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Chapter Four
“Docking Control signals clear, Captain.” Ensign Lania’s precise voice called out through the controlled cacophony of voices throughout the bridge.
Captain Jon Sharp had expected the thrill of expectation at being about to take his own ship out of dock for the first time. But it was an old song and dance. He’d sat in this same position, and underwent the same launch procedure more than fifty times aboard this old boat. All he felt was a slight pull of foreboding from his Sixth Sense.
The only thing really different about this launch was the absence of Captain Pratchett. Sharp felt she’d deserved a better fate. Dying while attempting to save an Earth colony, though, was not the worst way to go.
“Signal we are underway, Ensign.” He centered his mind and concentrated on the here and now. “Helmsman, aft thrusters ahead one-third.”
“Thrusters ahead one-third, aye, sir.”
“Signal from Command, sir.” Came Lania’s tone again. “Admiral Minton sends his compliments.”
“Reply the same.”
The ship edge ahead under Lieutenant Ford’s direction. The docking scaffolding moved steadily back around the edges of the fore viewer, giving the old starship clearance to move freely. Once again, the old lady was emerging back into the silent blackness of her native element.
While he didn’t feel the old thrill, Captain Sharp was glad to note that he felt anxious to be back out on his own. If I ever lose that, I’ll just retire, he decided.
“We’re free and clear to navigate, Cap’n.” Ford reported. Mars was just sliding out of view as the helmsman turned the Cleo out toward the open space lanes.
“Warp speed.” Sharp ordered.
“Aye, sir. Warp speed.”
Lieutenant Ford ducked through the hatch leading into the main briefing room and gave the captain a nod before taking his seat. All the formal introductions seemed to have been finalized, he noted, and all the new officers had met the old. I’m behind, as usual, he thought. I always suck with new names anyway.
“We’re steady on course for the Mutara Sector, Cap’n. Engines maintaining warp factor four point seven-five.” He reported.
Sharp gave the young officer a nod and went on with the briefing.
“As I was saying: Starfleet expects our less friendly neighbors to take advantage of the fact that our fleet is indisposed and the amount of resources we’re diverting to the Neutral Zone. Thus we’re to take this Bird of Prey sighting very seriously. We’ll go in, render whatever assistance to the fuel carrier she needs to get her on her way as quickly as possible, then we’ll scour the area for Klingon activity.”
“It’s entirely possible that our Klingon friend will have already moved on by the time we arrive.” Observed the ship’s chief of security, Lieutenant Fujiwara. Ford had known Fujiwara since he’d been first assigned aboard a year prior. Known generally as “Mike”, the chief of security was one of the most devoted officers the helmsman had yet to meet. He was also a good friend.
“That’s a possibility,” Sharp agreed noncommittally. “But it’s our duty to make sure it and any brethren it brought with it clears the area. If we find ourselves outnumbered, we will break contact and report to base for reinforcements.”
The new exec cleared her voice to speak. It was the first chance Ford had been given to take a good look at her. He tried not to stare. She was as picturesque as her images on the Datanet, certainly. He’d recognized her name immediately as scuttlebutt had carried their new XO’s identity to him. Since coming aboard, she’d pulled her thick, curled red locks up into a tight roll atop her head and donned a severe look. She’d also opted for the command gold uniform dress rather than the blue of sciences. As XO, she had the option of either. Ford was glad she’d decided against the slacks, though.
“Captain, I suggest dropping out of warp speed well outside of weapons range and approaching the nebula at impulse. We don’t want to pop up in the middle of a surprise like the Fourth Fleet last month.”
Sharp nodded.
“Agreed.”
Ford cleared his throat to voice a tactical concern that had been on his mind since looking at the Mutara Sector’s navigation logs. Combat in that area would prove problematic to say the least.
“Any kind of combat is gonna be a…problem if we have to pursue the Bird of Prey or any other ship into the nebula, Captain. All that static discharging gas will cloud our tactical sensors. Shields will not function and targeting will be erratic. We’ll be relying a lot on navigational deflector detection and the main viewer.”
