Author’s Note: This story takes place a few months after
‘Operation: Return,’ the re-capture of space station Deep Space Nine.
Captain’s log, stardate
51575.1:
Due to some of the... abnormalities… in
the Dauntless’ missions this far, we have docked at station
Deep Space Nine for lay-up and
refueling a year ahead of original schedule.
While here, some new additions to our crew are reporting aboard,
including the first two personnel from our newly assigned Starfleet Marine
Special Contingent. Other members of my
crew plan to use the opportunity to relax, catch up on projects, or take some
well deserved leave. I myself am staying
aboard DS9 to help out in Ops.
Our lay-up will last a little over a
month.
Cap... (ahem)
Fleet
Space, the
Final Frontier...
These are
the voyages of the starship Dauntless.
Its
ongoing mission:
To Seek, To Chart, To Explore.
Slipping
the surly bonds of Earth,
Going
where none have been before!
“May Old Acquaintance Be Forgot” By PJK
With additional story material by
The
doors to the living quarters parted and for the final time newly promoted Fleet
He
half-placed, half-dropped the box next to the other half-dozen he had brought
from his quarters aboard the Dauntless,
almost tripping over his five-year-old daughter Gem as he did. She giggled an apology, then
resumed chasing the Cardassian vole back toward the
bedroom.
“Personal
reminder,” Koester said to himself, slumping onto the couch in the center of
the room. “Have Chief O’Brien send some
of his crew by to get rid of the voles.”
He listened for a moment as his daughter squealed with delight, then saw
the terrified vole dart back across the room.
The
door chime sounded. Without looking
back, Koester said, “Come.” The doors
parted to admit the Dauntless’ petite
assistant chief science officer. She
looked at the boxes piled haphazardly near the corner, then turned to the fleet
captain.
“I was going to offer my help, Pooh,”
Commander Q said. “But I see you got all your stuff here
already.”
Koester nodded, almost too tired to speak, then said, “So are you all packed and ready?”
“Yup,” Q
answered. “I leave for Vulcan in an
hour. Then head off to give that guest
lecture at the Academy next week. Anyone
you’d like me to say hi to?”
“No... Actually, yes,” Koester interrupted himself. “Tell Boothby I said hello.”
Q smiled, then commented, “You know, I swear he’s been at the Academy
since before I first went! But I’ll tell him. And keep out of trouble while I’m gone, Pooh.”
“What trouble could I get into without you here, Poe?”
Koester said, taking a deep breath of the recirculated
air and frowning as he did. The
questioning look on Q’s face
prompted Koester to explain his own sour expression.
“You can tell it hasn’t been long since Starfleet
re-captured this station. I wonder if
there’s a way to get rid of the Cardassian stench?”
“Hey, hey!” Q scolded. “I’ll remind you
I was once married to a Cardassian. They don’t smell that bad… normally.”
Koester blushed slightly before saying, “Yeah, but that
was how long ago?”
Q sighed. “A while, I’ll admit. I gotta go,
Pooh. Have fun.”
She leaned over and gave Koester a quick kiss, then
walked to the bedroom door, giving Gem a hug and kiss good-bye as well, waved
once more at Koester, and disappeared as the doors slid shut behind her.
* * * *
The turbolift slowed as it rose
out of the deck in ops. It had been
about six months since Koester had last been here, and then it was just a
courtesy call on the station’s commander, Captain Ben Sisko. Koester looked around the room.
“Fleet Captain on deck!” announced Chief of Operations
Miles O’Brien when he noticed Koester standing in the lift. Immediately everyone in ops snapped to
attention.
“As you were,” Koester said,
mild annoyance in his voice. “I thank
you all for the honor, but I’ll be working here with you for the next few
weeks, and I think it will be inconvenient for us all if you have to snap to
attention every time I enter a room.”
Everyone in ops nodded their agreement. As Koester stepped out of the lift and headed
toward the doors of Captain Sisko’s office, Commander
Jadzia Dax, the station’s
Chief Science Officer, spoke.
“Congratulations, Fleet Captain. The new pip looks good on you.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Koester replied
with a smile, unconsciously rubbing his fingers along the row of five gold pips
on his collar. “And a fine job
you did with the Defiant,
‘Captain’. And by the way, Kethry asked me to pass on a message. She wants to know if you’re available to get
together for dinner tonight?”
Dax smiled back, saying, “That
sounds wonderful. It’s been so long
since I’ve seen her. I’ll look her up
after my shift.” Meanwhile the office
doors parted to admit the Fleet Captain.
As Koester entered, Sisko looked up from his
computer screen, smiled, stood, and offered his hand.
“Welcome back to DS9,”
the captain said, firmly shaking Koester’s hand. “I’ve been reviewing the upgrades we’ll be
installing aboard the Dauntless. Improved sensors. New plasma conduits in the
engines. Upgraded shields with
variable harmonics. And the latest
experimental weapon out of Utopia Planitia.”
Koester looked puzzled.
“I wasn’t aware of any planned weapons upgrades,” he
said.
Sisko offered the Fleet Captain
a seat, then explained, “Apparently Starfleet Command felt that since the Dauntless is in lay-up anyway, that she
was the prime candidate for the new temporal phaser
array, rather than take another ship out of service. With our war against the Dominion still going
strong, our fleet is spread a little thin.”
“I see,” said Koester.
“What in the galaxy is a ‘temporal phaser’?”
Sisko called up an information
file on his computer screen, then rotated it to face
the Fleet Captain as he explained, “You know, of course, that a phaser works by disrupting molecular and atomic
bonds.” Koester nodded as he continued
to scan the text and schematics on the screen.
