Triumph
Captain Mitchell Kelly awoke to a soft light from the Alorez Star, which was now filling the Stateroom with a calm purple glow. For a moment, Mitchell thought about how nice it would be to just stay in bed and let his crew handle things for him. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. Today was his first day as Captain of the USS Triumph, one of the newest ships to be commissioned into Starfleet.
Not to say that he wasn't excited about the idea of commanding one of the most advanced ships the Federation had ever built. It was an opportunity not to be missed. But in spite of that, Mitchell still had a sickening knot in his stomach. Commissioning a new ship always meant more headache than he wanted. He had commissioned two ships before, each larger than the last and each commissioning being more stressful than the last. Mitchell wasn't known in Starfleet for his patience and diplomacy. Certain other officers would probably rather see him commanding an ore ship than a Starship. And, he thought, there was probably a few that would rather see him floating in space without a space suit. Starfleet knew, though, that Captain Kelly got things done so they put up with his 'eccentricities'. If his previous experiences held their form then today was sure to be one of the most stressful days of his life.
In the past year Starfleet had a massive influx of brilliant, young, minds with fresh ideas and new ways of thinking. These changes, advances and new ideas were clearly evident in the latest designs. The USS Enterprise being a perfect example. With the longer frame and far more powerful engines it was one of the most formidable ships ever constructed in the Federation.
The Triumph was another case-in-point. Although not as large as the Enterprise, about 2/3 her size, she was as technologically advanced as could be. There are no frills on this ship, though; she is built for efficiency and effectiveness, thought Kelly. The ship could best be described as an enlarged version of the old Nova-class vessels with their cylindrical under-body and lack of a connecting pylon between the engineering and saucer sections. She had extended engines like the Soverign-class vessels and a saucer section comparable to the now decommissioned Intrepid-class ships. There was only one holodeck and one atrium on-board, the rest was devoted to the operation of the starship as a warship, the bulldog of the fleet, with military-type crew quarters and only minimal 'extra-curricular' facilities.
When he was first shown the design plans, Mitchell had to marvel at the engineering section. The typical single-warp-core was substituted with a dual-core system, which allowed for more advanced shield and weapons abilities. While neither core was as large or as powerful as those installed in the Triumph's 'big sisters', each produced roughly two-thirds of their larger counterparts' capacity. This also allowed for emergency power to be transferred far more quickly and efficiently from
not just one sub-system to another but to multiple systems, without reducing the efficiency of any of them. Not
to mention the obvious redundancy of having a “backup” core in an emergency. For a moment, the mental image
of a bulldog snapping at a Borg behemoth flashed in his mind and Captain Kelly smiled to himself.
His reverie was broken by the chime of the computer on the end-table, signaling that there was a call for him.
"Yes?", he replied in the short, annoyed, tone he always adopted during refits and commissionings.
"Sir, the shuttle departing for the Alorez station will be arriving in 20 minutes.", replied the young woman.
"Thank you, Ensign. Kelly Out", he said. He flung the covers off and started to get ready. In 18 minutes he was in
uniform, fully packed and waiting for the shuttle to touch down. It arrived a minute later, piloted by a young Ensign
who, at a glance, looked like he would 'pass out' at the drop of a hat.
Mitchell boarded the shuttle. "First assignment, I take it?", he asked with a slight smirk playing across his lips.
"Yes Sir", was the short reply. "Ensign Mayfair, Sir. I'm your Navigation Officer, Sir." he managed to squeeze out in
one breath, as his face turned a shade redder.
Mitchell had to contain himself to prevent further embarrassing the young man. "Excellent. Let's get going then, shall
we?", he said in the most stern voice he could manage.
"Yes Sir", answered Mayfair with a smile. Mitchell noticed the young officer visibly relax. He was obviously enjoying
his role as the Captain's personal chauffeur.
In moments the shuttle was lifting off and blasting through the air, towards their destination. As the clouds
dissipated and the stars slowly appeared on the other side of the atmosphere, the silhouette of the Alorez shipyards
could be seen in the distance. Inside the shipyards' utilitarian outer shell could be seen the sleek form of a gleaming
starship hull, looking like a pewter ornament off the desk of some space-going giant. As the shuttle drew closer,
Captain Kelly's attention was more and more fixed on the shape as his awareness of his surroundings faded. There
laid his command, the USS Triumph, glistening in the purple light of the Alorez star. As the shuttle closed on the
slowly-growing form the running lights were activated. The ship seemed to thrum to life, sensing the approach of her Captain; lighting every view-port and illuminating every instance of her name and designation. Curtsying just for him.
The recessed deflector array began to charge and, gradually, the dish glowed a brilliant blue as did the sleek
nacelles at the stern. As the shuttle approached, Mayfair took it along a course that forced them to circumnavigate
the entire ship before being able to dock. The kid may not have much in the way of social skills but he sure knew
how to show a Captain all the highlights, thought Mitchell with another characteristic smirk. He didn't say anything,
though. He was too intent on the ship before him. He had read the lifeless design plans and had perused all the
bland specs but now, right before him, was something far grander. Here was a thing of beauty.
Generally, a Captain would land in the shuttle-bay, greeted by the officers and main body of crew, give a speech, and then swear himself in as Captain, but this wasn't Mitchell's way and he ordered Mayfair to forgo the usual tradition and dock at a nondescript port in the engineering section.
They eventually made their way to the docking port and Mitchell Kelly found himself wishing he could take another tour around the ship. Or perhaps another dozen. But such was not his fate.
Suddenly, the tight knot in his stomach was starting to make it's presence felt again. When the hatch doors opened, Mitchell was greeted with horrified and confused looks by those that noticed him standing there as they went about their duties. One crewman was so focused on his work he bumped into Mitchell on his way past without ever realizing whom he had collided with. The rest all made a bleak attempt to collect themselves and one Lieutenant even managed to announce, "Captain on Deck!"