The helmsman noted that his report had nicely soured nearly everyone’s mood. He suspected that Sharp was well aware of the difficulties of traversing a Mutara Type Nebula, but he was not the type of commander to slap an officer down for offering pertinent information.
“Damage control parties will have to operate from stations deep within vessel interior.” Sharp told them. “We won’t have shield protection and it won’t do to have our DC parties blown out into space while we’re still taking hits. Make sure the saucer DC parties are aware of the changes in operation. And also iterate to their leaders that only combat related systems have priority. Even if primary O2 systems go down, I don’t want them wasting response time by sending a team there to fix them. We’ll rely on local and emergency systems till the fight is over.”
The CO glanced over to the engineer.
“Mister Bornet, you promised us some more engine power. What speed can we expect from the engines?”
The fuzzy, gray-furred Tellarite at the end of the table was not one of Ford’s favorite people. Rude and a know-it-all, the engineer had absolutely no people skills. There were days when the helmsman thought seriously of decking him.
“Well, the core is totally reconditioned. It’ll handle anything you could reasonably expect from a brand new reactor of its make and model. The coils, though, are complete trash. They’ll overheat at anything above warp five. It’s just a matter of when they decide to start fatiguing.”
“No estimates on how much warp five flight time we could coax out of them before shut down?”
“No. We’ll have to find out the hard way.”
Sharp didn’t look particularly pleased with that answer. Bornet didn’t even blink under the weight of the captain’s stare. Commander Ellyson broke the silence.
“I thought we were a warp six starship.”
This brought a round of smiles and snickers from the officer’s familiar with the ship and her history. Bornet was loudest and looked back at her crossly.
“This ship should be in a museum, my dear XO. Not flying out to meet Klingon warships in the middle of a nebula. This class was designed to replace the Daedulus-Class, but when the design didn’t meet all of Fleet’s expectations, the 300 Project was cancelled. The eighteen models that were built, however, were among the fastest ships in the fleet, and so were pushed to their top speed almost daily as they flitted across the galaxy to solve the universe’s problems. As a result, the three of these ships that haven’t been blasted to atoms or imploded are burned up relics that overheat if you even mention warp six.”
Ford felt a mixture of entertainment and insult at Bornet’s angry-sounding tirade. The ship was old and abused, but dammit, she was home too. Commander Ellyson seemed to be leaning toward sheer irritation as she regarded the Tellarite engineer.
“I hope you don’t give the same rousing pep talk to every member of the ship’s compliment, Lieutenant. Simply informing me that the Cleopatra isn’t up to original specs would have been sufficient. And I’ll expect a complete report on the ship’s debilitations on my desk by 1800 hours.”
Bornet rankled under the polite backlash and looked from the XO to the captain, gauging how best he could retort. A stern glance from Sharp seemed to decide him.
“Aye, sir. 1800.”
Ford was pretty sure the captain was smothering a smile. Ellyson certainly looked satisfied. I don’t wanna step on her toes. This was probably just a small taste.
Sharp went on.
“While we’re expediting the Beauvaunte’s departure, we’re going to launch a series of recon drones into the nebula to map the region and act as advance scouts. We’ll send them out in an elliptical search pattern to scour the area inside the cloud and outside before we decide to enter ourselves. I also want navigations to project likely exit points in the nearby sectors that a ship or task group might find to be of interest. Confer with tactical analysis to see which systems are being left the weakest now that Starfleet’s having to reorganize.”
This last was particularly for Lieutenant Ford and Ensign Davenport. Both nodded their understanding. Ron was still nursing his large silver coffee mug. Ford made a couple of notes on his data pad. He knew of a few things he’d look into along the trade routes in the area.
