EP2 ACT 3
HELUB SPACE PORT, SUB LEVEL 12
Joining the last group to be ferried to the lowest level, Christian was beginning to
realise just how many people were making the exodus. Families clung to each other, while
other individuals were in shock, sobbing at their loss and distress. In the tight
confines of the overcrowded elevator, he thought he heard a nearby 'boom', as if a bulkhead
had given way or an unexploded shell had finally detonated. Perhaps the K'Tani had
penetrated the levels above.
As the elevator swiftly descended more than two hundred and fifty levels, Jackson pulled on
Christian's sleeve and hauled him closer. She'd been wondering about this since Leonard
had first put his proposal forward - now she saw a solution, though it was a bit
unconventional. Jackson reminded herself that pride came before a fall.
"If we do find a ship to take us out of here, you realise my experience as a base commander
doesn't qualify me to take the centre seat don't you, Captain?" she spoke so that others
could not overhear.
"You're asking me to take command?" he asked.
Although the question was matter of fact, Jackson took a moment to absorb the implications
of what she had asked of him. She decided to refine her proposition. "I most certainly
outrank you, Mister Christian, but I do not possess the skill to command a space vessel,
whereas you've been trained for it."
Lirik's environment shield fizzed against Christian's back and the Captain moved slightly,
giving him an opportunity to change the subject. "What's with this diplomat's shield?"
Christian asked, not able to resist his curiosity about the odd man any longer.
Jackson looked to a far away place before she replied. "I'm surprised you don't
already know of him. But it can wait for now.. we're here." Call it the instinct of
experience, but recalling the detail about Christian's parents she decided to put off the
inevitable for the moment.
The elevator bounced and the large elevator doors swung into their housings to reveal
hundreds of people in a high ceilinged junction between several tunnels, all clambering
aboard some kind of open-topped shuttle train. A forward command vehicle was tethered to
half a dozen rectangular carts loading up with the assortment of lifeforms. The whole
vehicle hovered a few feet off the ground.
Leonard ran toward them. "The young Orion lady over there discovered transports in yonder
sheds," he said to Jackson, looking at the Captain and the more familiar sour-faced Yeoman.
"It shouldn't take us long to reach the ship at all."
"Sir," O'Hara pushed forward, "using these transports and the elevator there, we could
go back and collect the injured-"
"No way, Lieutenant," Christian said, "I'm sorry, but everyone keeps going forward from
now on."
Jackson backed the Captain up once again. "There's nothing we can do for them now, Nurse.
It's just too dangerous to-" but O'Hara, disgusted, stormed off toward the platforms where
she could see some walking wounded.
Christian observed this and called after her. "Lieutenant!"
"Leave her," Jackson said, seeing the man's contempt and adding. "Not now, okay?"
Lirik tapped Leonard on the shoulder and the German felt the tell-tale tingle of static.
"Well, well, well, Mister Leonard. Becoming quite the hero now. Who would have thought it?"
Leonard half smiled and pushed his spectacles up his nose, flicking his hair slightly back.
Lirik wondered if he were trying to appear cute or harmless to deflect Lirik's intent. If
he was, then the man was a fool. "Yeoman, I'm sure you're wondering what happened
yesterday. Where we are heading now, it's where I took the diplomatic runabout - a huge
storage facility containing hundreds of ships, including some from Federation space. While
I was there, the runabout was stolen from right under my nose, and I don't have any
explanation as to how or why."
Lirik wiped his hands on his uniform - they'd become clammy since facing Leonard.
"You know, given the last 24 hours, I'm willing to believe anything." Leonard was about
to turn away when Lirik added: "Maybe when we're free you'll help me fill out the
Lost Items Report - like why the hell you were there in the first place, and
why you didn't inform me of your situation?" Lirik smiled.
