EP 3 ACT 1
"Captain, can you hear me?"
Lieutenant O'Hara was crouching over Captain Christian as his eyes fluttered in response.
"Is he okay?" Jackson asked, stooping behind.
Christian became fully conscious as O'Hara's medical sensor passed over his head. She checked her tricorder saying "Physically he's fine, perhaps a little elevated neural activity - I'd say it was a mild shock of some kind-"
"I'm fine, Nurse," Christian smacked his lips as he spoke - the taste of vomit rasped his throat. "I just passed out in the smoke. The others?"
"We just got here," Jackson said, helping O'Hara to hoist the Captain to his feet. "Lirik left you over thirty minutes ago, when we heard nothing, we assumed something had happened."
Christian felt dizzy. The memory was a powerful flashback, he'd never reacted this way before, despite numerous nightmares and panic attacks over the years. It was as if he had been impelled to totally re-live the situation.
There wasn't time for further analysis. The smoke, he noticed, had all but dissipated, leaving the mildest of grey-white fogs.
Crossing the threshold into the small engineering control room, Jackson gasped as she saw the unidentifiable body in their immediate path, limbs akimbo and rigid - burned black and stiff, no distinguishable features. The wall to the right was a twisted, gaping maw of smouldering black.
"Hello!" O'Hara shouted, causing Christian to jump. "Is anyone in here?"
Spotting something in the distant, dim glow, Christian pointed "Over there."
On the other side of the room, huddled against the bulkhead door that presumably led to the small warp core anti-room, Cally Warnerburg was slumped over the equally unconscious Leonard, his head cradled in her lap. Her leg was bleeding and she held a small oxygen mask in her bloody hand - it was empty.
O'Hara studied the emergency item. "Oxygen," she said immediately. Jackson complied, reaching for two more emergency respirators in a strut recess. Christian located the ventilation control panel and manually tripped the extractors. In seconds the remaining smoke had disappeared.
Looking around at the controls, there was nothing but blank surfaces. 'What had happened here?' he wondered.
"Can you wake him?" Christian asked, crouching next to the red head strapping fresh masks to Warnerburg and Leonard.
She just turned and looked at the Captain in contempt, but seeing his firm gaze looking back at her, she ran her sensor over her two patients, checking the tricorder.
"He's inhaled smoke and has a mild concussion, you can't talk to him. But she's relatively okay. I'd rather not wake her, though - I don't have any pain killers to spare, not for this level of wound," O'Hara nodded at the oozing gash in her leg. It was against Starfleet protocol to defer treatment, but out here in this situation, she'd decided to call upon her Marine training.
In the warm dim room, Jackson wondered what the Captain's call would be, then pre-empted him. "I don't think we have a choice, Lieutenant." She felt the need to be in control of the situation more than Christian might assume to be. Even if she couldn't command a starship, she thought, she could still fall back on her 30+ years of service. She outranked him, and hoped he could still work as a commanding officer with a superior officer breathing down his neck the whole time.
O'Hara opened the small medkit bag, noticeably sparse, Jackson noticed, and gave the unconscious woman a half shot. The effect took a few seconds, but the pain in the woman's face was then instant.
As Christian carefully took the woman's wrist comfortingly in his left hand, he guided her chin up to face him with his right. "What happened here?"
Her expression was a little vague, and O'Hara wondered if she'd missed something in her analysis. "Shortly after you made a course correction, we began to read exhaust fluctuations in the driver coil assembly of one of the port impulse engines. With no clear sensor readings we guessed it was being caused by one of the flow regulators. So we marginally increased flow to smooth the fluctuation. The engine's exhaust director must have sheered hard to starboard and locked out."
"That would explain what caused the ship to lurch so violently," O'Hara commented.
"Exactly," Cally brought her hand up to her bruised head, "We shut the engines down, but the emergency systems had failed - deuterium was still pouring into the failed engine's chambers. Mister Leonard dispatched the Romulan to shut the valves off manaully, we tried to control EPS feedback. It seemed there was no shielding. Only, while we were dealing with that, we failed to notice an EPS build up behind our own wall." Cally looked over at the burnt crewmate and winced.
"Go on," Chistian prompted.
"Sir, much of the engineering systems aboard that are not bolted down have been stripped out. There are sparse EPS monitoring sensors and no emergency warning devices of any kind. Much of the safety buffers we take for granted are no longer in place on this damned vessel. So the main power relays behind the wall went way beyond normal capacity and exploded. Well, the energy arced causing the explosion, hitting Jaz at point blank range before shorting." She looked down at Leonard's angelic face. "The Lieutenant Commander was thrown against the wall. I was lacerated. He managed to put most of the fires out manually before he passed out."
"Okay, that's enough for now," O'Hara moved forward, physically cutting Christian off from her patient.
