us. There’s weapons onboard I can’t identify!”
Something, something about it, the way it moved, like it was definitely not pissing about now, made her shout, “Shut down our shields and engines, Parker! See if we can get a signal to them from this distance, tell them we surrender! Hurry!”
“I’m-” An uncharacteristic sound of perplexity came from the computer. “Milady, there’s another signal coming in, breaking through the interference, but it’s not from that ship, or the others!”
She clutched the arms of her chair. “Let’s hear it.”
Then her breath caught and her heart stopped at the grating, screeching electronic declaration, one she had heard once before, during the last gathering of the Bel-Zon at Elba II: from the murderous automation from Minos, nicknamed Metal Mickey, and the battle cry it made when demonstrating its formidable killing skills to Max Zorin.
“INCINERATE! INCINERATE!”
*
“INCINERATE! INCINERATE!”
Sasha heard the transmission too, just as her ship’s sensors picked up the tiny object on rapid approach. What the Seven Hells - it was too big for a torpedo, too small for a shuttle or fighter-
A heavy plasma beam struck her shields, making the Tailless lurch sharply under the assault.
“Our shields!” Traxin shouted. “Our shields are failing! When the Katana physically struck, they must have damaged the shield relay hub mounted over the Warhead!”
Of course they did, Kazan thought with grudging admiration. That was the intention all along. “Reroute through secondary systems; our ablative armour will protect us until then. Attack Pattern September!”
*
Sasha launched microtorpedoes towards her attacker, watching it fire and detonate the weapons before they could get too close. It had to be automated, she surmised. Which suited her fine, setting aside any concerns about killing anyone as she turned and fired disruptors. Kiss this…
It kissed back with more plasma beams, bringing down her shields and sending feedback through her primary systems, almost sending her out of her chair. SHIT! What the frick was this thing? It seemed to be adapting, like a Borg, only more quickly!
*
Orlok returned to the cockpit as the ship lurched again. “What is happening? I assumed your computer would be able to pilot us to Elba II without incident, but clearly I was mistaken.”
“You can always consume some of your own biotoxins,” Parker snapped.
Fantomax clung to the arms of her chair, as the Rat Pack scurried around, their collective anxiety over the current situation overriding their collective mind. “Your input is not appreciated at this time, Doctor. We are currently attempting to escape a firefight that seems determined to keep us at its centre, and not upset the destabilised space as well.”
“Milady!” the computer retorted, his snark dialled up to 11, before announcing, “I’m receiving a transmission from that robot attacking the flyer. It- It- It-”
Static filled the rest of the air.
“Parker?” Fantomax asked, confused. She moved over the controls; something was accessing, taking over everything! Parker’s neural net was being overwritten! God, no, she was losing him! “PARKER!”
A voice returned. It wasn’t Parker’s.
“I HAVE TAKEN COMMAND. PREPARE FOR INCINERATION!”
*
“Tell me the Beam is ready,” Weynik ordered.
“It is, Sir,” Mori responded curtly.
“And you have full power available?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“And you can keep the beam sustained for at least ten seconds, even if the target area moves?”
“I don’t know, Sir!”
The Roylan nodded, unoffended by the sharpness of the young Caitian. “Fair enough. Take us in, Mr Grel, before they restore their shields. I know all our weapons are in the aft section, so we’re gonna have to rely on our own shields, and blind luck, to keep us alive long enough for this to work.”
“Aye, Sir!”
The Katana turned sharply and drove forward towards the Molotok.
*
“They’re coming in for another attack!” Traxin announced.
“Enough of this,” Kazan growled. “Face them! All weapons, fire!”
The Molotok turned sharply and charged at her opponent, torpedoes launched.
The torpedoes struck the Katana’s shields, flaring loudly.
Unnoticed, the Katana’s blue oval deflector dish, normally active only when the starship was in flight to push aside dust and debris ahead of it, was glowing with a fierce white fire, as an invisible beam shot forth from it to hit the Molotok.
And pass through it.