Leonard felt sick - the Diplomatic Corps had a single-rank system, where everyone was
treated the same, whatever their designation was when entering the Corps. As representatives
of the Federation Council, they had the power to order any Starfleet personnel up to (and
sometimes including) the Admiralty - although the higher up the ranks, the less powers
they had except in extreme circumstances.
Everyone aboard the precariously loaded hover 'train', Leonard, Rebbik, Christian and
Jackson squeezed into the front compartment of the antiquated transport. There were a few
minutes' pause as the engineer consulted an onboard flight chart, trying to work out the
correct path to the storage facility. It was hopeless, the celluloid was in code.
"Isn't there a voice interface?" Jackson asked.
"No, Sir," Leonard said, wondering if he should just follow his nose. He could feel the
intense gaze of the party behind him - Lirik, Narli, Karnak, Souveson and the two civilians
who had accompanied them. Particularly the Yeoman, whose vessel he had mislaid. O'Hara
and Hedrik were among the crowds massed behind, the latter in an attempt to steer clear of
the security officer.
Christian suddenly became aware of the volume of noise from the people assembled here. As
Leonard passed the plan back to see if a Vekarian could translate for him, Christian leaned
forward, around Rebbik (now only embracing one large holdall), to speak to the engineer.
"How many of us are we?"
"Last estimate, around 500," Leonard said, fiddling with the flight controls. He could
hear Lirik quietly 'humph' and 'tut' watching the engineer's activities.
Suddenly, Christian became aware of a large group of people gathered on his left.
"Who the hell is in command here?" a tall, bulky and rather resplendant looking Tiburonian
stepped forward.
Jackson looked to Christian who swallowed and rose to address him. "I am, Sir."
"We demand to know why we are leaving! My family is back there somewhere, probably in
need of our help. I insist we turn around and go back!" he was flushed, and his facial
feathers bristled. "These people, and many more I suppose, agree with me!"
Christian had expected some resistance following the earlier confrontation with the Bolian.
"I'm truly sorry, but we have no choice."
"Of course we have a choice. Rather than abandon everyone we could choose to go back and
help them!" The crowd rumbled a supporting murmer.
"Sir, as we speak, an invasion force is moving into the space port above. From what we
know the aggressors will most likely take all those they find prisoner - and from what
we've all seen, the K'Tani make no qualms about killing without mercy." This was a
difficult situation. If circumstances were to change, Christian realised, there would be
too few of them to resist mob rule. He should select his words more carefully, he decided.
"You know what I think?" the Tiburonian spread his hands, a gesture of confrontation in
his culture. "You are a coward."
Christian smiled (a Tiburonian put-down in the face of a challenge) and in a movement which
surprised Jackson, leapt over the side of the vehicle to land in a squat facing the taller
man. He slowly rose, still smiling.
"For your information, a coward is someone who runs and hides. What we are doing is
making a strategic withdrawal. You know what that is, don't you?" Christian stepped
close to the man, whose feathers suddenly swept back in trepidation. He raised his voice
so others may hear him. "I have no intention whatsoever of abandoning our friends,
colleagues and loved ones. We will be back, I promise each and every one of you that. But
today, we must choose to walk away, so that we may live to fight another day." He turned
back to the man. "Understand?"
"Gah! It may be too late then!" an old Rigellian woman piped up.
Jackson decided to deal with this one herself. "Open your eyes, Madam, and look around
you. All the people here are innocents and don't deserve to die. Which is exactly what
could happen if we went back."
"That's right," Christian echoed, "I'd be doing no-one any favours by turning around now,
least of all your loved ones who we're leaving behind. At least with us still alive they
have hope of a rescue."
Slowly the crowd began to dissipate and the Tiburonian made his last jibe before climbing
back aboard: "Perhaps, Captain, all you're doing here is delaying the inevitable."
"We'll just see about that," Christian managed, but his words felt hollow. Jackson offered
her hand to help him aboard as Lirik passed the map back to Leonard.
"This isn't a map of the tunnels," Lirik said, glancing at Narli ironically, "it's some
sort of recipe."
