Panting, out of breath, the sandy-haired Irish Lt. O'Shea, Ivanovna's primary replacement at the tactical station, sat and regained his strength. He had just climbed a ladder in a service tunnel, upwards for thirteen decks. He had been off duty when the first attack by the Romulans came; afterwards Captain Freeman had found him helping with the repairs, and had ordered him to get some sleep. In the event that Ivanovna needed a break at tactical, he could take over for her. He hadn't thought he was tired, but he had fallen asleep straight away, and had slept right through the second blaring alert klaxon which ended up signifying the capture of the Bristol.
When he had awakened, he found that the ship was moving at a high rate of speed. Thinking that peculiar, O'Shea figured that much time had passed, and that perhaps attempting to relieve Ivanovna would be a nice thing to do. For all he knew, he had also slept through a call to duty. That, he wouldn't forgive himself for, he had told himself, though it was all the captain's fault anyway. Presumably, if he had been derelict in his responsibilities, the captain would've sent someone to wake him, so he pushed that thought from his mind as he slipped on his boots and put on his uniform.
Loud voices in the hallway beyond the door to his quarters caught his attention; his door was locked and would prevent it opening when he moved closer to hear what was going on. What he heard were four voices, and they spoke of trouble aboard the Bristol. Thinking quickly, he had grabbed a phaser and tricorder from his desk and left out the ventilation shaft that provided air to his quarters. What he didn't know was that the four in question, after a few moments more of congratulating themselves, overrode the computer and gained access to his quarters, as they searched for stragglers.
Climbing along the ventilation shaft for some time, Lt. Timothy O'Shea had found his way to another crawlway. This one had grating along parts of it that had provided the vantage points he'd used to see what he'd reported in his log.
Now, sitting, catching his breath, thirteen decks up from what he'd seen and narrowly avoided, he contemplated his next step. He tapped his comm-badge, and whispered, "Computer, this is Lt. O'Shea. What's the ship's course and speed?"
The computer responded in its normal volume, a little too loud for O'Shea, "The Bristol is on a heading of 101, mark 34, at warp factor nine."
"Are we alone?"
"Please restate request," the computer replied.
"Is the Bristol alone, or are there other ships in the area?" he sighed.
"The Bristol is travelling alongside the U.S.S. Monroe and an unidentified Romulan starship, at warp nine."
'One's better than a fleet anyway,' he thought to himself. "What lies on this heading?" he then asked the computer.
"In one day, seven hours, the ships will arrive at Del Ghulax Five."
O'Shea uttered a stream of curses under his breath, as he recognized the name of the place. Del Ghulax Five was one of the Federation's major suppliers of dilithium, an integral part of all starships. Dilithium was very valuable in directing the matter/anti-matter reaction in the engine core of all Federation starships; the core of ship power and propulsion. It was protected of course, but would probably not be able to withstand an attack by the starships; especially Federation ones, that wouldn't be posing a threat in the minds of the planet's occupants. Therein, he saw the reason for what had happened, and the urgency with which he was now presented; if they were allowed to destroy Del Ghulax Five, it would set back Starfleet's rebuilding efforts substantially. Somehow, the Monroe had fallen prey to the Romulans, and now with the Bristol under their control, they had a way to carry out their plan without any apparent involvement; they could just cloak while the Federation ships destroyed their own dilithium planet . Even if the planet could detect something of the Romulan ship, the long distance communications dampening field would prevent them from telling anyone before it was too late.
'At least they're not just killing our crew,' Lt. O'Shea thought to himself. 'They must need us for something.' He then spoke to himself aloud, his voice filled with hope, "Could Jevor still be alive and a prisoner on the Monroe?"
The computer, still awaiting commands via his comm-badge, replied, "That is not a valid question."
"I wasn't talking to you, dammit!" O'Shea seethed at the ship's computer. He thought for a minute. "Computer, locate Captain Freeman," he whispered finally.
"Captain Freeman is on Deck 27, Section 34, Room 2708."
O'Shea smiled; maybe the captain had gotten away. He was about to attempt to find his way there, when he suddenly remembered that that room was a utility closet. He frowned and said, "Computer, locate Ensign Bradley."
"Ensign Bradley is on Deck 27, Section 34, Room 2708."
'Something tells me they were stripped of their communicators,' Lt. O'Shea thought to himself. 'They're probably all in the detention areas.' He then had an idea. "Computer, locate Commander Yilaan."
"Commander Yilaan is in Sickbay."
O'Shea smiled as he made his way through the crawlways and down a few levels, towards the Brig. He contemplated how he might use that information as he went. 'They're probably keeping her unconscious, since they don't seem to feel the need to kill anyone. I wonder if she's recovered from whatever happened to her before?' he thought to himself.
He propelled himself quickly down a set of ladders and found himself in a crawlway above the hall outside the door to the Brig. He saw two guards with phasers standing by the door; human from what he could tell. Sighing, Lt. O'Shea sat and thought for a moment; he was hoping to find some way to the Brig without alerting the guards. He pulled out his tricorder and electronically connected with the ship's computer in order to pull up a schematic of this area. O'Shea looked it over and then swore under his breath; the only access was an air vent too small for him to fit through. 'Well, brute force it is,' he thought to himself as he put his tricorder away and pulled his phaser. He adjusting the setting for heavy stun, wide dispersal beam, and kicked out the grating which overlooked the hallway. It landed on the guards below, but they had no time to react before O'Shea had stunned them both. Thankfully, no one else was in the corridor at the time. He jumped down just in time to come face to face with a Romulan exiting the Brig to find out what the commotion was.
O'Shea started to aim his phaser, but the Romulan slapped it out of his hand. They then began a hand to hand struggle. Fortunately for O'Shea, his security department training was enough to defeat the Romulan. Bruised and panting, he then dragged the three fallen enemies into the Brig and locked the door as it closed after him.
He looked up then, to see several Starfleet officers peering at him from within the detention cells. They were smiling at him, saying, "Way to go, Lieutenant," and so on.
"Computer, deactivate force fields on cells A through F," O'Shea commanded. The fields dropped as ordered and several officers were freed. He frowned, as he didn't see the captain or Lt. Ivanovna amongst them, but was glad to have the company all the same. "Are you all okay?" he asked. Everyone nodded affirmatively.
"What do we do now, Lieutenant?" one of the officers asked, followed by a "Are there any others that avoided capture?" from someone else.
Lt. O'Shea smiled grimly. "We retake the ship. I suggest we concentrate on critical areas first. If the Bridge and Engineering can be retaken, we're in business." He turned towards where the second question had originated. "I haven't seen any others that aren't being held prisoner I'm sorry to say."
O'Shea started to turn back towards the door, when he heard someone say, "Good, I'm glad there are no others; that makes our task easier." He managed to start turning his head and utter a startled cry as he was shot by one of the 'prisoners' brandishing a phaser. As he crumpled, his brain informed him that, not only were the captain and Ivanovna not amongst them, he didn't actually recognize anyone in the group. Not that that was unusual, mind you, on a ship of over eight hundred, but it helped him understand later why his glorious plans had failed, and why he was now lying unconscious on the deck. They were part of the Monroe's crew; designed to waylay potential rescuers. They had succeeded brilliantly.
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