*
The Katana shook, but held her course and continued her charge, even as the Molotok’s torpedoes were joined by the phaser pulses. Stations blew and debris fell around them, smoke mingled with the klaxons and the cries of reports around the Bridge.
“KEEP GOING!” Weynik cried out, wondering if he was even being heard. He glanced to his right, seeing Mori fixed on his console, counting the seconds through gritted teeth. Three seconds… Four… Five…
*
“They’re not firing anything back?” Hope asked.
“Yes, they are!” Crosby countered. “A neutrino beam! But neutrinos are harmless! They pass through solid matter, passing through us right now! Why would they do that?”
Kazan felt his stomach twist. Yes, why would Weynik do that?
*
Sasha prepared to launch another attack on the drone, when the drone suddenly swooped around the Tailless, moved towards the Thunderbird One… and slammed into it, making both ships blossom with energy and debris.
Whoa… she scanned the area, finding no other vessels, not transporter beams or cloaks. Talk about ruthless…
Sasha stopped contemplating, turning around and joining her ship in the fight.
*
The Molotok’s assault continued. He stared at the viewscreen, even though it was all white from the energy barrage. The seconds moved like snails on sedatives. Shields at 15%... 10%... Come on, come on-
“DONE!” Mori screamed over the noise.
“EVASIVE!” Weynik screamed back.
The Katana dipped, the phaser pulses from the Molotok pouring over the dorsal side of the Sabre-class starship, its shields failing entirely.
The lights died.
The ceiling ripped open, exposing the Bridge to space.
With a deafening roar, the pressure within sought to equilibrate with the vacuum outside by blowing the air out of the Bridge.
Crew cried out in the darkness, grabbing at their chairs or each other, as PADDs and debris were blown out of the hole above.
Weynik clutched his chair, his strength and experience preparing him, even as he waited for the emergency system to kick in and erect a force field.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Holtzmann get ripped out of her chair at Science and head for the hole, without any air left to even scream.
Then Mori left his own secure post to intercept her, his Caitian strength and dexterity letting him twist them both around and fling her at Weynik.
The Captain reached out instinctively and caught her, even as he tried, somehow, to try and grab onto Mori as well… but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
He watched Mori continue upwards. Where were the Goddamn force fields?
Mori hurled into space… just as the force field finally erected above them, people and debris stopped flying around, and the atmosphere began pumping back into the Bridge. It remained dark, but lights began appearing around them, like stars.
Weynik wasn’t thinking of stars, though. Just one brave young officer lost among them. “Get the sensors back online! Track Lt Mori’s combadge! Beam him back!”
“We can’t do either!” Jor-Dakk responded, “The interference is still too strong!”
*
Kazan rose back to his feet. “Stop the attack! Veer off!”
“Why?” Hope asked. “We have them on the ropes!”
“I said VEER OFF! Scan the interior! Weynik wouldn’t have just fired a neutrino beam at us because he could! There has to be something behind it-”
“Sir!” Crosby looked up from Engineering. “The intermix chamber of the warp core! The neutrinos have caused a malfunction in the chamber! The plasma pressure’s building up rapidly!”
The Siberian’s pulse triphammered, remembering all the horror stories about the dangers of intermix chamber malfunctions. “Vent the plasma!”
The young man pounded his console in frustration. “We can’t! We can’t even eject the core!”
“If we go to warp and leave,” Vargas suggested. “We could relieve the pressure until we repair the damage caused!”
“Subspace remains too volatile!” Danetha reminded them sharply. “If we try to warp out we’ll be ripped to pieces!”
“And if we don’t try, we’ll blow up!” Kazan countered, turning back to stand behind Vargas at the Helm. “Take us to warp! Now!”
As the woman turned and dutifully complied, Kazan reached into his jacket. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
He prepared for the worst.
*
Sasha watched with horror the attack on the Katana, saw the other ship sweep over the top of her ship, still firing.