“This new weapon is supposed to create a temporal distortion within the
phased energy beam, literally aging whatever object it strikes. The technology is based on a phenomenon the Enterprise-D encountered a few years
back. The energy requirements are 10%
higher than a standard type 10 phaser, but the lab
tests at Utopia Planitia show a 25 to 35% increase in
effective damage. Originally conceived
as part of the Defiant-class Development Project, as an anti-Borg weapon. Damage they can’t simply just regenerate. We sure could have used it here in the last
few months.”
Koester nodded as he shut off the computer screen.
“So...,” he said finally.
“Where do you need me around here?”
“Really, Fleet Captain, if you’d prefer to just take some
time to relax...”
“I’m not here to relax.
If I wanted to relax, I’d go to Risa. I chose to stay and give you a hand here.”
“Very well,” said Sisko. “We could use a Deck Officer on the midwatch.”
“Well then,” said Koester with a smile. “I’m your man.”
* * * *
Sector 322B - Planet Alpha Karnarsay
- Stardate 51579.6
The brush carefully dusted away the layer of dirt that
covered the intricate carvings. As more
of the stone monument was uncovered, the etchings engraved on it, at first
seemingly random, made more and more sense.
Returning the brush to its carrying case, Dr Joanne Simon
picked up the holocamera, recording the fortieth
image so far in the series of the excavation of this particular monument. The once barren land that stretched for acres
around her and her team had retaken the form of a long-forgotten town,
abandoned and buried thousands of years before humans even flew in primitive
machines. In most cases the foundations
of the buildings were all that remained.
But occasionally a rare find, such as this monolith, would open a window
onto the lives of the ancient Karnarsians.
Simon put down the camera and took a quick drink from the
canteen sitting nearby. Wiping the sweat
from her brow, she replaced the canteen with the brush once again and returned
to her excavation.
The Simon Archeological Party had spent the last two years
excavating the ruins of Alpha Karnarsay, with only
the rare occasional trip back to the ‘civilized’ galaxy for supplies from time
to time. With the exception of the
modern equipment aboard their survey ship, the SS Henry Jones, which acted as lab, warehouse, and living quarters
all in one, the archeological team lived very primitively. More primitive than even the civilization
they studied.
A dozen meters away, Carrie Roch
removed an artifact from the ground.
Vary carefully removing what dust and dirt she could from the object
with her soft brush, she studied what may have been a religious idol or rare
work of art. But utilizing what had
already been learned about the Karnarsian
civilization, Carrie recognized it as a child’s toy, a doll akin to the Terran Barbie so popular four-hundred years earlier.
The other two members of their team, just coming out into
the afternoon sun after a brief lunch under the canopy, shared something more
in common with Simon and Roch besides their passion
for archeology. All four had first met
as members of the same graduating class of
Jason Goode of Betazed grabbed
his digging implements and started toward another area of the site just before
his ears detected the low-pitched hum.
At his side, Merryl Weathers felt the deep
thrum course through her body before she actually heard it. They turned their eyes skyward, as did
Carrie. Only Joanne seemed oblivious to
the new noise in the environment.
The first indication Joanne had of anything amiss was the
dirt vibrating around and off the stone of the monolith she excavated. She looked up in confusion to see her team
mates gazing toward the sun. Looking up herself, the sun was suddenly blotted out of the sky by a
huge shadow.
“Oh my God!” she whispered. Then louder, to be heard
over the rising noise, “Jason!
Get on the subspace channels!
Call for help!”
Jason Goode ran back into the Henry Jones, intent on contacting somebody, anybody! But before he was even through the survey ship’s
open airlock, the hum of transporters could be heard.
* * * *
Deep Space Nine - Bajor Sector - Stardate 51580.2
It was quiet as watches went in ops. Fleet Captain Koester stood at the operations
monitor at the center of the room, discussing the docking schedule and power
consumption curves with an assistant. At
the engineering station Chief Pono Kyman took a turn at watch for old times
sake at the post he stood when he had been assigned to the station two years
earlier while simultaneously holding a conversation with his old friend Miles
O’Brien. Likewise, the station
commander’s office had been commandeered by the station’s Bajoran
First Officer, Major Kira Nerys,
so she could take a few hours to catch up with her old friend and fellow former
resistance cell member, the Dauntless’
XO, Commander Virgil Kane.
“Ca... I mean,
Fleet Captain,” said a young male Lieutenant sitting at Dax’s
science console. “There’s a general
alert coming in from Starfleet.”
Koester looked up from the monitor board, first toward
the lieutenant, then toward the main viewscreen frame
hanging at the front of ops.
“On screen,” he ordered calmly.
The screen quickly filled in with the image of a
Starfleet officer with Lt Commander pips on his
collar. Almost like a news anchorman of
three or four centuries ago, the officer read emotionlessly from a padd he held in front of him.
“At 1600 Earth standard time today, Relay Post 96 received a distress call from the Simon Archeological
Expedition on Alpha Karnarsay.”
Koester’s face took on a startled expression, but he
remained silent as the message continued.
“Two hours later Relay
Post 96 received another message, this time from a group called ‘The Blue
Hand’, a terrorist splinter group of the Orion Confederation. They claimed to have taken the, quote,
desecrators of our ancestral homelands into custody, end quote, and have
demanded monetary compensation amounting to 10 million credits or the
equivalent in gold-pressed latinum bars in payment and
the removal of all Federation interests out of sector 322B. Federation negotiators are already at work in
an effort to free the hostages. Any
Federation ship or station obtaining any further information on this matter,
please contact Starfleet Command.