Immediately, Mitchell replied in his firm tone, "Resume your posts", and strode toward the nearest turbolift with Ensign Mayfair in tow behind. One thing he noticed right off was how young most of the crew was. On average he guessed they were between 20 and 25, which struck him as odd since it was usually Starfleet's policy to blend a new crew with one that was more experienced. With this thought, he entered the turbolift, demanded "Bridge", and silently both he and Mayfair made their way to the command deck of the Triumph.
Moments later, the doors slid effortlessly open and, for a moment, Mitchell could only stand and gape the sight before him.
Captain Mitchell stepped out onto the Bridge; HIS Bridge, alive with sounds and bustling with people going about their business. The bridge was dimly lit, accentuating the blue and yellow glow of all the instrument panels and displays that inhabit every wall, console and desktop. He was so busy admiring the scene that he nearly missed his First Officer announce his arrival with another "Captain on Deck!"
No longer was his voice edgy; stressed. "As you were", he replied, slowly making his way towards the chair located conspicuously in the center of the room. As he was circling his command chair a voice came from behind him, "So, it's not exactly like the old USS Cairo, now is it, Mitch?"
Mitchell didn't have to turn around to recognize his First Officer's voice. "No, it isn't, Collin. But it does have some similarities. I'm still stuck with you, aren't I?", he replied without missing a beat.
Commander Collin Browne laughed with his deep voice and went back to the science station he had been sitting at. Mitchell was glad he had one familiar face among the bridge crew. He and Collin had served together aboard the USS Cairo. They were two of the sixty-three that had survived their ship's destruction by the Borg a few years back. Commander Browne was a big man with thick, curly, black hair and a deep voice that was constantly harassing the young crewmen who allowed their minds to wander or made a single error in their respective tasks. Not that he was a bad guy, thought Mitchell, just a man with a mean-spirited sense of humor, who preyed upon the hapless youngsters within his sphere of influence. He had a gash on his right hand where a bulkhead had collapsed and nearly gnawed it off; a visible reminder of those men and women the two friends had lost aboard the Cairo during that Borg assault.
The rest of the bridge crew were new to Mitchell. There was Ensign Mayfair, the gangling red-haired navigation officer that gave him the 'grande tour'. He had also been assigned as a weapons officer Lieutenant Shaw Miller, a young man with blonde hair and a boxer's frame. Though Mitchell found himself paying particular notice of Commander Sasha Iverson, a dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties. She was a little over five-foot-six and he couldn't help but notice that she was shaped like a statue of Venus that Mitchell had one seen. He had noticed in her file that she spent most of her free time by herself and didn't usually converse with many of the other crew.
In fact, he had reviewed all their files months ago and was confident in most of their abilities. He was less sure about Robin Carey; a 44 year old man who had a mean temper and wanted everything done both his way and right when he demanded it. He was a small man with thinning hair and portly. Maybe even obese. He had been reassigned multiple times by request and had made a lot of enemies among Starfleet's engineering personnel. Despite this, he was superb at his job and had originally suggested the dual-warp-core system a few years back, which was precisely why certain admirals-in-charge had made him Mitchell's Chief Engineer.
Mitchell was still waiting for a Chief Medical Officer to arrive on board. There was no word yet on whom this might be since a mistake in personnel management had reassigned his medical staff to another vessel. It was likely, thought Mitchell, that the Triumph would be assigned a rookie staff, fresh out of Med school and barely able to hold a scalpel without help from the Emergency Medical Hologram. He pondered this thought with a frown.
Sitting at his desk in his new Ready-Room, doors open and listening to the sounds of the bridge, Mitchell was deep into all the necessary 'paperwork' that went along with launching a new vessel. He had managed to hunt down an engineering crewman to help install a mechanism that would allow him to leave his doors open when he chose. He had always adopted an open-door policy with his staff. As far as he was concerned, his officers were there to provide alternate ideas and having yourself sequestered in a back room didn't make them feel welcome to do so. Having doors closed should be reserved for those rare instances when discipline was necessary and more than one Starfleet officer had learned to be wary of the Captain who was awaiting their arrival with his finger on the door-lock.
Mitchell saw a shadow pass over the floor and he looked up to find a middle-aged woman and two younger staff behind her. "Lieutenant Candice Daine reporting, Sir", she announced with a pleasant tone. "We're your medical staff, on loan from the Trafalgar."
Mitchell was surprised. This was a staff that was well-trained and highly experienced and it lightened his mood a little to know they were aboard. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lt. Daine. We weren't expecting to steal anyone's medical personnel but we're sure glad to have you", he said.
"Thank you, Captain. A little change is always welcome. You look pretty heavily occupied here so I think we'll let you get back to work now", she said as turned back towards the turbolift and ordered it to deck 12.
Mitchell had gone through 6 hours of preparation work, inspections and approvals by the time they were ready to depart spacedock and his mind was a blur with hundreds of little details when Chief Carey reported in. "All systems are ready Captain. We can leave spacedock whenever you're ready", he said with a hint of impatience in his voice. Mitchell immediately thought of a few choice words for his new thorn-in-the-flesh but instead opted for a more diplomatic response, saying "Thank you for the report. Captain Out.” Mitchell took a last look at his half-completed paperwork and strolled out onto the bridge. “Ensign, clear all moorings. Ahead one-quarter impulse power when you're ready, if you please."
Soon, the ship slid forward ever so slowly, effortlessly gliding away from the womb of the spacedock. As their speed rose Mitchell could hear the slight hum of the engines deep within and he smiled a little to himself. In moments they were away. "Triumph, you are clear and free to navigate. Happy Hunting", announced the spacedock pilot. "Thank you Alorez Station. Triumph out.", replied Mitchell with a glint in his eye. He ordered the ship to warp 3 and sat back in his chair, watching his bridge crew carry out their duties with remarkable efficiency. The Triumph was now fully in his command; the bulldog had been unleashed amid the stars.