As the ship formerly known as the Dallas kept moving away, she saw the scars on the Katana… and the breach in the top of the Bridge. God, no…
Memories flooded back to her, to the Battle of Khavak, when the remains of a Jem’Hadar Scarab ship slammed into the doors of the Surefoot’s Shuttlebay, when it was filled with the wounded that they had been collecting from the battlefield. She remembered being in a shuttle outside, watching helplessly as bodies were blown out into the void, and the systems on the Surefoot had been too damaged to compensate, before she took desperate action.
She raced back to the Katana, wondering why history had to be so shitty to have to repeat itself. “Tailless to Katana! Answer! Answer, Goddammit!”
*
This was it, Kazan thought. His first real ship command since Starfleet, and he was about to lose it.
He reached out, grabbed Vargas by the arm, yanked her out of her chair and pulled her into an embrace, as they and everything around them erupted.
*
Weynik ignored the exposed portion of the Bridge ceiling above them and the invisible force field now protecting them, to rush up to Ops, where Jor-Dakk and Engineering Crewman Zetee, who had appeared to replace Mori, were frantically working the controls. “Get him back!”
Zetee, a salmon-pink Saurian male with big black eyes, his nostril flaps fluttering to the point of near-hyperventilation, never looked up. “The transporters are offline, Captain! And the subspatial contortions are still strong-”
An alert on Tactical made Jor-Dakk report, “The Dallas has just imploded, Sir.”
Weynik took it in. Any other time, he might have basked in his victory: identifying the design flaw in the intermix chamber of the Defiant-class starship’s warp cores, a susceptibility to failure from neutrino contamination, a design flaw that would be identified and corrected, but only after the time when the Dallas had been reported lost, a flaw those who found and appropriated it didn’t know about. It was risky to try and bring down the Dallas’ shields with the Surefoot Pounce, and keep the neutrino beam sustained on the chamber long enough to trigger the failure, but apparently it worked.
Now, however, he didn’t give a good Goddamn about the victory; there was a brave young male out there worth a hundred enemy ships. “Launch a shuttle!”
“The Shuttlebay’s infrastructure’s damaged from the Pounce, Sir!” Zetee declared. “We can’t launch anything!”
He turned back, facing a dead viewscreen. “Contact the Tailless! Use an EM real-space band! Hurry! He can’t last out there forever!”
*
“Katana to Tailless: Lt Mori was blown out of the breach! We can’t find and retrieve him!”
Sasha didn’t bother to respond, focusing on letting her fingers move into action over the console, allowing her ship to locate and track him, even as she was rising and racing to the equipment locker by the hatchway, knowing what the next response would be.
She was right. “Target located, currently 10.3 metres distant on port side, subspatial interference inhibiting transporter lock or tractor beam recovery.”
She keyed in the EVA sequence countdown, even as she strapped on a thruster pack, not having time to get into her exosuit. She forced herself into hyperventilation, oxygenating her blood as much as possible as she tightened the pack harness, and the hatchway slid open, the doorway border glowing to confirm the atmospheric shield in place.
She saw him, an outline against the hull of the Katana.
She pushed through the shield without hesitation.
Frick me…
*
Mru Mori wished this feeling could last forever.
Not the horror he had felt when the hull overhead was breached, and his very sensitive ears popped as the air rudely and rapidly escaped. Nor the pain when he broke his tail in his attempt to save Lt Holtzmann, and ended up getting unceremoniously blown out into space.
No, it was that unbelievable experience of hurtling into nothingness, without a suit, without any more protection than his uniform and furred skin. He looked out, saw so much: his own ship, battered and broken but still fighting; the enemy vessel, trying to escape, but thanks to Captain Weynik’s plan and his own efforts, having doomed them; further distant, flickering lights that could have been Sasha in the Tailless, kicking ass and taking names.
But around all of them, the tableau of the Infinite and Eternal: the Deertail Cloud, and the stars and galaxies beyond. He had tried to imagine it all, ever since his days as a cub, lying out on the cliffs by home at night, looking up at the stars, feeling his dream to be out there strengthen into determination to make it reality.
But even when he did make it into Starfleet, immersed himself in Astrogation classes and holographic starmaps and crossed hundreds of light years, the vastness, the sheer vastness of it all, and his place within it, felt out of his grasp.