Sharp looked them all over amid the silence that ensued. Ensign Lania had the conn and was therefor on the bridge. He’d have a few instructions for her later. Ford and Davenport looked ready, with the latter looking over the helmsman’s shoulder to read his data pad. Bornet still looked plenty pissed at the new exec. Commander Ellyson seemed to have already forgotten the earlier incident and was still eyeing the tactical map of the nebula region that hovered above the table. Lieutenant Fujiwara looked eager to kill a Klingon or two. The only other officer in the room was looking right back at the captain with the same studying, unrevealing gaze he always reserved for Sharp.
The captain stood and addressed Doctor Goodnight.
“I hope we won’t be needing your services, Bill.”
“Amen to that, Skipper.” The 6’6 medical officer replied as he and the rest of the officers stood.
“I didn’t think you were given to religious outbursts, Doctor.”
“If it keeps casualties out of my infirmary, I’ll pray to God, Buddha, Mohammed, Kronos, Ra, Isis, Jupiter and any other invisible man you can think of.”
“Then you’d better get started, Doctor.” Sharp told him. The captain had a strange feeling that the prayers would be necessary.
The officer’s ward was relatively silent as Ford and Davenport sat down, trays in hand. Both carried their data pads. Work was on the menu tonight as well as food. The ship was still running toward the Mutara Nebula at her optimal velocity. The deck vibrated with a subtle resonance and the air was filled with the normal sounds of the engine core. There would be no voices to interrupt the two young officers. None of the off-duty officers had decided to dine in this evening. It was pretty late in the mid-night watch, after all.
“What about the old Vulcan-Rigel Route?” Davenport offered pointing out a listing on his own pad as the two settled in to get comfortable in their plastic chairs.
Ford considered the idea, already chewing a mouthful of hamburger.
“Ya might almost discount that since the old mines ran dry. But they can’t have stopped all the mining on the secondary worlds. Lemme check the deployment reports to see if we’ve left a back door for someone to exploit.”
For a few minutes, the two officers were silent, reading reports and making notes for the captain and XO to review. They plied their way through their meals without really tasting anything. The helmsman finally shook his head.
“I think the Vulcan-Rigel Route is pretty secure. No on-duty escorts till they reach Tiburon, but there are still six ships all along the route on constant patrol. You’d need a task group to do anything major. I think that one is pretty secure.”
“Alright,” Ron replied. “What about Thallus IV? The Andorians have that big purgium refinery there. According to this listing, the Andorians only escort their own ore ships in or out.”
Ford began pecking on his pad’s screen.
“You might have found a good target. Starfleet’s patrol grid is wide open there. The Republic was pulled away from there to strengthen Sector One. Looks like even our Bird of Prey could just walk in there and raid the place without breaking a sweat.”
“I thought the Klingons called their ships warbirds, not birds of prey.”
“Warbirds? Naw, that’s the Romulans.”
“Well, don’t the Romulans have Birds of Prey?”
“Yeah. They look different—“
“Then why do they both use the same terminology?”
“I think that’s more human labeling than what they call ‘em. The Klingons probably have some kind of ‘char-bar-ack’ name for ‘em.”
Ronald just continued to stare at the lieutenant questioningly, then shrugged. He went back to his list. They were nearly done.
“In the Kobayashi Maru test, the Klingon ships were called warbirds.”
“Funny, called ‘em battlecruisers in mine.”
The sudden eruption of the ship’s klaxon made both men jump in their seats. Two ensigns had just entered through the aft hatch to join them. All now looked up to the ceiling for the coming voice broadcast.
“All hands, stand to battle stations!”
Ensign Davenport and Lieutenant Ford emerged back onto the bridge with a hurried pace, bound for the pilots’ station. Ronald caught the eye of the exec near science and held up the preliminary report the two of them had finished on the way up. Commander Ellyson diverted her fast walk across the bridge to collect the device.
“What’s up, XO?” Ford asked her as he sat.
“The Beauvaunte has issued a distress call. She’s under attack.” Ellyson told them, turning back for the science console.
Captain Sharp sat down in his command chair, tapping the intercom control there as he looked forward to the stars and subspace energy rushing past on the viewer.
“Engine room. Mister Bornet, we need more speed.”