Transmission ends.”
The screen blinked to the blue and silver Federation
emblem, then snapped back to its usual transparency. Koester continued to stare at the now empty
space.
“The Blue Hand,” the lieutenant at sciences started
reporting, reading from his computer monitor, “is a radical terrorist
organization formed sometime between 2362 and 2365. They have repeatedly taken unarmed science
teams hostage on various rim worlds within the areas encompassed by sectors 320
through 325, claiming the planet the teams were working on is one of their
ancient homelands. They then threaten to
kill the hostages if their claim is not paid.
In six incidents on record, four resulted in the hostages simply being
released or rescued; one payoff, for the Bolian Science
Council on Sigma Theta IX; and...” The
lieutenant’s voice trailed off.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” Kyman
prompted.
“The most recent incident, six weeks ago, resulted in the
hostages being spaced when the Federation refused to negotiate any further,”
the lieutenant said quietly.
“Spaced?” asked one of the Bajoran
technicians from the consoles behind Kyman and
O’Brien.
“Thrown out an airlock, Nilo,”
O’Brien explained.
Koester’s face still remained placid and unreadable,
almost as if made of stone. Quietly he
said, “Computer, do we have any records on the Simon Archeological Team?”
“Full files and biographies are available,” responded the
computer’s voice.
“Display at the operation’s monitor.”
The image of the former Cardassian
mining station disappeared from the tabletop in front of Koester, replaced by
the scrolling bios of the science teams four members
and a brief outline of their intended project.
Koester stared at the screen for a minute, his face remaining
unreadable, until he finally tapped his combadge.
His voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Virg, come out to ops please. There’s something here you should see.”
A moment later, Commander Kane, along with Major Kira, exited the office and walked down the steps to where
Koester stood. “What’s up, Skipper?” he
asked.
“The Blue Hand faction of the Orions
has taken another science team hostage,” Koester explained to his First
Officer. “This time
the archeological team on Alpha Karnarsay.” He pointed at the information displayed on
the monitor. As Kane read through it his
face turned white.
“Are they...?” Kane started to ask before Koester’s
interrupted him with a nod.
“Yes,” Koester confirmed.
“Our Cadet Command Crew from the Academy. ...And the girl I almost married.”
* * * *
For the next three days, Koester kept a close eye on the
latest news involving Dr Simon and her team, to the point of having the computer
alert him if any transmissions with certain key words or phrases were received.
Finally, on the fourth day, after having spent the
previous thirty-eight hours awake, the Fleet Captain had fallen into a fitful
sleep on the couch in his quarters. The
door chime sounded four times before he woke up.
“Come,” he croaked groggily. The doors parted to admit Commander Kane and
Major Kira.
“Have you heard the latest?” Kane asked while Koester sat
up on the couch, straightened his uniform, and rubbed the sleep from his
eyes. The Fleet Captain could tell from
the looks on his two visitor’s faces that whatever the news, it probably was
not good.
“The Federation ceased negotiations with The Blue Hand
today and demanded the release of the science team,” Kane reported. “The Orions have
countered that if they don’t get paid by midnight tomorrow, Earth standard
time, then by 0100 the archeological team will be ‘cinders burning up in
re-entry of Alpha Karnarsay’s atmosphere.’”
Koester’s face darkened.
“What kind of base or ship do
The Blue Hand use?” he asked.
“At last report,” said Major Kira,
“The Blue Hand somehow obtained a 20-year-old Romulan Warbird
with the cloaking device removed. They
use that as their mobile base while they generally use a scout ship to capture
and hold their victims.”
“And The Blue Hand has remained in the Karnarsey system?”
“Yes,” answered Kane.
Koester’s outward demeanor changed slightly as he then
asked, “What’s the status of the Dauntless?”
Knowing Koester’s intentions, Kane shook his head as he
responded, “Deuterium and antimatter tanks have been drained. Four impulse fusion reactors have been
removed. All the shuttlecraft are in overhaul in Landing Pads B and C. Phasers are
off-line. All torpedo casings have been
removed...”
Koester put up his hand to stop Kane. “I get the picture, Exec. What’s the status of the Little Bighorn?”
Kane stared at his commanding officer while Kira’s eyes darted back and forth between the two Starfleet
officers.
“You can’t seriously be thinking...!?”
Kane said.
“What?” Kira demanded to know.
“We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” Koester said
with emphasis. “It’s more than the fact
they were associates, friends... people we worked closely with and cared about
a great deal. If the terrorists get away
with this, then how many more lives will be placed in danger?”
Kira finally realized what
Koester was saying. Her eyes widened in
shock and concern.
“You want to take an aerowing
shuttle up against a Warbird!?!” she said
incredulously. “Yes, your aerowing is modified, heavily armored, and its a 20-year-old Warbird, but
still, it’s suicide!”
Koester looked first into Kane’s eyes, then Kira’s. Slowly he
began to nod.
“You’re right,” he confirmed. “The Horn
would be no match for even a barely adequately trained Warbird
crew.”
Kane smiled slightly as his CO began to see sense in the
situation. The smile disappeared as
Koester added, “But there’s one ship nearby that I think is more than a match,
and I think I can pull a few strings to get it.”
* * * *
“You want to do what?”
asked Ben Sisko, the shock in his voice not the least
restrained.
“I want to borrow the Defiant,
Ben,” Koester said, anxiously pacing the length of Sisko’s
office. “With both the Defiant and the Horn, we can go in, rescue the hostages, and be back in no
time. We only have 30 hours left until
the deadline!”