Leonard realised that, in the end, he would just have to follow his nose. Everyone aboard,
the transport lurched and moved into the darkness of the transport tubes.
***
It was the smell that had finally put Leonard on the correct course. Less than thirty
minutes later, the sledge and its many inhabitants arrived at the underground station.
The masses made their way up to a large, empty observation room on the ground floor of the
vast hangar. Everything seemed as it had done to Leonard the day before.
"This is it," Leonard gestured beyond the viewing windows.
"Bloody hell!" Rebbik said, "We could almost have one ship each."
Leonard stepped between Christian and Jackson pointing at the huge, submarine-like vessel
floating high above them. "That's the ship," he said, "the SS Fantasy."
"A passenger liner?" Christian asked, looking at the glistening black monolith.
"It was originally the secondary hull of a 23rd Century Constitution Class
Starship, hence its Starfleet registry," Leonard said, "but of course since then it's been
added to greatly."
"It's certainly big enough," Christian added.
"I'll say," Rebbik said. "How the heck did it get all the way here?" It was a question
Leonard couldn't answer. An immediate sense of nervousness pervaded all those within
earshot.
Narli was the first to make a statement. "Forgive me for asking," he cradled his fingers,
a Vulcan-like action, "but is this a K'Tani building?"
"I believe so, yes," Leonard said, "but it's been empty for years. Well, having said that
we did find a K'Tani flag out there, which was not that old, but I don't believe it was
the K'Tani who put it there."
For the second time in as many days, Leonard began to feel his interpretation of events
was being disbelieved. A small bleeping sound diverted the tension. Lirik fiddled with
a wrist-mounted control device, hidden beneath his sleeve.
"It's okay," he said, observing those who knew him watching him intently, "the shield's
just running low. My Medusan energies are still quite intact."
Christian swooned, hearing the word echo in his head. Suddenly the penny was dropping. He
remembered hearing mention of a Medusan-Human, but had assumed it was the person his father
had been taken to see. He had no idea that he had been in the creature's company for all
this time without realising.
"Erm," Rebbik was fiercely looking around the many ships in the hangar beyond the thick
glass, "so won't this be one of the first places the K'Tani come to?"
Jackson watched Christian staring at Lirik, who appeared oblivious for the moment to the
current situation. "We had better get aboard," she said.
"Yes..." Christian said, then, "I mean no, not yet. We'd better make sure the ship is
space-worthy before we get everyone on board."
"I'll stay here with O'Hara and the others," Jackson said. "Try to hurry, Captain."
"Leonard, Ensign, assist me," Christian moved away to the small personnel turbolift which
would take them to the upper levels and the gangway attached to the Fantasy.
"I'll come, too," Lirik said, having finished reconfiguring the power outage of his
shielding.
"No," Christian ordered. Lirik thought the Captain's tone had suddenly changed. "You
stay here and help the others."
"Er, to do what, exactly? I'm more use-" Lirik wasn't used to being kicked into touch over
an offer of assistance.
"I said no, Yeoman. Do you have a problem hearing?" Christian was aware his voice had
risen an octave.
"He may be useful, Captain," Jackson said. As he was about to question her she tilted
her head back in a movement of superiority and the Captain swallowed.
"Rebbik, you come along, too," Christian called over his shoulder.
"Me?!" Rebbik dropped his last bag and followed the others to the turbolift doors.
***
The journey was silent. Christian stood dead opposite the Yeoman, staring the man out.
Lirik, having served in awkward and undercover situations before, was a master of
controlling his own body language when required. Instead of feeling uncomfortable, he
merely stared back at the American and wondered what the hell this sudden attitude was all
about.
Checking the observation windows overlooking the hangar, the group eventually made it to
the open airlock to the gangway attached to the port side of the top of the layered turret perched
on the uppermost part of the ship's aft. From their high position, they saw the long,
sleek black vessel sweeping off to the left and right, though it was shorter in the aft.