The Captain, complying with her desisting move, rose and stood next to Jackson, arms folded. The Commodore it seemed had drifted into another world, staring at the body of the civilian who had volunteered to help, but seemingly looking beyond him. She appeared bewildered and sickened at one and the same time, Christian thought.
He caught Jackson's eye and half smiled. "Poor guy."
Jackson frowned, biting her lip and looked at the young man standing before her. Raising her hand to her mouth, she ran quickly out of engineering.
O'Hara noticed the scene and rose to her feet, guessing what had caused Jackson to lose it for a moment. She stopped Christian from following her with a firm grip on his shoulder. "The Commodore's son is a Starfleet security officer. He was stationed in one of the main docking areas when the attack occurred."
Christian turned to look at the Nurse, surprised to see her eyes welling up with tears. She must have known Jackson's son as well, he assumed. Christian was about to comfort her, but the Lieutenant stiffened, sniffing loudly and cocking her head with a force smile. Half laughing in tragic humour, she said: "Happy Holidays, huh?"
* * *
MAIN SHUTTLE BAY 1100 HOURS
The runabout Hudson sat quietly unassuming in the large standby area of the shuttle bay. Its clean, off-white hull broken only by functional spaces for outboard equipment and thick, smoky glass viewports that reflected the overhead emergency lights - an amber/white in this part of the ship.
Yeoman Lirik walked around the vessel's perimeter for a third time. He was no engineer by a long chalk, but that didn't concern him. He was only intent upon looking to see if something was wrong, if something was different to how it had been before.
Crouching low, and waddling on his haunches, he checked the nacelles and part of the vessel's underside, occasionally running his hand along the cold, smooth surfaces to check for the slightest indication of damage or tampering.
The silence of his inspection was shattered by Rebbik's arrival. He gave the Yeoman a look of distain and climbed onto the starboard nacelle to observe the older man.
"I don't get it," Rebbik said, his voice rippling with antagonism, "why would the Captain and the Commodore put a Yeoman in charge of such an important operation? I mean, just what kind of Starfleet crewman are you?"
Lirik fixed eyes on the renegade - was he chewing gum? - and opened the runabout's door. "The kind that doesn't suffer fools gladly," Lirik said, climbing aboard, "so don't give me any crap, okay?"
Disappearing inside, Rebbik was left, brows raised, to chortle to himself in defiance. Jumping off the nacelle he slouched and followed the Yeoman inside.
* * *
Beneath the still crimson lights on the bridge Christian watched O'Hara approach.
"I have the medical report, Captain," O'Hara spoke almost with respect in her voice, he noted. "We have eight people still in pretty bad shape, I'm not sure what I can do for them. We've got hundreds of minor injuries, most are uncomfortable rather than life-threatening, but the other patients are doing fine under the circumstances, including Ms Warnerburg and the Romulan." She said the latter with just a hint of compassion. Hyppocratic Oath or no, as a marine she and her colleagues had been conditioned to hate the enemy, and that included Romulans. The young man had been found with minor burns in one of the crawlways leading back from the engine assembly, having successfully saved the ship from a potentially lethal explosion, but somehow that didn't matter to her. In O'Hara's opinion, he'd acted to save his own neck.
The Lieutenant continued. "Mister Leonard is back on duty against my recommendation, Captain."
"Noted," Christian muttered - he'd already had this argument with the woman twice and he wasn't going to stand for another one, his position had been made quite clear.
"Vostaline's people were correct," O'Hara looked around at the people on the bridge, "the sick bay has been totally stripped to its bare bones, but there's something else."
"Oh?" Christian almost detected enthusiasm - or was it curiosity in her voice?
"The sick bay is too small for a ship of this size - it was designed for just the crew, I imagine. According to Leonard's guide to the ship, there would be another, larger medical facility in the main passenger section. It may be prudent to make it a priority to find out."
Christian nodded, "It might take a while. The bulkheads between the command section and the passenger section are in excess of fifty centimetres thick on both sides, and with no hope of drydock we can't risk damaging them. Anything else?"
O'Hara seemed more annoyed than dejected - clearly her personality was more than a little highly strung, Christian thought. "I've managed to retrieve some emergency medical items from the diplomatic runabout enabling me to treat a lot more injuries, but without drugs it's going to be touch and go for some patients. I'm starting an intelligence network, trying to see if any of the people we have on board have healing techniques unknown to Starfleet."
"Very good, sounds to me like you have things well in hand," Christian said, hearing the almost patronising tone of his own voice and kicking himself for not controlling it more.
O'Hara moved a little closer to the Captain, lowering her voice slightly. "I'd also like to arrange immediate examinations of the rest of the crew. It will take a while, but aside from minor injuries, most people are in shock - some may not even know it. We've got a lot of people here who lost their families, their partners and their children. I can't begin to imagine the levels of psychiatric-"
"Yes, Lieutenant," Christian cut her off, "I understand, but right now we've got more pressing concerns. As soon as we've restored power and are underway I'll consider it."