The zero-G training room was one of the hot spots for most of the Triumph's young officers and today it was occupied by Ensign Riley Mayfair and Lieutenant Miller. They leaped and dodged throughout the room as they played a variation on some unpronounceable Klingon game that was similar to tennis in a lot of ways. Shaw Miller was by far the most able of the two and had poor Mayfair at a serious disadvantage. Still, Mayfair managed to put up a pretty good fight, thought Shaw. "Good move, Riley", he replied as the ball whizzed past his head and nearly impacted the goal mark behind him.
He smashed the ball back towards the other end of the room, where it bounced off the side wall and spiraled upwards past the helpless Ensign at lightning speed. As the Ensign reached for the ball he managed to nudge it just enough to redirect it's course. Unfortunately, it went the wrong way and with a pang of despair Mayfair watched the ball strike the corner goal mark and sound the chime, signaling that the game was now over. Gradually, the gravity was restored and they both left the room with their towels in hand.
"So what do you think of her so far, Riley?", asked Miller.
"The ship? Oh man, this thing is incredible. It's nothing like I imagined when I graduated from Starfleet Accademy", replied Mayfair, completely unable to contain his enthusiasm.
"No, not the ship, you dolt. I meant Commander Iverson. She's not exactly like the Science Officers I've ever served with before", answered Miller with a grin. “For one, she doesn't have a beard.”
"Oh, come on. She's not even interested in guys", retorted Mayfair with an embarrassed cough. "Sure she's nice looking but she just plays with her computer console and reads those old novels."
They turned the corner and headed towards the turbolift, talking as they went. Miller looked at Mayfair and said, "No, I've heard some things about her and I've seen some of the programs she runs in the holodeck. Some of those programs are pretty intense. There's this one..." He was cut short when a door opened in front of them and, to their horror, Iverson emerged as if the very mention of her name had summoned her to them. As she sidled past them, both Mayfair and Miller wished they could vanish into thin air. She glanced back in their direction and with a smile said, "Morning boys. Riley, you look like you've been through quite an ordeal. You should tell Shaw here to take it a little easier on you." With that, she turned away and strode past them. They both watched soundlessly as she went down the corridor, letting her long hair flow behind her just a little, both of them very much aware of the redness flooding their cheeks.
Sasha Iverson continued her journey towards the holodeck, fully aware of what Miller and Mayfair were talking about when she went past. She was used to that kind of talk. In her six years serving in Starfleet there had been a lot of rumors, innuendos and proposals from guys like that and she had learned to get used to it. She had always tried desperately to be seen as nothing more than one of the team. Someone who could contribute to more than just a swimsuit calendar. She had always felt like all anyone could see was a pretty young thing to be left in your quarters for when you needed companionship. It was a miracle that she had managed to obtain the rank of Commander. In those six years, she felt as though she had been given virtually no opportunity to demonstrate her abilities and prove that she was fully capable of being one of the most talented Officers in Starfleet.
Fortunately for her, her previous Captain had been an experienced woman who knew only too well how difficult it could be to prove oneself in this "man's profession". She had gladly seen past Iverson's looks to recognize that any ship she served on could only benefit by her presence there.
As Iverson reached the holodeck and punched up her data file, she thought about how hard she had worked to get where she was and, immediately, she felt a little angry. Now, she was on another ship, full of young and impulsive male crew members and the thought crossed her mind that maybe this was as far as she was ever going to get. After all, the ship was commanded by a man that, in her eyes, was far too young to command a starship and definitely what she would classify as 'impulsive'. How far in her career could she possibly hope to get under a Commanding Officer like that? Professionally 'under' anyhow.
The holodeck controls chimed and she entered with a frown. Inside, she took a deep breath of the misty air around her. She was standing in the middle of a foggy plain with rocks and stubble strewn everywhere. The location wasn't a clone of anywhere specific, it just made for an exhilarating locale to play out the scenarios she had constructed. Far in the distance could be heard the cries of unknown creatures, lurking in the fog. At her feet materialized a short dagger and a klingon-like weapon with wide blades on either side. She reached down and picked up the small arsenal. She felt the cold steel in her hands and wheeled the larger instrument with an ease that came with experience. She could hear the cries and moans of the computer-generated creatures drawing closer and knelt down, ready for their assault.
In the past, she had tried to include others in her pastimes, tried to be sociable despite the certainty that they didn't see a competent officer in her. The Women mostly seemed perfectly fine being womanized and it made her sick so she simply didn't mingle with them. Those that did involve themselves were usually male members of the crew who had other intentions in mind. They were quickly siphoned out of the cistern when Iverson would, with ease, show them up in whatever undertaking they had decided upon to prove their manly superiority. It crushed their ego and, over time, Iverson decided that it was simply best to let others think what they will and go about her business alone, looking out for number one.
That attitude, mixed with her past encounters, had eventually resulted in countless rumors about her anti-social behavior, giving her a reputation of someone that hated contact with others, even other women. For a moment, Iverson wondered if maybe she was anti-social, and hard for others to get along with. It wasn't that she didn't like to hang out with her comrades, they just didn't seem to adjust to her mannerisms and it was far easier on everyone to just leave them out of the picture altogether.
Iverson was still deep in thought when the first six-foot creature attacked from behind. She wheeled around and sliced the figure with her weapon, doubling it over and leaving it heaped on the ground at her feet. A second attacker appeared from the side and lunged in her direction, showcasing it's glistening teeth as it leaped towards her. She waited for the creature to gain distance and at the perfect moment dropped herself to the ground, face up, thrusting her shorter dagger into the air as the computer-generated attacker flew overhead.