Until now: swimming in space, taking it all in, eyes wide, Mru Mori felt, not an insignificant speck like he expected, but a part of it, as relevant and necessary as the Cloud and the starships and the stars and the Galaxies around him. He never felt so at peace.
No, wait, that was the hypoxia.
The classes he took in the Academy, and the stories from Sasha and Commodore Hrelle, had warned him what to expect. He had nothing left in his lungs, hadn’t thought to breathe in as he was blown out into space, and now his body was wringing any remaining atom of oxygen in his bloodstream to keep him going.
But that was okay, in fact not having air in his lungs meant they wouldn’t rupture, so all he had to expect now was an agonising swelling of the skin tissue due to the loss of atmospheric pressure, the moisture in his mouth boiling, and the comfort of knowing his body would remain intact to be brought back to the Motherworld to be cremated.
I’m sorry, Moms. Sasha will be there to comfort you, I know.
He considered what to expect after he died. Caitians didn’t believe in any eternal Afterlife, believed that no one ever truly died, until all the lives they had touched, all the good they had done, had also passed. Still, he had studied the eschatological beliefs of various races. The Klingons’ Sto-Vo-Kor with its endless fighting and feasting sounded tiring. The Ferengi’s Divine Treasury would probably throw him over the precipice for lack of profit. The Terrans’ belief in Heaven, in beautiful winged angels that came to collect the dearly departed, sounded absurd beyond belief, and he couldn’t imagine-
His dying gaze caught a vision, racing up to him, with red fiery wings and a celestial aura shimmering. It looked… actually, it looked like a human female. In fact, it looked like Sasha, crossing through space to embrace him. She even had that pissed-off expression she wore whenever he did something stupid, like get himself killed from exposure.
What a way to go…
*
“The viewscreen’s back online!” Zetee announced.
Weynik faced forward again, in time to see the starfield, the remains of the Dallas, and the still-intact Tailless. Before he had to order it, the viewscreen magnified, to display Mori being dragged back to the flyer by Sasha – his First Officer lacking any exosuit, just a thruster pack.
Son of a…
*
…BITCH!
Sasha tried to curse as she plunged through the hatchway, Mori in her arms, trying to keep him from being slammed into the nearest wall from their momentum, succeeding only in banging her own shoulder. Instead, it was all she could do to force her lungs to work again and stay conscious, as she unbuckled and shucked off the pack and dragged the Caitian to the rear of the ship, where the Holographic Hospital Bay had been erected beforehand. Fricking thing got more use than the holographic Hot Tub…
Her legs barely worked, and she was struggling not to stop and throw up as she lifted Mori up onto the waiting biobed, the system’s autodoc already scanning his medical status and replicating the necessary drugs, cellular regenerator patches and Nanites. She went to work, ignoring her own injuries, wanting to keep straight and free of painkillers.
Her combadge beeped, as her ship delivered a tightbeam transmission. “Katana to Tailless: what’s your status?”
She cursed as she paused long enough to smack her combadge, far too roughly. “Busy! Hrelle out!” Still, she focused a calming mantra within; she couldn’t help Mru by panicking. She winced, seeing the broken capillaries on her hands, feeling her bloody vision, the pulled muscles in her thighs… and noting that, yes, she’d also soiled herself, too.
None of that mattered now. Follow the medical protocols: stabilise the patient, prioritise the most vital systems, don’t try to do too much at once, the less vital systems can be dealt with afterwards-
Above him, the readings began to move into the Green Zones. Mru was breathing on his own now.
Sasha stepped back, turned, dropped to all fours and finally threw up in the corner of the Bay, coughing and sputtering and sobbing with a battered, pained relief.
When she recovered, she helped herself back to her feet, wiped her mouth on her sleeve and checked on Mru again: the damage to his lungs was almost repaired, Nanites were moving to knit the broken tailbones and torn muscles and ligaments, and oxygenate his blood.
She shifted him onto his side, facing her, to relieve the pressure on his tail, making him comfortable before stroking the fur on his head. He made a ragged sound deep in his throat and began shifting.