"You're familiar with this vessel, Commander?" Christian asked.
Leonard looked at the others briefly. "Not totally, no. But I reviewed some of its
history through the Starfleet database last night. It's had quite a colorful history."
Souveson held out a hand for Lirik's phaser. Once gripped firmly, she thrust a
tricorder she had repossessed from a fallen comrade into the dark gangway and fired a
low level energy burst down its length. Checking her tricorder readings she confirmed:
"Corridor is secure. No force fields or booby traps. Phaser pulse shows no anomalies."
Rebbik poked his head in alongside hers and grinned at her, attempting to be charming. She
merely grimaced and pushed him aside. Fiddling with a wall panel, she had the gangway
lights on in seconds.
Christian urged Leonard forward and thanked the Ensign, much to her pleasure. Lirik
entered last of all, looking out of the gangway at the ship beneath them. It was huge,
and he noticed bits of it were either broken or missing. "I don't remember any Federation
passenger liner being black like this," he said.
"No," Leonard called over his shoulder, "there wasn't. This is a substance that seems to
have been added more recently, perhaps after it arrived here."
Christian stopped in his tracks. "The K'Tani did this?"
"I don't believe the material will affect the performance
of the ship. Considering the nature of the K'Tani, it is logical to predict it is an
enhancement rather than of detriment to the vessel." Leonard finally reached the black
airlock door and at last got his chance to study the material up close.
While he did, Christian popped the manual override panel next to the two metre high
circular hatch. Beneath the pitch-like substance, he could see the vague outline of the
iconographic bird which had been the Fantasy's last owner's emblem. Studying the panel,
he realised this was a computer-controlled lock.
"Try Federation codes, Sir," Leonard said, "they should work." The German continued his
analysis, finally 'aha-ing' to himself. "As I suspected, I'm getting no readings
whatsoever. This is a reflective substance with properties I believe would resist most
conventional scanning devices. In short, it's a cloaking substance."
"Fascinating," Lirik commented. Again, Christian wasn't sure if the comment was serious or
sarcastic.
Christian wasn't having any luck, much to Lirik's inward pleasure. "May I try, Sir?"
Lirik chose to address the man respectfully, play along obliviously to Christian's clear
distrust or dislike of him.
Christian couldn't immediately think of another way to cope with the lock short of blowing
it, but even that could fail. Lirik delicately approached the lock, a movement which made
Christian cringe. He was beginning to think that from now on, everything the Yeoman would
do would annoy him in some way.
Suddenly the airlock hissed open, much to Lirik's delight. And Leonard's.
Christian held the weapon Narli had possessed and edged into the airlock. He released the
two sets of inner doors and a shaft of brightness shone through.
"Light," Souveson observed, "that means power." She held her tricorder up. "And a
breatheable atmosphere."
"What, no fanfare?" Rebbik muttered.
"Ensign, wait here. If we're not out in five minutes, go back to the others,"
Christian ordered, and led the way in.
Over the threshold, Leonard read from his tricorder. "The hull is impervious to scans, as
is much of the interior structure."
A large corporate sign opposite the door read 'SS Fantasy, formerly USS Fantasy, NCC1595'
with the strange dedication 'Over the Rainbow'.' Next to it there was another, smaller
sign which Christian read aloud; "Deck zero one." He turned to Leonard, "The Bridge?"
Leonard read from his padd. "The ship is divided into three main sections; largest is
the Passenger Section - that's forward of here, corridors 65 through 501, and levels 14 to
47. The Command Section is the block at the rear - where we are - corridors 1 to 64 and
levels 1 to 47."
Rebbik frowned. "What's the third part?"
"A Command Yacht," Rebbik replied, "embedded within the command section, levels 1 to 19,
corridors 10 to 28 by thoroughfares 20 to 30."