“You must be crazy,” Sisko
commented. “Even with quantum torpedos, ablative hull armor, and strengthened shields,
the Defiant won’t survive a prolonged
battle with a Warbird.”
“That’s just it, Ben.
Any engagement would be of a short duration, just long enough to fly in,
beam out the hostages, and get away.
Finding three humans and a Betazoid among a
shipload of Orions can’t be hard.”
Sisko looked at Koester, his
face remaining firm.
“Ben, please,” Koester pleaded. “Don’t make me pull rank.”
Sisko’s eyes narrowed slightly as
he said, “I doubt Starfleet would appreciate you bullying this station’s CO
around for your own personal vendettas.”
“You’re right.
That’s why I’m asking you not to make me do it.”
The joke broke some of the tension in the air. Sisko relaxed a notch
and Koester stopped his pacing, sitting down in the chair across from Sisko.
“You still really care about Dr Simon, don’t you Peter?”
Koester nodded his head.
“She and I spent close to three years together. At one time I honestly thought we’d spend our
lives together. But separate career
paths split us apart and lead to us losing touch. I’d heard she’d resigned her commission about
seven years ago. I had considered
looking her up, seeing what might develop...
But when I heard she’d received her doctorate and entered the field of
archeology... Well, you can guess how
well that profession would mix with that of a career line officer.”
Sisko nodded.
“I hate to be blunt, Ben, but if you found out Jennifer
was out there, and you had the means to rescue her at your fingertips, wouldn’t
you pull every string possible to get her back?”
Sisko stiffened at the mention
of his late wife’s name. The captain huffed a sigh, looking directly at Koester’s deep blue
eyes. His expression softened
slightly. Then looking toward the
ceiling, he said, “Computer, as of this stardate,
command of the USS Defiant is
transferred to Fleet
A broad smile appeared on Koester’s face as the computer
acknowledged the order.
“Thank you, Ben. I
can never repay you enough,” Koester said.
“Just make sure you bring her back to me,” Sisko warned. “Without a scratch!”
“Without a scratch,” Koester confirmed, shaking Sisko’s hand as he stood up and tapped his combadge.
“Koester to Kane. Tell Mister Zander
to ready the Horn. We have some negotiations to settle.”
“Aye, Skipper,” replied Kane.
* * * *
Defiant log, stardate
51591.9:
Captain Sisko
placed one final condition on my command of this ship before we leave DS9. Manning Tactical II will be Commander Dax, here to assist my crew in the complexities of the Defiant’s operation.
Someone familiar with this ship to nursemaid me through our mission
ahead.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Ben’s
pretty attached to this ship, and just wants to make sure I don’t do anything
stupid with her.
Koester, out.
As the Dauntless
crew prepared the Defiant for
departure, Koester gave a final briefing on the bridge for the men who would
crew the Little Bighorn: Chief Pilot Adam Zander,
Engineer ‘Xenon’ Adosh, and Weapons Officer Marine 2nd
LT Sean McIntyre. “If all goes according
to plan, it will be a simple fly in, get the hostages, fly
back out scenario. The Defiant is simply backup. Lieutenant Zander,
you will do the negotiating. Be firm but
not provacative.”
“Yes sir,” responded Zander.
“Defiant and
the Horn will depart the station in
thirty minutes. Any
questions?” There were none. Koester nodded.
“Stations, Gentlemen.”
* *
* *
Zander, Adosh,
and McIntyre quickly changed into the flight coverall uniforms of the aerowing shuttle crew and quickly made their way through
the near-deserted starship Dauntless. Most of the ship’s systems were either shut
down or under monitor by the station’s computer, and shipboard lighting was at
half power. Making their way to the aerowing lock in the lowest deck of the main hull, the
shuttle crew encounter some unexpected company waiting
at the airlock entrance. Gunnery Sergeant
Christopher Alan O’Laughlin, the other recently
arrived member of the starship’s newly assigned Marine Special Contingent,
stood at the entrance to the shuttle’s airlock.
Originally a non-com in the 20th century US Marine Corps, O’Laughlin had accidentally volunteered for a week-long
cryogenics experiment that had lasted about 400 years longer than
expected. McIntyre couldn’t help but
think the man looked more like a history book picture than a Starfleet Marine -
dressed as he was in full, 20th century desert cammo
battle fatigues. The only thing that
offset the look was the fully charged compresssion phaser rifle the man carried.
“Is
there something I can help you with, Gunny?”
McIntyre asked before Zander or Adosh could react.
Gunny O’Laughlin smiled around
the unlit, well chewed cigar in his teeth and replied, “Well, sir, I caught
wind of the fact that you and a few others were going on a... ahh... little excursion of sorts to the Karnasay
system and, what with the fact that I’m on leave and all, well, I uh... thought
it sounded like fun, and it has been a while since I had a chance to really
relax, so I figured I’d tag along and see the sights. If you know what I mean,
sir. An’ I promised Betty I’d
take ‘er somewhere nice sometime soon. Besides, archology’s
been a long time hobby o’ mine.”
“Since when,” McIntyre responded skeptically, “have you been
interested in archeology, Gunny?”
“Primarily
since about, oh, 20 minutes ago when I first heard you were headed for Karnasay to take on this Blue Hanky or Purple Palm or
whatever these two-bit ruffians call themselves, sir.”
“I
see,” said McIntyre as he looked at Zander and Adosh. Zander just shrugged.
“Well,” he continued, “I suppose there might be room for someone who had
field training in emergency first aid, and a qualified ‘observer’ with ground
combat experience might also be helpful...”
“I’m
your man, sir!” Olly
quickly responded, snapping to attention.