She rested her hand protectively on him, her free hand reaching for a sedative and injecting him. As he settled down again, she drew in closer to his left ear, until it started twitching instinctively at her proximity. “Just sleep, Bubulah. Sleep and gather your strength. You’re gonna need it later, when you recover, and we talk about getting married… and having cubs together.” She drew back again. “I think I need to recover, too…”
She turned away and retched again.
*
Claudia Vargas dropped to all fours onto a cold metal floor and retched, feeling like she had been turned inside out. Dead. She was dead. There was no other way someone could feel this horrible and still be alive.
She opened her eyes, but only saw stars, and thunder pounded in her ears… and a figure nearby blandly announcing, “Welcome onboard, Captain Kazan. If you and your companion would like to follow me to the Infirmary?”
Distantly, she felt a presence, a presence that was suddenly at her side, strong hands holding her up, and a voice, deep and familiar, cutting through to her. “Keep breathing in, and swallowing. There are treatments awaiting us, to recover from the Shift.”
She followed the advice, despite a thousand questions demanding answers. Seconds before, she had accepted that she had failed, that the subspatial contortions from the Nine-Killer were still too great to allow the jump to warp, and that they would be crushed. It was inevitable, but it was an end she had been prepared for, and her experience had taught her that there were far, far worse ways to die in space.
Except the end didn’t come.
Vargas helped herself back to her feet, staring first at Kazan, who appeared equally fatigued but otherwise in control of the situation, then around them, recognising they were in some sort of transporter room on another ship. She looked at the third figure in the room. “Where are we?”
The figure, a bland, generic-looking humanoid male, responded, “The courier ship Ace of Wands, Madame. Would you care for refreshments or-”
“Deactivate,” Kazan interrupted.
The figure vanished, revealing its holographic nature. Kazan turned to Vargas. “It’s a vessel I arranged to be here, sitting hidden on the edge of the Deertail System, about two light years from where we lost the Molotok.”
She froze, frowning. “Transporters can’t reach such distances! And with the subspatial contortions, we couldn’t beam two metres!”
The bald Siberian man nodded in agreement, producing some sort of small control PADD. “The Inverter I secured onboard this ship prior to our launch relies on dimensional shifting, not transport through space or subspace. And it can carry small amounts of matter across greater distances than what we have just accomplished.” He pocketed the device once more. “But the Inverter is not without its side effects: molecular degradation, especially in organic matter. To be used only in the most dire of emergencies… the last few moments certainly qualified as such..”
Vargas regarded him, touching her arms and face, as if half-expecting to have ended up some sort of monstrosity like in ancient speculative fiction. “What about the others? Crosby, Danetha, Traxin-”
“Lost, along with our ship. If we attempted to shift any more than ourselves, the degradation to us would have been untreatable, and fatal. An unpleasant necessity, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” She tensed. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me then. Why did you, though? If you’re expecting something physical in return-”
Kazan smirked. “Let me guess: you’re not that type of woman, right?”
“No, I am, but I’d rather get a shower and meal first.”
His smirk grew into a smile. “I saved you because you’re useful and dependable, you handled yourself well during our mission, and I need someone like you for the next ship I command.”
“Thanks again… assuming they don’t kill you for losing the last one. It was our first and last mission, and we didn’t even meet our objectives and save the operatives and intelligence from Salem One.”
His smile broadened. “There will be other ships. And who said we didn’t meet our objectives? Come.”
He led her to another section of the ship, a medical bay manned by several more holograms, where they encountered Fantomax, Orlok, and what remained of the Rat Pack, the last seemingly down to a half-dozen. The elderly human female was sitting up on a biobed, the Vulcan female stood, and the rats gathered in the corner, the lead rodent hissing, “Captain Kazan! I’ve lost half my family thanks to that infernal teleporter of yours!”
“My condolences, Benjamin. I will ensure you have the opportunity to breed replacements.” He looked at the women. “Lady Fantomax, Doctor Orlok, I trust the holographic doctors have treated you for the aftereffects of the Inverter?”