She felt the blade hit home and, as the animal passed, she knew immediately that her maneuver had worked. The motionless form gave one last, feeble, growl and then laid silent. She continued with her workout, steeped in thoughts of “gender-equality” and vainly attempting to vent her frustration when, after a few minutes, the intercom chimed in.
"All bridge crew report to the Briefing Room. Repeat, all bridge personnel report to the Briefing Room", came the matter-of-fact voice. Iverson inwardly cringed but in minutes she was cleaned up and headed out the door wondering to herself if this was going to be the beginning of the end of her career.
Chief Engineering Officer Robin Carey heard the announcement and scowled as he looked up from his schematics.
'Great', he thought. 'Just because I finally seem to have things working the way they should be I have to leave the situation to these amateurs and listen to the boy-Captain rattle on about our grand mission.'
Carey was fuming. He hadn't wanted this assignment to begin with but then Starfleet had slapped him in the face by putting him under the command of a man who could almost be his son and topped it off by giving him an inexperienced engineering staff to boot. Nothing more than children. Children!
Sure most of them were brilliant but they couldn't take orders to save their lives, he thought. He was in charge of the entire Engineering staff and equipment, which included not just one engineering core as on most starships, but two, complete with double the staff. He didn't have time to be polite when issuing orders or to explain his reasoning, he was simply there to get. things. done.
Carey strode out of Engineering, ordering his second not to blow the place up in his absence, and headed for the nearest lift. All the way up he thought to himself how truly persecuted he was. He had been happy aboard the USS Austin and would have stayed there for the rest of his career had he been able to.
Starfleet should never have assigned Carey that boy, Georgeson, an Officer who couldn't take direction and constructive criticism. If he couldn't take a few little suggestions on how to improve everything he was doing wrong then he shouldn't have been working in the Austin's Engineering section. Turned out, he was more than willing to take it personally and cry to the Captain, who recommended that maybe another assignment would be more to Carey's liking, which really translated into an order to be reassigned or get booted out of Starfleet.
As the lift doors opened Carey had to remind himself that he was determined to make a go of this ship and her crew. He would be the bigger man and overlook their faults in an attempt to foster better relations. He made his way to the Briefing Room and took his seat silently, hoping no one would try and strike up a conversation with him. To his dismay, young Ensign Mayfair sat next to him and began a discussion on his thoughts of Starfleet's new navigation sensor arrays.
***
Commander Browne chuckled inwardly when he saw the massively one-sided conversation at the other end of the table. He was pleased to see that most of the crew were attempting to get better acquainted. He had been observing them all over the last few weeks as they prepared for their new commission and was largely impressed by what he saw. There were 'personalities' to be sure. Some of these people seemed to be as friendly as the little old lady down the street handing out slices of pie to children. Others seemed to be distant and withdrawn. But, he had seen a lot of crew members come and go during his seventeen years in Starfleet and had the feeling that this crew could easily become like a large family.
It was rare for a crew to come together that way, forming a unity that could almost power a starship by will alone. He had seen it only once before and as that thought streamed through his mind, he unconsciously rubbed the scar on his hand.
The Captain entered and Browne announced that the meeting was to begin. When the room was quiet, Captain Kelly spoke up. "I'm glad to see you all could make it. I'm not one for formalities so lets get down to business, shall we?", he announced. "Starfleet has assigned us to assist the USS Congo in the Vol system. Apparently, one of the colonies in that system had reported that they were under attack. Starfleet lost communication. By the time the Congo responded the colony had already been destroyed with no survivors reported as yet. We're to assist in determining what happened", he continued. As he relayed the news to his bridge crew he surveyed their faces, judging how they were reacting to their assignment and to the situation in general. By and large they looked to be up to the task.
"Starfleet doesn't know what the situation is out there or who might have a grudge against that colony. Commander Iverson, what information do we have on the Vol system?", he asked across the table.
Iverson answered immediately in a sure tone and from memory, "It's a largely unexplored region on the outskirts of Federation space, Sir, with no known indigenous space-faring species. Beyond that, we don't have much to go on."
Kelly nodded in answer. "I expect one hundred percent from every one of you on this mission. This is our chance to show Starfleet what we can do. Report to your posts", finalized Kelly and with that, the meeting was over and each of the crew made their way to the bridge, each acutely aware that this was no longer a simple training cruise.
***
The Triumph soared through the stars, extending farther and farther into deep space as she went, and it took a number of hours at several times the speed of light to finally reach her destination. The sleek vessel dropped out of warp and cruised into the solar system. There were few planets surrounding this bright white star. As the crew watched intently to the scenery before them, they began to notice a haze throughout the system.
Captain Kelly was the first to voice his thoughts on this phenomenon, "Commander Iverson, what do you make of that?"
Sasha Iverson checked her instruments and moments later she looked back at Kelly. "It looks like remnants of at least two planets that had collided with each other thousands of years ago. That haze is the result of dust sized fragments that are too small to be overly affected by the star's gravity", she reported.
"What affect could that have on long range sensors?", replied Kelly with a thoughtful look on his face, already beginning to calculate what might have happened to the colony that had settled here two years ago.
"The long range sensors do seem to be affected, Sir. They're cutting in and out as we pass through thicker pockets of dust. Short-range scanners are a little better, though", she answered immediately. She had already begun to calculate the effects this could have on their systems the moment they arrived. She wasn't about to be caught off guard by a completely forseeable question from the Captain.
As the Triumph slid through the system every visible object cast a long, deep shadow in the dust behind it, giving it the impression of having been frozen in time as it hurtled forward towards the star in the center. Gradually, they drew closer to a glowing blue orb dead ahead which they all knew to be Vol Seven, the object of their particular interest. Vol seven was an M-Class planet reputed to be a beautiful paradise-like world, undisturbed by sentient beings. It had been inhabited by colonists in hopes that the Federation could extend it's borders into the vast expanse of space.