“I’ll do what I can, Captain. Stand by.”
The ship was already beginning to rumble and moan with an electronic wail. Ford glanced back to Sharp.
“Throttle control routed to engineering. Speed passing warp four point eight and increasing.”
To emphasize the report, the Cleo shuddered and took on a violent sort of vibration. The two pilots looked to one another. Ford smiled and shrugged. Davenport didn’t look happy.
Sharp swung his chair about to face the comm station.
“Miss Lania?”
The Vulcan ensign shook her head in reply, still pressing her receiver close to her ear as she spoke over the open communications frequency.
“USS Beauvaunte, this is the USS Cleopatra. Please respond. USS Beauvaunte, you have stated a condition of emergency, please identify your attacker, over.”
She continued on for nearly a minute.
“No response as yet on any open frequency, Captain.”
“Keep trying, ensign. Helm, present speed?”
“Passing warp factor five, Cap’n.”
“ETA to Beauvaunte’s coordinates?”
“Now under three hours, Captain.” Said the navigator.
Sharp’s hand found the intercom again.
“Engineering, how much more do we have?”
“I’ve tripled the flow to the intercoolers. No overheating yet. We might get five point three today.”
“Give me all you have.”
“I always do.”
The ship continued to tremble sharply while the engine drone increased in pitch. The Cleo had never failed to deliver engine power when needed. But her lacking top end velocity might cost a lot of lives today. Were she capable of her factor six rating, the Cleopatra could reach the Beauvaunte in half the time Davenport had just quoted.
“Captain, I now have a response from the Beauvaunte.” Lania reported suddenly.
“On screen.”
The main viewer began to display a grainy picture of another bridge compartment. Three men in the background were battling a burning plasma conduit as the freighter’s skipper stumbled from his comm panel to his command seat.
“Cleopatra, do you read?!”
“We read you,” Sharp replied. “Status report, Captain.”
“We are under attack by a Klingon warship! She swooped out of the gas cloud about ten minutes ago and we’ve been on the run ever since! They’re still jamming us…I didn’t know if any—“
The Beauvaunte took yet another direct hit to her hull. The sound of the weapon’s impact was unmistakable, even over static filled speakers. The captain staggered out of view. The flaming conduit aft of him flared back to life, engulfing one of the damage control specs next to it. His fire safety suit didn’t help him much from the look of it.
“Cleopatra, are you still there?!”
“Still reading you, Beauvaunte! We’re more than two hours out. What defenses do you have left?”
“Nothing, Cleopatra…” The skipper’s ragged voice was full of defeat as he dragged himself back into visual range of his comm system. His face was burned, and now bleeding. He continually pawed at the ravaged flesh of his cheek. “Pulse cannon are dead, shields gone. And they’ve taken out my impulse drive… I can’t rig for warp with the deuterium scoops jammed open. We’re dead in the—“
There came a flare of light that severed the communication. Sharp blinked, believing that in the last instant he’d seen the Beauvaunte’s captain scream out, throwing his hands forth in terror. He glanced back to the comm chief, debating on whether he really wanted to see what he’d thought he’d saw…
“Ensign…the last second of the transmission. Slow playback and freeze frame.”
Ensign Lania nodded back with a somber expression in her eyes. The viewer began to replay the last instants of the recording. All eyes were locked on the main screen.
The Beauvaunte’s captain was still speaking in muted syllables when the playback began. The next couple frames showed the bridge shake ferociously, throwing the man forward, twisting his face in fear. The next set was nearly the same, but showed the bulkhead behind him glow. Then the bulkhead crumpled. Blew away. The replay froze as the freighter captain tried vainly to grab hold of some purchase as the atmosphere of his ship carried him out a ten-foot chasm that now loomed beneath his feet. The Cleo crew could see the Mutara Nebula outside the hull breach, as well as a stretch of the Beauvaunte’s hull.
“Engineering,” Sharp called soberly into the intercom. “Give me your absolutely best speed.”
Topic: USS Cleopatra (Read 15710 times)