Turning left, the four men moved forward, around a short corridor, passing a small, 3 person transporter housed in the wall. The gubbins had been removed, as had the control board on the panel opposite. Continuing around, they passed an opening which dropped away, down to their left into darkness. Further round the bend, they finally reached a door with the elaborate sign-written word across it 'Bridge - Authorised Personnel Only'.
"I guess this is the bridge, then," Lirik said.
"Can it, will you, Yeoman," Christian chastised, and once again Lirik swallowed.
Rebbik turned and looked around. "Don't take this the wrong way, but if this ship has been here for years, isn't it a bit odd that there's light and power here?"
"Perhaps our entrance triggered life support?" Leonard depressed an oversized button, and the doors slid apart.
Beyond the doors, overhead lights flickered on. If the forward viewscreen was described as being at 6 o'clock, they were making their entrance at 1 o'clock, to the rear of the bridge. Its design felt familiar - a circular layout with crew stations around the outside, and a few in the middle. Only on this ship, where helm would normally have been there was a short staircase leading down to a further circle where the group could just make out what looked like a helm station, and two corridors leading off either side of the viewscreen.
Most striking of all, the bridge had been crafted out of a combination of a combination of materials - wood, metal, glass and the more conventional plastic. The overall varnished wood effect gave the ship an antiquated, bright feel, yet the gold fittings and glass and black panelling gave it a lot of style; this was indeed true luxury.
As they entered the bridge area, they all noticed at once that the carpet underfoot was a lot thicker and softer than any of them had experienced on a ship's bridge before.
Leonard walked around the bridge, anti-clockwise: "It's an old-fashioned command deck layout. This is Science," he swept his hand right, to the rear-most station; he swept his other hand left and regarded the high chair in front of a long workstation with the second best view of the forward viewscreen with a quizzical look "Er, Tactical?" Passing another set of doors (at 11 o'clock) he continued around the bridge; "Gravity, Environment - ah, Engineering." The latter station was at 7 o'clock from the centre of the bridge, and one of two flanking the steps to the lower bridge level.
Lirik stood at the 5 o'clock station, opposite to Leonard and gave his report; "This looks like communications, but I've no idea what that is," he thumbed to the station next to it, between 3 and 4 o'clock.
Christian had walked to the centre of the bridge, where three seats were positioned on a raised platform below and forward of the Tactical station. He looked down at the grand, bulky workstation in front of the viewscreen. "There's the Helm," he said.
"Really?" Rebbik skipped down the steps and began looking at the flat, blank surfaces.
"So where's Operations?" Lirik enquired.
Leonard was busy trying to activate the engineering station. "It's a passenger vessel, Yeoman, Operations wasn't part of the regime. Infact," he looked over, "that station there is probably for the Chief Purser."
"If there's power for life support," Christian sidled up close behind Leonard, smelling fresh, clean soap on him, "why are none of the bridge stations active?"
"I'm not sure yet," Leonard referred to his padd, but only had limited information on the vessel. "Hang on."
The German walked to the lower level, just in front of the engineering station, and opened a panel near to the floor. Christian followed him, while Lirik made for the 11 o'clock doors; "I'm going to check through here."
Christian locked eyes with the Yeoman and nodded slightly. Lirik flashed a brief smile, but lost it as quickly as it came, as if realising he was doing the wrong thing. He turned and walked off the bridge.
***
As Lirik disappeared, Souveson appeared through the other doors. "Captain!" She was excited, flushed an perspiring. "I saw movement. A light, some shadows. It was some way off, but I'm sure it was coming toward us."
Rebbik swallowed and rose, gripping the helm's head rest. "K'Tani?"
Christian ignored him. "Return to the others, ask the Commodore to get everyone aboard immediately." He turned to Leonard; "We can't delay any longer, it's either this ship or nothing."
"Aye, Sir," Souveson spun on the ball of her foot and ran out, just as sparks showered from several placed around the bridge and the consoles came alive.