O'Hara stepped even closer to challenge him again, raising her voice a little. "I don't think you do understand, Captain, we're talking about possibly mass hysteria here-"
"Lieutenant!" Christian spoke firmly, but without anger. The others on the bridge stopped what they were doing and turned to face the confrontation. "You mustn't keep challenging me at every step. No one is denying that our situation is dire, least of all me. It's imperative we all pull together, work as a Starfleet crew is meant to - no matter how hard the decision. Right now, our priority is to get this ship underway."
O'Hara furrowed her brow to try one last time: "But you must -"
The Captain thrust his chin forward in exaggerated emphasis. "No, Lieutenant. I've given you my answer. You have your duties, I suggest you get on with them."
Souveson stepped cautiously forward, handing Christian a fist-sized box with a wire attached to the communications station. Christian stared at it, then placed it on the armrest of the centre seat. He noted that O'Hara hadn't moved, was just standing staring at him, mouth tightly closed.
As Christian turned to face her she finally backed down, though her heart was pounding. She felt she would never make this young Captain understand her needs, and his brash disregard for her medical opinion was beginning to wear thin. As she stiffly made her way off the bridge she vowed that, if he embarrassed her in public like that again, she would handle the situation somewhat differently.
The young security ensign broke the atmosphere. "I've tested the links. The bridge is wired up to engineering and the external transmitter." Under Lirik's instruction, Souveson had knitted together the connections with Ambassador Narli, running a micro-filament wire from the bridge all the way down to engineering. The desk on the bridge patched the three locations together, although they would not be able to communicate with the runabout until it was clear of the ship.
Jackson emerged from the forward port side corridor with an empty expression. She almost tripped up the steps approaching Christian.
"Are you all right, Commodore?" Christian asked, guiding Jackson into the seat next to his.
"I have a bad eye condition that normally is treated with Retinox 6. I forgot to take my dose yesterday and the effects are beginning to wear off," she rubbed her eyes again. "Without a supply of the drug, I'm going to need glasses to see clearly in the next couple of days."
Christian shook his head again, glanced toward the Jeffreys tube. "You're not the only one to be cut off from regular medication," the Captain said. "It's already taking its toll. How are the people faring below?"
Jackson smoothed her tunic and pants, she'd become quite dishevelled over the last 24 hours. And a bit smelly. "A lot of people are in shock," (Christian swallowed at this), "including me. You know I have a son. Twenty seven years old, a Security Lieutenant. He was sent to the docking area before the attack and I have no idea what's become of him."
"I'm sorry," Christian offered.
Jackson waved the problem back, fighting back emotion. "It's okay, I've been here before. And besides, those people are relying on us. Truly, they are."
Christian glanced at the helpers on the bridge, trying to resucitate their consoles by switching to battery power.
Jackson continued. "I've never seen such misery. You know, we've got over thirty children, all of whom have been separated from their families. They're probably orphans." She tutted. "Orphaned on Christmas Day." The Commodore flopped into the high backed seat and looked up at the stars above, trying to maintain composure. "I was talking to one of the injured - she's only just regained consciousness. So upset. Grace, I think her name is. She arrived on Helub only last week with her husband and newborn baby. She left them at the hotel - just popped out shopping for an hour or two when the attack happened." Jackson took Christian's hand and squeezed it hard. "I was looking at where the hotel had been. It was gone. She's here with us alone."
All Christian could do was swallow.
Jackson shook his hand so that he turned to look at her. She seemed almost maternal to him. Not a Commodore, a higher ranking Starfleet officer, but a woman, not much younger than his own mother had been. Tears welled in her eyes, though it could easily have been the Retinox 6 withdrawal, he thought.
Tears rolled quickly down the sides of her face. "What are we supposed to do, Christian? What hope do those people have?"
Christian felt a little embarrassed. Jackson was clearly not the type of military-hardened Starfleet officer he usually came across. He even wondered if the shock of the whole situation had affected her - then reminded himself of how he had reacted to the death of his own mother.
"Like I said before. We have each other," Christian felt he was fumbling for the right words, but it was coming out a little melodramatic, "so far that's been a pretty good combination. And we have our Starfleet training to rely upon. Commodore, I may be new to captaincy, but with your guidance I know I can keep us all alive."
At that moment, a number of civilians poured onto the bridge - adults and children alike. They approached Christian and Jackson - who immediately composed herself. A well dressed, handsome man stepped forward with a beautiful, sophisticated woman on his arm.
"Commodore, we want to help. We might not be Starfleet trained, but we can't just sit around while you few do all the work," the man said. "We know we can be of use."
Jackson looked at Christian, who rose and spoke to them. "Thank you all. We especially need technicians in engineering."
"We also need look-outs, as well as people to run messages," Jackson said, addressing the group of children and teenagers. "Anyone not going to engineering, come with me." Jackson led one party into the observation lounge and another group followed one of the Hurla down the Jeffreys tube.
***
ACT 2