While the Triumph glided closer to this jewel in space they could clearly see the hull of their counterpart, the USS Congo, a small science vessel dispatched to asses the situation on the planet's surface below. "Open hailing frequencies, Mr. Mayfair", ordered Kelly, who was now visibly showing signs of impatience. He rose from his chair and took a step towards the viewscreen as it alternated to a view of their comrade's bridge.
The happy face of Captain Allan Davidson appeared and addressed Kelly, "Good to see you again, Captain. It's been quite a while since that little episode on Trolax, hasn't it?" He chuckled a bit to himself as he mentioned this.
Kelly inwardly cringed as he remembered the brawl that had ensued on that occasion, primarily instigated by Captain Davidson himself. Outwardly, he managed to keep his cool, showing only a slight frown pulling at his brow.
"Yes it has, Allan. But not long enough in my books", he replied, not particularly attempting to hide his dislike for Davidson.
Davidson seemed not to notice or not to care and went straight to the situation at hand. "So, you're here to figure out what happened to the colonists down there huh? Well there doesn't seem to be much to tell; the place is a war zone. Looks like one of the colonists went a little space-crazy and tore the place apart", he said in a smug, matter-of-fact tone. "I've got a team down there already and they're going through the rubble for any survivors. I'll send you their beam-in coordinates", he said. "Happy hunting", he finished, and with that the screen went back to it picturesque view of the planet before them.
Kelly had listened intently to Davidson and his theory, almost immediately discarding it as ludicrous. In recent years Colonists were required to go through rigorous training before they leave for space, sometimes more intense than what Starfleet puts it's officers through. Besides, what colonist could cause enough chaos to destroy an entire colony? Looks like Davidson was doing his usual, bang-up job, thought Kelly.
"Commanders Browne and Iverson, I want you two down there immediately. Report on anything you find, no matter how insignificant", he ordered. As the two headed for the turbolift he turned back to them and added, "Be careful. Make your own assessments. Keep an eye on Davidson's people down there."
"You got it", replied Browne, letting the turbolift doors hiss shut between them.
***
The transporter whined as it deposited two Commanders on the surface below. The sky was just reddening as the light from Vol began to dip behind the mountains in the distance. There was a slight breeze and Commander Browne guessed that it was the equivalent of mid-summer here. The scene was one of peace and tranquility; or it could have been.
Scattered all around them lay pieces of buildings and vehicles, of farming equipment and children's toys. Rubble of all types lay on the ground, smoldering and darkened by weapons fire. There was no trace of the colonists but considering the state of the colony itself, they weren't likely to find a whole lot, thought Browne.
He and Iverson slowly made their way through the debris, taking note of anything of interest. Not that there was much to take note of. A few minutes later they caught up with the Congo's away-team in what had once been the colony's center, where once a beautiful fountain had resided. Iverson was examining the shattered remains of the statue that had topped it. One of the Congo's Lieutenants piped up, asking Browne, “It's a mess down here, isn't it?”
All Browne could do was look in dismay at the charred ruins and nod his head in agreement. The second of the Congo's team, came up to him. “We've already searched the main colony for any signs of life but we haven't come up with anything yet. We were just about to head down towards the fields. The settlers keep a small farming operation down there”, he said.
“All right, you lead the way”, replied Browne, gesturing deeper into the colony. The four made their way down a winding gravel road that led in the direction of the forest lining the base of a small, nearby, mountain. In only a very short walk they made their way to the farming establishment. It was a small but well-kept facility with greenhouses and germination chambers. On first glance it looked to be untouched by the assault but as they got closer they could see scorch marks on the walls. They could also make out a form of something in the field beyond the building, a large object hidden among the tall greenery.
“Lieutenants, why don't you both go and check out whatever that thing is back there, while Iverson and I look inside that structure”, instructed Browne as he drew his tricorder from it's place, signaling the others to do the same. “Yes Sir”, came the quick reply.
As the two Congo crew members headed in the direction of the field, Browne began his slowly walk to the stone structure.
“Sir, I'm having some trouble scanning the area”, warned Iverson, who had been oddly quiet up to this point. “I don't think it's due to anything environmentally, either.” She hadn't said two words since the Captain had asked her to accompany Browne to the surface. He guessed there was a reason for her solitary behavior but he wasn't about to pry.
As the two passed a small stone wall that encircled the facility, Browne attempted to lighten her mood by striking up conversation. “So, Iverson, I haven't had much of an opportunity to talk to you since we boarded. What made you apply to Starfleet?”, he said, ashamed that he couldn't come up with anything better to talk about.
Without taking her eyes off her tricorder, she hesitated a moment before she began to answer. “Well, I just felt that it was the right thing to do. I grew up in...”
She was cut off in mid-sentence by the debris and shrapnel of the stone wall they had just passed exploding behind her. Both reacted instantly and pulled out their phasers as they ran for the nearest cover, a small storage building a few feet away.
There was a second shot from the trees ahead of them but neither Browne nor Iverson could make out the exact position. A third shot removed a corner from their chosen cover and the stonework crashed to the ground at Iverson's feet, who was rapidly firing back at the attacker through another hole they had made in the stonework she was crouched behind. Browne had a fix on the assailant's general direction and ducked out from behind the structure. He fired a single shot into the trees and saw one of them explode in a shower of sparks and splinters. Almost immediately, his opponent fired another bolt in his direction, nearly hitting Browne squarely in the face.
Meanwhile, both Iverson and Browne had begun to hear more weapons fire in the direction taken by the two Lieutenants. Now, one of the men was running in their direction, ducking behind whatever offered him protection and firing randomly back at his attacker. In seconds, he was beside Browne, bleeding from a deep gash he had received in fleeing the scene. Browne looked at him questioningly as another spray of dust and rock exploded above them. The Lieutenant didn't have to answer. Browne knew his companion was dead.