"Well done, Commander," Christian felt a little more relieved. The main lights of the bridge dimmed as the now operational section adjusted the ambience for its working inhabitants. Cooler air began to rush in, causing Rebbik to shiver.
Christian's eyes darted around the Engineering board as Leonard rejoined him on the upper level of the bridge. Curiously, some touch screen panels had transformed into push-button panels. A shimmering sound behind them caused the two to whirl round in time to see a console materialise in front of the Captain's chair.
Leonard looked around the bridge, then up at the ceiling. "Holographic emitters," Leonard pointed to the cleverly disguised ribbons of emitters lining the walls and ceiling. "From what I read, the entire ship was rigged for holographic interaction. It must have been lashed into the command areas as well."
"Oh," was all Christian could manage.
"This is fraxing incredible!" Rebbik shouted back to them. The helm had transformed into a state of the art piloting console.
"But unstable," Leonard warned. "Power is fluctuating, most of the computer core has either been shut off or removed. All sensors and communications are off-line."
"Can she fly, though?" Rebbik asked.
"The readings here indicate impulse power, but we'd best check below, in Engineering. I will need your assistance."
"Of course," Christian called over to Rebbik, "stay here, tell the Yeoman to organise the civilians below. And tell him to keep them away from the bridge."
Christian and Leonard made for the turbolift next to the purser station at 2/3 o'clock, but it didn't respond. The two returned to the lower bridge and pulled aside a section of wall panel behind which was a Jeffreys tube.
***
The Jeffreys tube dropped for at least three levels before allowing Christian and Leonard to exit. In fact, they were both surprised to find the sign read 'Deck 9'.
"That's odd," Christian noted, "either we've descended further than we thought, or this sign is wrong."
"Or," Leonard added, "they've removed a few floors."
Christian didn't think it deemed a response. Reading a wall chart in the red emergency lighting of the corridor, and referring to Leonard's padd, they realised they were still within what would be the Command Yacht area. There was an engineering section listed for the deck, but it didn't seem to be main engineering, just the engineering section for the yacht itself.
However, having been blocked by sealed bulkheads at every turn, they had no choice but to check out the yacht's engineering section. Amazingly, they found the small control room was slaved into the main drive systems, and although it felt to Leonard a little like a virtual engine room with nothing but black computer screens, it responded when touched, and seemed to be operational, even if many systems were still off-line.
"There's deuterium in the tanks, but I can't say how much," Christian reported.
"Reaction chambers are active, EPS taps supplying power to the ship - distribution net sensors are faulty, I can't get accurate flow readings," Leonard tapped at the IPS command screens.
"I'm not reading any warp system activity," Christian was faced with over 50 blank panels throughout the room.
"The SIF and IDF generators are active," Leonard said, "as are the reaction control thrusters."
"Gravity, life support and environment seem fully functional," Christian said, "although the aircon system is set a little cool." He changed it to a more Human-tolerable temperature.
"Captain?" Leonard asked, causing Christian to stop and look over at the handsome man. "I have a very bad feeling about all of this. What if we're wrong, and the ship's not up to it? We'll be killing hundreds of innocent men, women and children. Maybe slowly and painfully."
Christian crossed the small room to face him. "What's your first name, Commander?"
"Ottmar, sir," the German felt warmed a little by his interest.
Christian reached out and shook his warm, large hand. He paused as he studied the man briefly. "Pleased to meet you Ottmar. What's your posting?"
"Deputy Chief Engineer aboard the Draco," he said, sheepishly. "While I was making my way through the tunnels yesterday, they had left orbit and were already en route out of the Vekarian system."
"The Draco, that's Stockport's ship?" Christian remembered the arsehole from his last Academy year. Leonard nodded, and Christian suspected they shared a similar feeling toward the Draco's commanding officer. "Well, what do you think? You've seen the systems here, I know they're a little unconventional, but do you think she's ready?"