“Well
then, stop blocking the doorway and climb aboard, Gunny,” McIntyre said
sternly.
“Sir, yes, sir!” Olly replied.
* * * *
The Defiant
warped toward sector 322B, the aerowing Little Bighorn close abeam. Sitting in the Defiant’s command chair, Fleet
Captain Koester could not help but feel closed in on the ship’s narrow
bridge. He turned to face the aft
bulkhead.
“You know what ship this reminds me of, Exec?” Koester
asked his First Officer who sat at the utility table below the main systems
monitor.
“Reminds me of no starship I’ve served on. The
“I’m not referring to a starship. I’m talking about the
Chief Kyman glanced up from his
post at mission ops and smiled at the Fleet Captain before returning to his
scans.
“Commander,” Koester said to Dax
as he turned his seat forward again.
“Inform the Horn we’ll cloak
as soon as we enter sector 322B.”
“Aye, Fleet Captain,” Dax
replied. “I must warn you, if you’ve
never been aboard a cloaked ship before, it can take a little getting used to.”
* * * *
“Zander, the Defiant
just sent a message,” Xavier Adosh, sitting at the
engineering station, reported to the aerowing’s
pilot, Lt Adam Zander. “We’re going incognito. Follow the plan. See you there.”
“Incognito? What’s
that supposed to mean?” Zander asked.
“I
think it means...,” Adosh started to say when
suddenly the warship next to them shimmered and disappeared from view. Zander blinked in
surprise.
“...they’re
cloaking.” Adosh
finished.
“I
don’t see why they think they need to be invisible,” commented O’Laughlin in a gruff voice with just a hint of disdain,
“you’d think finding a coupla humans amongst Orions would be a piece of cake.”
“Well,
the Captain is expecting something or he wouldn’t have commandeered the Defiant,” said Adosh.
The
aerowing, now seemingly alone, soon entered the Karnasay system and began scanning. Finding the only planet orbiting in the
binary system was not hard. But the
sight that greeted Zander, Adosh,
McIntyre, and O’Laughlin made their jaws drop
slightly.
Ahead
of the Little Bighorn a huge
spaceship maintained a low orbit. The
vessel bristled with weaponry ranging from the original Romulan disrupters to Klingon torpedoes to black-market Federation phaser banks. The
reason for the low orbit became evident as the Horn moved closer. A
projector on the underside of the Warbird beamed a
field of some sort toward the surface of the planet below.
“Begin
scanning for life-signs,” Zander ordered. “I’ll hail them.”
Zander touched the control to open hailing frequencies. The communications equipment chimed and Zander began to speak.
“This
is Lieutenant Adam Zander of the Federation aerowing Little
Bighorn. Drop your shields and
prepare to beam your hostages aboard our ship.”
Zander closed the circuit and the four men waited for a
reply. After a few moments, it seemed as
if the Orions were simply ignoring them. Then McIntyre reported, “Lieutenant, the Warbird is powering up its weapons grids.”
“Not
good! Raise shields,” Zander replied.
“Even
worse,” reported Adosh from the engineering
station. “Scans reveal only Orion
life-signs aboard the Warbird. The field they are projecting is an ion field
designed to prevent beaming. I’m reading
one Betazoid, three Terrans,
and at least a dozen Orion life-signs on the planet, still in the archeology
camp, amidst ruins, equipment, and two small scout ships.”
The
Little Bighorn slowed and entered an
orbit only a few hundred meters off the bow of the Orion vessel. As they entered a stable orbit, McIntyre
again reported, “The Warbird is locking its weapons
systems onto us.”
“Lock
phasers and quantum torpedoes on their engines and
weapons arrays, Lt McIntyre,” Zander ordered.
“Weapons
locked on target,” the Marine Officer reported with a slight grin. A moment later he added, “The Orion ship is
hailing.”
“I
figured they would,” commented Zander. As he turned to face the small screen inset
into the control panel next to him, a green humanoid face appeared.
“I
hope for your sake you’re here to drop off the tribute credits,” the Orion
said, “or you won’t be alive long enough to beg for a second chance.”
“This
is Lieutenant Adam Zander of Starfleet. Power down your
weapons and drop your shields and the ion field so we may beam aboard the
Federation citizens you are illegally holding or we will be forced to
incapacitate your ship.”
Zander’s bravado impressed even the Orion, who chuckled in
genuine amusement at the threat.
“Brave
words, Fed,” the Orion captain responded, “but to borrow one of your own Earth
phrases; You and what Army?” The Orion laughed loudly.
Zander, Adosh, McIntyre, and O’Laughlin noticed the shimmer through their viewport
before it obviously registered on the Orion ship’s sensors, but the reaction
aboard the Warbird was immediate when it did.
“Captain,
there is a ship decloaking behind us!” one Orion
voice said off screen to their leader.
“What?!? Who? Klingons?!” the Orion captain demanded to
know.
“It’s
a Federation starship!”
“Impossible!”
* * * *
“Lock quantum torpedoes on target and fire,” ordered
Fleet
“Firing torpedoes,” reported Lieutenant Ga’gh at Tac
I.
“The Horn
acknowledges, Fleet Captain,” Dax replied.
Four balls of blue-white zero-point energy shot from the Defiant’s torpedo
tubes and struck the Warbird, sending it spinning
ninety-degrees to port. Immediately the Little Bighorn dove toward the planet’s
surface, impulse engines ablaze, managing to keep out of the Warbird’s attempts to reacquire a weapons lock.
The Defiant
likewise activated its impulse engines and attempted to re-engage the Warbird, which maneuvered to maintain its ion field on the
camp below. The Orion ship then let
loose with most of its weaponry.