“They were barely adequate,” Orlok declared haughtily. “I can improve on the applied genetic regeneration techniques.”
“That would be welcome.” He looked at Fantomax. “And you, Milady? You survived?”
She glared up at him, her expression tight. “Barely. My ship, and computer, didn’t. When that cybernetic monstrosity of yours invaded the mainframe, it killed my AI as well.”
“Try not to take it personally, Milady; Mickey had its priorities, which included retrieving the Salem One data and relaying the onboard lifeforms and itself here through the Inverter, and to make it appear to the Fleeters that you had been destroyed.” He paused and added, “Or would you rather we had saved your computer and left you behind to die?”
“You could have left the Vulcan behind,” Ben suggested.
Orlok shot the rat a look, as Kazan asked, “Where is Mickey? He should have been carried by the Inverter remote placed on him to collect all of you.”
“The holographic crew have confined the robot in this ship’s cargo bay and removed the transport sled. It had grown quite angry at not being able to use or access the Inverter again to escape from here. It has promised a painful death for us all.”
“We all have dreams, very few of which will ever be fulfilled. We will be at Elba II in six hours; I suggest you all rest after the treatments for your Inverter experience, while my associate and I receive treatment ourselves.” He offered Fantomax a final assurance, “We have all had to make sacrifices for the Bel-Zon, Milady. I lost a ship of my own today, and forty-seven crew. We live to serve.”
“Yes. We do.” She rose and strode out, quickly followed by Ben and the remains of his Pack. Orlok remained behind once the others left, informing him, “You should be aware that she and the vermin were preparing to surrender, or flee to Orion space, rather than fulfil the mission.”
Kazan nodded curtly. “I will give your words all the weight they deserve, Doctor. Leave.”
Orlok regarded him curiously, clearly expecting a different response from him, before departing.
“Do you trust what she said?” Vargas asked.
“I trust everyone, and no one, beyond what I expect of them.” As medical holograms appeared, he indicated a nearby biobed. “Lie down. This will be unpleasant, but necessary.”
She breathed out. “Sounds like a theme for today…”
*
Weynik chose not to hold another conference, preferring instead to walk around the ship, meeting with his crew and getting their reports while they continued the repairs, to keep them intact until the Surefoot and Tangshan arrived as promised by the Commodore to help them get back to Salem One, once the Thin Ice Effect had subsided and they were far enough away from its epicentre.
He left no part of his ship ignored. It, and his crew, deserved no less. Even Engineering and Chief Maryk, who was too tired to swear at him, a state he never expected to see in his short-legged life.
He found Sasha in Sickbay, ensuring Lt Mori was secured in one of the recovery beds, and followed him out into the corridor. She looked like she had ridden through all Seven of the Caitian Hells, but kept her professional stance as she noted, “Congratulations, Captain. Your plan worked.”
He grunted. “Save it. We got lucky. It could have gone wrong a thousand different ways.”
She smiled wearily. “Deja Vu: my first day onboard the Ajax as your Second Officer, I ended up injured while fighting those Klingon hijackers. I said something similar then. You told me it can always go wrong, and that some of the greatest victories past Captains were as much down to sheer dumb luck as it was to their abilities and experience.”
Weynik grunted again; that felt like another age. “That’s sweet of you to remember that.”
“Not sweet – smart. I know to learn from the best. You should get some rest, you look like shit.”
“Says the woman who went for a walk without a spacesuit. Shouldn’t you be lying down in there beside Lt Mori and getting some rest yourself?”
Sasha smirked. “If I’m lying next to him, neither of us will be getting any rest, if you know what I mean.” She winked and made clicking sounds with her mouth, before her weary, sober expression resurfaced. “I can’t sleep, not now. Give me something to do, Sir. Please.”
Weynik nodded, understanding. “Prepare a report for your father to pass onto Starfleet Intelligence about the Dallas, including the cloaking device, and that subspace weapon they employed. I don’t know what SI has been doing to prevent this sort of thing from happening, but it’s clearly not been enough. I’m going up to collect a certain bulldog who’s probably pissed on every square centimetre of the Ready Room for being left alone for so long.”