Leonard looked around him again. "She can fly, without a doubt. And we're not being sucked into the vacuum, so I'd say she was pretty airtight as well," Leonard turned to an empty wall, where there must have been a master display monitor, he suspected. It was the only equipment missing, but coupled with the lack of computer interaction, it would make space travel difficult. "But we're blind in many ways. Aside from the navigational deflector, sensors are off-line, and we've no idea what condition the hull is in."
Christian tried to access the computer system again, without success. "We don't really have any choice in the matter, though, Ottmar. And I certainly don't want to turn around give myself up to the K'Tani; do you?"
"No, Sir," Leonard remembered Re Lorken's fear.
"You know, today was supposed to be my first day as Captain of the USS Firefly. My first command," Christian continued with the system checks. "I never thought my first command would turn into this."
* * *
As Lirik had passed through the second set of doors to the rear of the bridge, he found a turbolift on his immediate left. It wouldn't respond, and he turned in the bright overhead lights to face two sets of smaller doors opposite, marked with male and female icons daubed in the same signwriting they'd seen earlier. He sighed, and cast a short look toward the bridge. Smiling, he entered the one with the male icon.
Lirik couldn't stop grinning to himself in isolationary amusement as he exited the small room a few minutes later, somewhat more relieved. Emerging from the head, there was a power surge, followed by an adjustment to the ambient lighting. In this light, the corridor seemed more alluring, despite its damage; wall panellings had been stripped, network systems and power units dangerously exposed and, it seemed, tampered with.
Following the narrowing corridor further back, he found the Starboard side airlock, sealed, to his left, and on a slight bend to the right, a gaping hole leading to a room, stripped, save for a few empty cartons and packing material. The corridor ended in a further set of double doors. On either side, wall recesses were empty - presumably cabinets or display shelves of some kind.
Lirik guessed at the room's purpose beyond, and used an underfloor 'pump' lever to part the doors. He activated a light panel on the inside wall and watched as just two of the twelve or so elaborate light fixtures winked on. Centre stage in the room, a large mahogany table, surrounded by just a few broken chairs. The table was smooth to the touch, and, he suspected, real mahogany. "Beautiful," he remarked to himself.
Encircling the table along its aft-most curve, a set of windows reached up into the ceiling, each with deep recesses for more comfortable recliner seating underneath. The table could have easily seated twelve - more than that around its perimeter. Lirik turned to face the flat, inner wall and gasped at the huge, gaping hole where, presumably, replicators and display screens would have been for the briefing room-come-officers' mess. Instead, the 30 cm recess was blackened, dangling connection points revealing part of the guts that usually remained hidden on most spacegoing vessels. It was always a chilling sight to Lirik - making space travel seem more precarious and delicate than most travellers were led to believe.
To the left of the empty wall housing, another set of double doors - presumably leading back down the port side of the ship. Using a similar pump to open these doors, Lirik smiled in self-satisfaction when he saw, a short way down past a Jeffreys tube, the open airlock leading back into the complex.
Souveson was nowhere to be seen. Lirik continued on to the bridge to find Rebbik sitting in the Captain's chair. He almost jumped at the Yeoman's approach.
"Where are Captain Christian and Mister Leonard?" Yeoman stood before him.
"They're down below, freak, in Engineering. The Ensign's gone to get everyone aboard - said she saw some aliens headed this way," Rebbik rose to within an inch of Lirik's shielding, causing his nose to tingle.
As Rebbik shouldered past him to go down to the helm station in front of the still-blank viewscreen, Lirik allowed his Medusan energies to swell slightly, pushing against the environment shield. Rebbik felt a rush of nausia, and giddiness. It was a strange sensation, as it seemed to be occuring in his mind, rather than physically.
Lirik had reacted to the insult instinctively, but wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused by the expression. "I'm sorry, I thought you just called me 'Freak'? Did you say 'freak'?"
"Not my choice of words exactly," Rebbik said, swallowing the swell of saliva and trying to keep from vomiting. "Just something the Captain said, in his logs."