“Iverson!”, he yelled over the shriek of of phaser fire. “Make for that wall on the right. I'll cover you!”
She nodded her agreement and waited for his signal. Another blast of energy shot overhead, followed by another that hit their dwindling shack straight-on. Browne signaled her and she bolted for her destination. She fired several shots into the trees with remarkable accuracy and made it to the wall. Meanwhile, Browne had seen movement in the trees and fired. The bolt hit his target directly in the chest and the limp form flew backwards into the bushes behind.
The Congo Lieutenant had taken Iverson's position in that time and was looking for a clear shot. He saw movement and stood up so he could rapidly dispose of his opponent. Browne heard both the sound of a phaser and the sound of another powerful weapon discharging itself. The Lieutenant hurtled backwards. Browne knew these ambush attackers had been waiting for someone to carelessly stand right in their line of fire and he glanced back to the motionless body of their latest kill. Browne's eyes fixed for an instant on the seared marks of the body's uniform, blackened by the weapon's deadly blast.
Iverson caught his attention and motioned for him to make a move towards the field as if he were trying to make a run for it. He knew what she had in mind and holstered his weapon. He was going to have to make a real dash for it.
He bolted out from behind the building just as another shot practically reduced it to mere gravel, running for all he was worth. Out the corner of his eye he saw a large form rise from it's hiding place and take aim. Browne heard the familiar whine of a phaser on heavy stun and the form in his peripheral disappeared. He dropped to the ground and rolled to see what had been behind him, lurking in the bushes to destroy him.
Meanwhile, Iverson had dropped the foe with that single shot and she was running toward the attacker, who was still laying among the trees. Browne made his way slowly toward the second attacker and, standing above the motionless form, he tapped his comm badge. “Commander Browne to Triumph. Captain, I think it's time we made our report”, he started, glowering intently at the impressive creature before him.
Captain Kelly stalked towards the brig where one of the ambushing attackers from the surface had been confined, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible on his way. He had read the reports made by Iverson and Browne with feelings of anger and contempt. Here was a race that, apparently, did not place any value on the lives of the men, women and children that had peacefully dwelt on the planet below. They had decimated any trace of the Federation colony and, in attacking the away-team, showed little sign of remorse.
Kelly also wanted to come face to face with the individual responsible for the death of two Federation Officers. At first, Captain Davidson had wanted to take over the interrogation but Mitchell made sure he was in control of this particular situation, finally pulling rank.
He rounded the corner and entered the brig's security, which was dim and quiet, stopping for an instant to adjust his eyes. He passed through the outer security desk and entered the brig. The only illumination was from the 4 cells that lined the left wall, designed to make it easier for security staff to keep an eye on their prisoners and difficult for those prisoners to make out the movements of their captors.
Only one of these cells was currently in use. It had been activated with the heavy force field in place, restricting any access to the cell, or the one occupying it. Two security staff were posted outside and under strict orders to keep a watchful eye on their visitor.
Kelly approached, keenly aware of the buzzing of the forcefield between him and the remarkable man on the other side. Sitting calmly on the slide-out cot was a large being, probably a little over seven feet tall, guessed Kelly. As the Captain approached, the prisoner's eyes shifted in his direction. Those eyes shone a bright blue and looked as if they were glowing, sparkling as they shifted to observe one object after another. The captives brow was set and formed a deep line above those piercing eyes. He had no visible hair and his features were straight, sharp and defined, much like many of the slender Native Americans of Earth centuries ago. Kelly noticed immediately the individual's skin, which was leathery and a deep charcoal gray; nearly black and pitted with ritual scars.
He was wearing a padded, black uniform with accents of blue and what looked like they could be strands of some
metallic fiber, silvery in appearance.
And it was this person that Kelly now addressed, “My name is Mitchell Kelly, Captain of the USS Triumph. I want to
know why you attacked the colony on the planet below.” He said this with more than a little of his frustration
weeding its way into his words.
The stranger looked him in the eye and said nothing, glaring at him unblinkingly, emotionless. Kelly waited a moment,
allowing time both for the captive to make his intentions clear and, partly, to compose himself.
“Did the colonists provoke you in any way?”, asked Kelly, desperately trying to get a feel for what actually went on
down there. Again, the prisoner made no reply nor any movement. Frustrated, Kelly left the room, ordering the
security personnel to alert him of any change.
He needed answers and he needed them soon. Captain Davidson was already screaming for retribution for the two
Officers he lost in the firefight below and Starfleet was right behind him, demanding that the situation be handled
now, bringing the two attackers to justice. Kelly knew these two were responsible for the attack. Testing of their
weapons had revealed that. He still had no idea what had instigated the assault. It nagged at the back of his mind
and he couldn't ignore it, like a slow drip, constantly perceptible in the background and never able to be completely
shaken from one's thoughts.
With these concerns, he headed straight for Sickbay, where the second of the two attackers was being treated for
injuries he had received in the confrontation below. Kelly strode into the room, nearly running over one of the
medical attendants as he entered.
In one of the beds near the end of the room lay a man similar in appearance to their 'guest' in the brig. This man
was slightly smaller in his build and had distinctive titanium-like hair. He was kept in a nearly comatose state to
prevent any difficulties for the medical staff as they attempted to repair the major injuries he had sustained.
“A remarkable species, aren't they?”, asked the Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Daine, who had noticed the
Capitan walk in. She made her way to the side of the bed their visitor was occupying. Kelly had already stopped
there, keenly interested in what lay before him.
Lt. Daine brushed aside a strand of graying hair, motioning to her only patient. “We haven't found out much about
their physical makeup yet but we do know they have amazing physical strength and stamina. I was also wondering
about their skin and eyes, so I ran a few extra tests. It looks like they have the ability to make themselves all but
invisible in low-level light, and their eyes can make out almost anything in the dark.”