*
As it turned out, once he checked out the Bridge and confirmed all was as well as it could be, with even Holtzmann having remained at her post despite her own experiences, he found his dog was perfectly fine… and not alone, either. Counselor Vestri was there, the Denobulan woman sitting on his couch, while Ajax lay on his back on her lap, getting his fleshy belly rubbed by her. “Who let you in here?”
She never looked up. “Oh, your little friend here did. He, ah, had an accident, but I cleaned it up.”
“You look comfortable with him; I thought your people don’t keep pets.”
“We don’t,” she admitted, lifting Ajax up and setting him down on the seat next to her, patting him as he whimpered in protest. “But we find it fascinating how other races let themselves get manipulated into becoming the willing caretakers of such creatures.” She moved to the replicator. “You’ve had quite a day, Captain. Sit.”
He was about to argue, to ask that she leave him alone, but words failed him as he took her place on the couch, letting Ajax slide onto his lap now. “Thank you for coming in and keeping my dog company, Counselor, but I’m not ready for another session just yet.”
The replicator made a sound, and she returned with a tray containing tea cups, a teapot, and a plate of shortbread biscuits. “That’s good to hear, because frankly I’m fed up doing that. I want a break. A break from being seen only by my role. I’m not just a Counselor, you know.”
“No?” he asked dryly, rubbing the dog’s belly.
“No. I’m a spouse to three husbands and two wives, a mother to six children and ten grandchildren, I enjoy silt baths and subatomic physics and full-contact nude wrestling.” She set the tray down on the table in front of Weynik, dragging a spare seat closer to him. “And the two of us are the oldest crewmembers onboard, having served in Starfleet longer than most of the kids onboard have been alive. Can we not just talk casually, without you worrying I’m going to play Mind Detective and use some remarks you might make against you?” She sat down, smiling. “Because, for the record, we’re off the record. And I’m on your side, even if you don’t believe it.”
He regarded her, while also trying to keep hold of Ajax, who had noticed the biscuits and was risking falling by leaning forward over Weynik’s knees to sniff and slobber. He pulled the dog back, recognising now how much he had resisted seeing her as anything more than a potential adversary. “I’m… sorry if I’ve been hostile to you, Counselor-”
“Bes,” she clarified, pouring the tea. “I told you, I’m off-duty.”
“Bes,” Weynik nodded, asking, “So, ‘full-contact nude wrestling’? Is that watching or participating?”
She smiled. “Both.”
THE ADVENTURES WILL CONTINUE...
Seriously better and more realistic than I expected - and I expected a lot. Plans within plans... But the destruction of the Thunderbird One would suggest they already transferred the stolen data, so bio countermeasures and a rethink of security would be SOP. I also wonder what the sensors of Tailless picked up, both of Mickey and the Inverter - it might be the same tech that Trenagen used, and then a sensor for that would not be illogical. And what a beautiful way to give Lt Holtzmann a reason to excel, and Deertail to wake-up.
ReplyDeleteNB
This is Lt Mru to Cpt Weynik
ReplyDeleteI'm floating in the void
And I'm floating in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today
For here
Am I floating in the vaccum
Far from the home
Our hull has been breached
And there's nothing I can do
OMG!! Well worth the long and agonizing wait. TBH, even though we knew Weynik was going to win, they way it went down and the end results were amazing, written just like an actual Starfleet how-to manual.
ReplyDeleteWow! A great chapter, very dynamic, I loved it :)
ReplyDeleteAnd I also like that you added more pictures than usual, it makes the story more vivid.
As always, keep it happening, I'm looking forward to the next story :)
OMG that is was awesome will always love a good space battle
ReplyDeleteFantomax and Bens rat pack bonding was great hope to see more of it
Don’t fucking scare me like that when Mori was thrown into space, I was screaming but Sasha saveing he and laying in bed with him, telling him they talk about getting married and having cubs was beautiful, is like omg I’m going to cry great save by the way I’m a bit of a softy with these parts as always can’t wait for the next chapter
Love the art it a great addition to chapter
ReplyDelete