“Shields down to 85%,” reported Ga’gh. “No damage.”
“Warbird’s shields are at 65%,
minor damage to their warp nacelles,” said Dax.
“Coming around for a better shot,” reported Lieutenant
Lenny from the helm.
Defiant moved
under and around the hull of the old Warbird, easily
handling the potshots the phasers and disruptors
would occasionally send against the warship’s shields. Defiant
pivoted on its axis, again facing the Orion vessel, firing phaser
bursts as it did.
“Minor structural damage to their bow section,” reported Dax, her face an image of serene calm. “Shields down to 50%. Forward shield on the verge of collapse.”
“Our shields down to 80% and holding, sir,” Ga’gh added.
“Ready photon torpedoes. Fire on my command,” ordered Koester.
“Torpedoes ready...,” Ga’gh started
to say when suddenly the entire bridge shook violently. Dax, Ga’gh, Lenny, Kane, and Kyman
struggled to hold their places while Koester was knocked out of the center seat
and onto the deck by the unexpected jolt.
“Report!” Koester shouted as he crawled
back into the command chair.
“They hit us with a Romulan plasma-torpedo,” Ga’gh shouted. “Shields down to 30%.
Structural damage to decks two through four.”
“Engineering to bridge,” said the excited sounding voice
of Chief Engineer Jeff Bloom. “We have a
leak in the warp core coolant exchange valves!
I’m having trouble locking it down!”
“Skipper, I can...,” Chief Kyman
started to say, but before he could finish, Koester had already flipped his
thumb directing him toward the starboard egress. Kyman quickly got
up and headed toward engineering.
“Full power to shields and weapons,” Koester
ordered. “Take it from life support if
you have to.”
The Warbird fired its own phasers again, knocking the crew of the small warship
around again. Koester decided to take
his chances standing, holding onto the seat of the helmsman in front of him,
since every time he sat in the command chair he risked being thrown to the deck
again.
“Photon and quantum torpedoes ready!” shouted Dax above the noise of the red alert klaxon.
“Shields down to 15%. Starboard shield has collapsed!” Ga’gh reported.
“Aim photons at their engines, quantums
at the ion projector. We have to
penetrate their shields!” Koester ordered.
“Fire one!”
The orange fireballs of four photon torpedoes blasted
away toward the engines of the Warbird while Defiant circled around for a better shot
on the projector. Meanwhile a disruptor
beam struck the hull of the Defiant. Ga’gh was knocked
completely out of his seat, his head striking the helm console, while Dax gripped the edge of her own panel, knuckles white.
“Ablative armor took the brunt of that blast,” Dax reported. “But
we have damage to the starboard EPS power taps and the FTL optic
transfers. The Warbird’s
lower shield has collapsed.”
“Fire two!” ordered the Fleet Captain, but seeing that Ga’gh was stunned, laying groggy on the deck, Koester leapt
over his tactical officer and into the seat of tactical. The targeting scanner had managed to hold,
aiming for the Orion vessel’s ion projector.
Koester jammed his palm onto the control to launch the quantum
torpedoes, but as he did, the Warbird fired another
plasma torpedo as well.
The two weapons passed each other in mid-flight, the
torpedoes slamming into the underhull of the old Warbird. At the same
time, the plasma bolt struck the Defiant. Consoles and displays everywhere sizzled and
sparked. And without warning a section
of the console at tactical exploded.
* * * *
The Little Bighorn
quickly descended through the atmosphere of Karnarsay,
vigilantly keeping a sensor lock on both the ion field and the captives beneath
it. As soon as the ion field dissipated,
the Horn’s crew knew and reacted.
“Engaging afterburners,” Zander
informed as all four were thrust back into their seats. “I’m keeping shields up. We don’t know what kind of reception we’ll
receive from the ground.”
As the Horn
slowed its approach close to the SS Henry
Jones and its unwelcome Orion companion, Zander’s
caution proved founded. Eight Orion
soldiers stood at various points around and on top of the small survey
vessels. Phaser
fire glanced off the aerowing’s shields.
“Aerowing phasers
have been shifted to stun,” reported McIntyre.
“Targeting the ground troops.”
The aerowing fired its own phasers, and eight armored green bodies dropped to the
ground. Another more powerful shot
disabled the Jones’ engines. The aerowing
hovered over the site, slowly turning so that the vulnerable nose of the
shuttle would not directly face the hatch of the Jones. Slowly the Horn moved out over the sun canopy set
up over the survey ship’s hatch when suddenly the whole aerowing
shuddered.
“Grenade launcher under the canopy!”
McIntyre reported quickly.
“I’m getting real tired of this,” Zander
said with annoyance. “Hold on, I’m going
to dust ‘em!”
The aerowing moved lower and
closer to the Jones, the two Orions clearly visible loading a new grenade into the
launcher. Suddenly Zander
hit the fighter-craft’s maneuvering thrusters.
The thrust from the ship caused a mini-sand storm,
ripping the canopy right off the Jones
and blinding the two Orions on the ground and likely
any inhabitants of the survey ship through the open hatch as well.
Then without warning, the cabin of the aerowing was unexpectedly filled with the same blowing
sand.
“What happened?
Have we got a hull breach?” Zander demanded to
know.
“The entry hatch just opened,” reported Adosh. A shocked
look covered McIntyre’s face.