Kelly stood motionless, contemplating the entirety of the situation. 'A formidable predator', he thought to himself.
He remained in sickbay for a few minutes before heading back to the bridge. As he arrived, Commander Browne
approached, “Didn't get much out of him, huh?”, he said, knowing from Kelly's face that it hadn't gone as he had intended.
“No, I didn't. I was hoping to get some idea of what's going on here and instead I end up with squat”, Kelly replied smartly. He turned to his First Officer.
“When was Starfleet's last communication with us?”, he asked.
Knowing what the Captain was thinking, Browne replied in his deep, controlled, tone, “About nine hours ago. We're really pushing our luck out here; as far as Starfleet is concerned our investigation is over. They just want us to hand the prisoners over to them.”
Kelly turned to his tactical Officer, Lt. Miller, “Contact Starfleet and inform them that we are still in the process of interrogating the prisoners. Inform them that we'll be in contact when we've had a chance to finish up.” It was a lame excuse and he knew that Starfleet would just order them back to Starbase 429 but it was still worth a try.
“Yes Sir”, came the instant reply.
Kelly returned to his command chair and waited for Starfleet's response. In minutes, Lt. Miller piped up. “Sir, I've been trying to reach Starfleet Command...”, he started in an uncertain tone.
“And?”, replied Kelly.
“Well, Sir. I can't seem to reach them on any channel. Our communications don't seem to be blocked by anything and the spatial dust in the sector shouldn't cause that level of interference. It's almost like our signal simply disappears as it leaves the ship”, answered Miller, confused by the readings on his console.
Kelly looked back at his science Officer. “Iverson, do you detect anything that could be causing any sort of interference?”, he asked.
“No Sir. Sensors aren't picking up anything beyond the passive distortions caused by the spatial dust”, she replied, her fingers flying over her controls, checking every possible scenario.
While Kelly tried to piece together the events taking place around him, a little voice in the recess of his mind told him that something dreadful was on the horizon. This sense of dread was heightened when a message from security came through, “Brig to Captain Kelly. Sir, the prisoner is getting a little fidgety. I can't figure out what's wrong with him but it's getting worse. You might want to come down here, Sir.”
“On my way”, announced Kelly. As he made his way to the brig, he could no longer shake the feeling that things were falling apart all around him and that very soon, the last piece of the puzzle would drop into place.
Kelly arrived in the brig and made his way directly to the cell containing their captive. The confined man was now standing, both impressive and fearsome. He had his hands clasped in front of him, head bowed, and was performing what Kelly could only guess was some sort of ritual war-cry. As Kelly neared the humming forcefield, the shaved, black, head rose in his direction. Those deep, glowing eyes connected with Kelly's and caused a chill to flow throughout his body.
His prisoner's lips parted, displaying brilliant white teeth. “Your time has come. This day, you die”, came a booming voice, gloomily imparting it's message of doom. Kelly took a step towards him, about to demand an explanation when the entire ship lunged and shuddered below him. The lights dimmed for a moment. Immediately, the red-alert claxons wailed and all personnel were ordered to their posts. Leaving behind the chanting prisoner, and the two shocked brig guards, Kelly ran to the nearest turbolift and barked his order to take him to the bridge.
He was barely from the turbolift when he demanded, “What's our status?”
“The USS Congo has been fired on, Sir. She's taken massive damage. Our shields are up and we're charging weapons, Sir”, came Lt. Miller's reply.
“Contact the Congo and find out if they're able to get out of here. If not, we'll get a tractor beam on them and tow them out”, ordered Kelly, sitting himself in his seat. If perching precariously on the edge counted as sitting.
Miller's hands moved with expert precision and within seconds the message was transmitted. No sooner had this message of salvation been sent when all on the bridge saw hope fall away and die in space. A huge burst of energy flew through the stars and slammed into the defenseless Congo with horrific force.
They watched as the vessel exploded in a shower of sparks and debris. A disintegrating nacelle hurtled across in front of the viewscreen, leaving behind a small burning stream of plasma slowly trailing behind. As the wreckage scattered throughout the system the crew of the Triumph fought to regain their composure.
“Lt. Miller, where did that blast come from?”, shouted Kelly.
“On screen, Captain!”, replied Miller, still in shock from what he had just witnessed, and completely unprepared for the image now before them all.
Impulsively and without any intent Kelly rose from his chair and took a step forward, fixed on the picture before him. There on the screen was a massive vessel that Kelly could describe only as a Scorpion; fierce and menacing. The ship was a deep crimson color, pitted and scorched by the scars of untold battles and nearly doubling the size of the Triumph.
The main body of the vessel was vertically lean; the torso itself wide and tapering to a point as it swept backwards. Protrusions poked from the side, designed to look as though bare ribs protruded from its frame. On either side of the form was a long protruding fin that curved away from the hull and arched forward, coming to a sharp edge and bristling with particle emitters. However, most glaringly to Kelly's crew, nestled a haunting feature of the already terrible vessel. At the center of the bow was a long indented 'mouth', not unlike the maw of a shark, glowing a deep poppy-red and appearing as though it barely controlled it's desire to spit deadly venom at it's prey.
As the crew watched this awesome vessel glide towards them, its forward weapons array began to ominously glow.
Kelly reacted first, “Evasive maneuvers! Bring us around!”, he shouted.
Instantly the USS Triumph darted to port and thrust herself forward toward their attacker, guided by the expert touch of her pilot, Ensign Mayfair. The vessel on screen grew larger as the distance closed until, in a single burst of light, it released its horrible barrage of energy. The Triumph shuddered and rocked from the blast but recovered quickly from the assault. This was no small science vessel, thought Kelly. This ship was designed for conflict. The bulldog had teeth.