“Gunny! Gunny, get back here!” the Marine Lieutenant
shouted. But it was too late. Through the Horn’s viewport could be seen the Marine Gunnery Sergeant,
compression rifle blazing, a huge grin spread on his grime-covered face, as he
attacked the two remaining Orions, then turned the
rifle onto the exposed coolant pipes of the Orion’s small scout ship’s engines,
permanently grounding it.
“Have we got a transporter lock on Gunny?” McIntyre
asked.
“Sensors are registering three humans, two Orions, and one Betazoid in the
survey ship as well as one human approaching the Henry Jones. Currently
maintaining a transporter lock on both the Sergeant and the hostages in the
scout vessel,” Adosh reported.
“Ok, I’m taking her up out of small weapons range,” Zander said, helming the aerowing
to a higher altitude.
Meanwhile, on the ground below, O’Laughlin
slammed his back up against the side of the Jones. He removed a small baseball-sized object from
the belt of his uniform, then shouted into the open hatchway, “Bing, bong!
As he had hoped, two Orions
came running screaming out of the Jones. O’Laughlin dropped
to one knee, easily picking both off with his compression rifle. He chortled over the two unconscious bodies a
moment before sauntering into the survey vessel. Inside he found the four hostages,
dust covered but in relatively good condition, huddled together in one corner
of the cockpit area, extreme fear covering all their faces.
“Look out! There’s
some kind of grenade on the deck!” Jason Goode shouted at O’Laughlin. The Gunnery Sergeant looked at the small
metal orb and smiled.
“What? This?” he
said with a chuckle, picking it up and tossing it in the air like a
baseball. “Relax. This thing ain’t
worked in almost 400 years.” He grinned
at the hostages shocked expressions as he replaced the pin into the inert
grenade and stuck it back on his belt.
“Always knew these things would come in handy someday,”
he remarked, then tapped the combadge that hung on
his camouflage uniform. “Olly to the Horn. We could use a
lift down here.”
In the Little
Bighorn hovering overhead, Lt Zander asked, “Do
we still have the lock on the Sergeant and the Science Team?”
“Yes,” replied Adosh.
McIntyre grinned as he hit the comm
button. “Stand by, Gunny.”
“Energize!” ordered Zander.
With a hum, the transporter in the rear of the aerowing’s cockpit cabin materialized four dust-covered,
severely coughing people and one grinning Marine Sergeant who immediately stuck
his ever-present cigar back between his teeth.
The shocked look on the hostages faces
countered the smiles on Zander, Adosh,
and McIntyre’s.
“Welcome aboard the Federation aerowing
Little Bighorn,” Zander
said quickly, turning back toward the viewports. “Please fasten your seatbelts and return you
seatbacks and tray tables to their full upright position. Excuse us if we don’t have time to make
formal introductions, but we have to get out of here now!”
Wordlessly, the four newly arrived guests quickly took
seats in the aft cabin and the aerowing took off into
the bright, clear, pink sky. As they
flew off, the Orion’s, left shipless and weaponless
by the Sergeant’s unexpected assault, cursed after the
departing aerowing.
* * * *
“They’re coming around again, Mister Kane,” Lenny said,
frantically trying to keep the Defiant’s few remaining shields between themselves and the Warbird.
Kane stepped over to the captain’s chair, hesitated a
moment, then sat down. He pressed a comm panel on the console to his left.
“Sickbay, bridge. How’s the Skipper?”
“The Captain has third degree burns and has lost much
blood, Mister Kane. He is still
unconscious,” Dr. Dourden responded. “I wilst be
monitoring him closely.”
“Understood. Bridge out.”
Kane looked at the viewscreen where the Warbird, though heavily damaged itself, loomed menacingly.
“Come on, Zander. Get your butt back up here,” he mumbled.
“Commander, I’ve got the aerowing
on sensors,” reported Dax. “200 kilometers and
closing.”
The Defiant
shook with another blast.
“Port thrusters are down!” Lenny exclaimed.
“Port phaser banks off-line,” Dax added.
“Contact the Horn,”
ordered Kane. “Tell them its time to get
out of here!”
The Defiant
again spun on its axis, impulse engines blazing to life as the Warbird shot a few more glancing blows off their remaining
shields. A moment passed in silence
until Dax again spoke.
“Commander, the aerowing has
achieved orbit, but they’re re-engaging the Warbird.”
“Open frequencies.
Zander, disengage!
That’s an order!” Kane said loudly.
“We’re sorry, but all of our operators are busy. Stay on the line and your call will be
answered in the order in which it was received,” the voice of Sgt O’Laughlin radioed back evasively.
* * * *
Aboard the aerowing, Adosh readied the ship’s weapons systems. Having realized the Defiant was out of reach to them, and that the small fighter now
approaching had undoubtedly rescued their hostages, the Orion vessel spun to
face the small craft.
“They’re locking weapons on us again,” McIntyre reported.
“Fire everything we’ve got! Target engines, weapons, and their bridge,”
ordered Zander.
In rapid succession, phasers, photon, and
quantum torpedoes lanced out, striking the badly damaged Orion vessel. With one hit, the impulse engines were
overloaded. A second shot sent the warp
drive into automatic shutdown as the artificial singularity of its core
collapsed. Finally the bridge was torn
open to space with the last shot, instantly killing the half-dozen Orions stationed there.
The Warbird made one last
futile attempt to launch its plasma weapon at the now-rapidly departing aerowing, but due to the damage sustained during its battle
with the Defiant, the weapon simply
exploded. Adhering to
* * * *
Defiant log, stardate
51596.0: First Officer Virgil Kane
recording;
With most of our battle damage under
repair, the Defiant is now heading back toward DS9, the Little Bighorn close behind us.
As the Defiant left the
Alpha Karnarsay system, we intercepted a distress
call from the survivors of The Blue Hand.
We’ve made sure that Starfleet has dispatched another starship to take
them into custody. With the destruction
of their ship and loss of their leaders, The Blue Hand organization has
collapsed.
Meanwhile, a reunion of sorts has taken
place aboard the Defiant.
It’s been good seeing old friends we’ve lost touch with over the years,
and one of my Academy girlfriends, Carrie, has become a near-permanent addition
to my uniform sleeve since the moment she found out I was aboard.
But one more reunion still awaits word of
the Skipper’s condition.
Kane, out.
Kane sat in the Defiant’s command chair, catching up on old times with
Carrie Roch as Jason Goode and Merryl
Weathers sat at the rear of the bridge, all talking about their imprisonment
and sudden unexpected rescue, when the comm panel on
his left beeped for attention.
“Mister Kane, I haveth a
patient who wishes to converse with thee,” said the voice of Dr Dourden.
Kane smiled as he tapped the panel. “I’ll be right there, Doc.”
Dourden’s annoyed huff just as
the circuit closed made Kane smile again as he excused himself, stood, and
stepped toward the port egress door. He
turned back toward the helm once more and said, “Commander Dax,
you have the conn.”
Taking the turbolift down to
the Defiant’s
small sickbay after briefly stopping in the crew’s quarters, Kane was pleased
to see the Fleet Captain sitting up on one of the diagnostic beds. Koester’s face and upper torso were covered
in plastiskin bandages, and it was obvious he had
seen better days, but the Skipper was alive and Dourden
assured Kane he would recover fully, given time and the proper care,
recommending at least a month or two off-duty.
“Good to see you on your... well... ah... feet, Skipper,... sorta,” Kane said as Koester
painfully smiled.
“Did we get ‘em, Exec? Did we rescue Joanne and the others?”
“Yes, we did. And
The Blue Hand is gone. They’ll never
kidnap anyone else ever again. We’ll be
back at DS9 in another 18 hours.”
“Ugh,” Koester groaned, a worried look settling onto his
face. “Do you think Ben will be upset I
damaged his ship?”
Kane rolled his eyes.
“I think Captain Sisko will understand. At least, I hope he will. In the meantime though, there’s someone else
who wanted to see you when you were up and about.” Kane turned to the door. “Doctor?” he said.
From around the side of the door stepped a woman with
long brown hair and bright hazel eyes.
She smiled broadly as she saw Koester sitting on the bed. Koester started to return the smile until the
twinge of pain in his cheeks stopped him.
“I wasn’t at all surprised when I heard it was you
who came to my rescue. My knight in shining ablative armor. I always knew you’d turn out to be something
special,” Joanne Simon said, stepping over to the bed and gently taking
Koester’s hand into her own. She looked
over toward Kane. “Thank you,
Virgil.” Kane nodded, then
motioned for Dourden to follow him out of the
sickbay. The door slid shut behind the
two.
“I had to rescue you.
It’s my job,” Koester said, trying to sound sincere.
“Bull!” Joanne rebuked with a smile. She pulled a chair over to the bedside and
sat down. “Virgil told me you pulled
every string you could reach and then some to come after me yourself.”
Koester shrugged slightly.
“An old friend was in trouble. I couldn’t just sit back and not do
something.”
Joanne kissed Koester on the knuckles. “I talked with Virg
for a while after we warped out of the Karnarsay system. He told me about how badly you took it when I
never contacted you after graduation. I’m
sorry, Peter. I’m sorry I just up and
left that day. I’m sorry I didn’t have
the guts to say good-bye to your face.”
“Jo, if I’d seen you that day, after we graduated, do you
really think you could have said it?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Joanne was quiet for a moment, tightly
holding Koester’s hand against her lips.
“I guess a part of me figured if I didn’t actually say good-bye, it
wasn’t really over.” Simon paused for a
moment, as if remembering back through the years. “I kept track of you over the years...” Koester’s eyebrows rose in astonishment at
the admission. “I was so happy when you
weren’t part of the fleet sent to Wolf 359... That you stayed safe... Then it almost killed me when I got word
you’d gotten married. I cried for days.”
“Things didn’t work out too well,” Koester admitted.
“For either of us,” Joanne nodded.
The two sat in silence for a moment, until Koester said,
“There’s someone I want you to meet when we reach DS9. I think you’ll like
her. She reminds me somewhat of you when
we first met. Her name’s Gem.”
“I can’t wait,” Joanne replied. “Dr Dourden said
it’s going to take you at least a few weeks to recover from your injuries. The least I can do is take care of you during
that time. I want you and your daughter
to come back to Earth with me.”
“I think that can be arranged,” Koester said, this time
the smile not hurting so much. “I’d like
to spend some time with an old friend.”
Joanne stood up and leaned over Koester.
“Maybe a little bit more than just a friend,” she said,
kissing him lightly on the lips before straightening to leave. “And who are you calling old?”
Joanne chuckled to herself, then
squeezed Koester’s hand once more. “I’ll
let you get some rest.” She started
walking back out into the corridor but stopped in the doorway. She looked back at Koester who was once again
laying flat on the bed, a smile on her lips and a gleam in her eye. “You’ll need it,” she added.
And again she turned, the doors swishing shut behind her.
The End
Author’s Note: This story was inspired by a friendly
rivalry. At the time I created the fan
club chapter USS Dauntless NCC-74658 in
So one day I decided, just to get under Ron’s skin a
little, I was going to command the actual Defiant. And
thus was the inspiration for the story you have just read.
I hope you enjoyed our little tale.
~Peter
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