“All weapons are charged, Captain!”, announced Miller, who made little attempt to hide a burning desire to retaliate to the attack. Captain Kelly obliged him happily; “Bring the ship about to heading 172 and fire all phasers”, he demanded, rapidly making his way back to the command chair to once again slightly perch forward, one hand steadying him; his eyes fixed on the viewscreen.
In moments the Triumph wheeled to starboard, curving around and behind her deadly assailant. As she did, streams of energy flew from her like the glare of of a scorned woman; piercing into the enemy's shields, causing them to flicker ever so slightly as the energy dissipated over their facings. But their enemy was no novice in the ways of war nor a lightweight in the arena of deep space. As Triumph spat her reprisal, her ambushing assailant had twisted like a corkscrew so fast that most of the shots were scattered along a large portion of her shield array, thereby minimizing the damage done to any given portion of its interior.
In the same maneuver the vessel had barrel-rolled back towards Triumph, who was now exposing her bare dorsal to her rivals' deadly weapons. This time, it was not the particle emitters releasing their sting but the glowing launcher at the heart of the beast. As the scorpion-like vessel closed on Triumph, it released two blasts of pink-white energy, which pounded into Triumph's shields like rocks hurtled at a plate window.
The shots hit Triumph almost perfectly; the sheer force twisting her around in space, tipped on her axis. Lights dimmed all along Triumph and her engines faltered as the impact wreaked havoc among the ships systems. The scorpion-vessel passed overhead like a predator playing with its prey.
“Target their engines and fire all port phasers!”, shouted Kelly, who had been thrown from his chair as the energy bolts had struck home. He shouted his orders; ignoring the sparks and smoke filling the bridge. Consoles had exploded, officers and crewmen had been strewn across the bridge and he could feel his ship groan beneath him. But she was far from finished, he thought to himself. This bulldog wasn't going to go down with taking a bite from her prey.
He glowered at the viewscreen and smiled a little to himself when he saw three sharp streams of energy pierce into the belly of his nemesis as it passed, noticing its engines flicker ever so slightly from the sting. His people were still fighting. Battered, beaten and still putting up a struggle.
Kelly reseated himself at the edge of his chair, regaining that position that made him perpetually appear as if he were incapable of bearing to sit in it a moment longer. “Time to earn your pips, Mayfair! Bring us up behind them and close the distance as much as you can! I want to rub paint with them!”, he howled.
Mayfair was now leaning over his console; one arm steadying himself as he punched in commands with the other hand, his chair in pieces after being tossed across the room like a doll. “Aye Sir!”, replied the helmsman, trying to ignore blood running down his forehead from an unseen gash.
Kelly twisted in his chair and was about to give a new order, one his ever-eager weapons officer had already anticipated. “Torpedoes loaded and ready to fire, Sir!”, announced Miller, who was glaring hatefully at the scorpion-vessel on the screen.
“Five hundred meters, Sir”; said Mayfair.
Kelly turned back to the screen; daring his opponent to retort to his stinging encounter. “On my command, I want you to divert all shield power to the forward array and fire all phasers at their engines. As soon as you punch a hole in their shields, Miller, I want you to launch two torpedoes and finish the job. Mayfair, it'll be your job to roll the ship around their vessel as we pass by the moment we launch those torpedoes. Try and minimize our exposure to the blast; use their own bulk to act as a shield.”
“Aye Sir”, was the simultaneous reply.
Kelly sat back and punched the comm. “All hands. Brace for impact”, he said as calmly as he could. Closing the channel, he glanced again at the image on screen. His eyes steeled and a more serious voice demanded, “Fire”.
In an instant, several phaser blasts picked apart their opponents' shields. The slender vessel pathetically fired a few shots from it's massively inferior rear weapons; like a scorpion with it's stinger chewed off.
Triumph continued to fire. The alien shields shimmered and struggled to stay alive but they were no match for the unceasing assault. The shields failed in a burst of light that lasted only a few milliseconds and dark patches could be seen appearing on the ships hull as shield emitters overloaded and burned themselves out.
Immediately Triumph dropped to a snail's pace and all aboard struggled to fight the momentum they had gained, despite the inertial dampers. Kelly winced as two fire-red photon torpedoes screamed from the ship and pounded the enemy vessel. Crippling damage could be seen instantly and Kelly knew he had hit paydirt even as his own ship wheeled around the enemy vessel in an attempt to avoid the recoil of their crushing assault.
Just as the impact registered in Kelly's mind, Triumph bucked beneath him, again throwing him onto the deck. All lighting went dead and fresh sparks showered all around him like fireworks at midnight. There was a scream somewhere and Kelly vaguely acknowledged that a fire had started in one corner of the bridge, a crewman desperately trying to put it out.
“Damage report!”, coughed Kelly as he fought for breath amongst the smoke-filled bridge. His ribs hurt and he was sure his shoulder was dislocated.
Iverson answered in a strong voice, seemingly unaware that she was bleeding from a deep cut in her arm left by the exploded console beside her. “Shields are gone! Damage on decks five, seven, eight and fifteen. Warp engines are off-line and photon torpedoes are down, Sir!”
Almost reading Kelly's mind, she added, “The enemy vessel appears to be adrift. Their engines are a mess. Power systems are fluctuating but it looks like they still have weapons, sir.”
“So, she's a sitting duck”, muttered Miller.
“Yeah, a duck with a big gun”, added Mayfair without missing a beat.
Kelly turned his attention back to the viewscreen as it drew a picture of them pulling slowly away from the sleek vessel. For a moment, he contemplated the idea of returning to finish the job and then his senses returned to him.
“Ensign, plot a course back to the far side of the planet. We need a chance to lick our wounds.”
For the time being, it looked like Triumph would have to withdraw, thought Kelly. Endgame would have to wait for another time.