"The Captain? I don't know Christian. And I'm sure I haven't met him before today," Lirik didn't understand. "Frankly I doubt any Starfleet Captain would make such a racist comment on file. Anyway, what logs?"
"His, ah, personal logs," Rebbik wished he hadn't made the throw-away statement now but felt compelled to justify himself nonetheless. "Look, apparently one of your brethren took the lives of his parents - well, his mother's, anyway. His father's become a certified loony."
"Oh, hang on a second," Lirik's face flushed as he made the connection, "I remember a colleague pointed a news report out to me concerning this a couple of weeks ago. An accident with a Medusan ambassador."
Rebbik felt expunged. "See? So now you know. Oh, and another thing, he's ordered that you babysit the civilians - keep them off the bridge."
Lirik understood. He'd met only a couple of victims of Medusan effect before - most died as a result of prolonged exposure - and they were beyond any help. He wondered what he could say to the Captain and then wondered if he should even try - after all, it had nothing to do with him. But he knew he would be a constant reminder. "There's not enough space for everyone back there, I'll just go and check the forward section," he said, and jogged off into the port-side corridor flanking the main viewscreen.
The corridor formed a gradual arc, sloping down and passing an access shaft, a turbolift entrance and a few small, empty rooms until it ended in a pair of large, ornate wooden doors decorated with gold leaf. Beyond these, Lirik found a large, spacious area. The place was again poorly lit and in tatters, but Lirik could imagine its former function as an observation lounge.
To the front and sides of the room, huge windows stretching floor to ceiling revealed the panoramic view of other ships being held in the hangar and looked out over the enormous flat surface of the passenger section which stretched for several hundred metres to the prow a few levels below. Furniture was strewn about the room, some damaged, and again equipment had been removed from the walls. It reminded Lirik a little of the Ten Forward areas of Galaxy Class cruisers, only this had two ramps at either side of the room, leading down to the decks below. Quickly checking, Lirik found sealed bulkhead doors just a few metres down the ramps.
Following the starboard corridor back to the bridge, and passing similar rooms and access shafts along the way, Lirik saw a large crowd of people pushing forward into the bridge from the airlock to the rear.
"Okay, come this way," Lirik called to them, and waved them down past Rebbik and into the corridor beyond, "just follow the corridor to the end and make room for yourselves in the observation lounge."
As the people filed past, Rebbik stood and mimicked a sugary-sweet female voice, "Welcome aboard, would you like tea or coffee?"
Lirik couldn't bring himself to argue with the man, but did pull Narli to one side when he spotted the tall man moving sheep-like past him. It seemed he had struck up a conversation with the Orion female who followed him away from the crowds, then peeled off to look around the bridge. The first lot safely through, Christian reappeared on the bridge. Lirik felt himself blush.
"Mister Rebbik, we appear to have thrusters and impulse engines on line," Christian suddenly realised he wasn't in the company of Humans any more, "as soon as everyone's aboard we'll be moving out. I'd like you to take the helm, so please familiarise yourself."
"The first group of civilians are aboard, Captain," Lirik reported, "shall I see what our tactical readiness is?"
Christian bit a lip, an act of mock-self control, then said sarcastically. "No, you shan't, I'd like you to find anyone with engineering experience and send them below."
With that, Christian was gone again, as a second, larger number of people piled onto the bridge, many on makeshift stretchers. As they were ferried past, Rebbik was there a second time. "Hello, there, welcome aboard flight number Damnation 666, your journey into hell-"
Lirik elbowed the half-Ferengi, stopping his tactless joking, but could still hear the man tittering to himself as he walked to the helm station: "Emergency doors are located here, here and here�"
"Doesn't like you, does he." Narli stated.
"Who, the Ferengi?" Lirik was staring at the Jeffrey's tube Christian had disappeared down.
"No, the Captain," Narli smiled.
"You noticed," Lirik shared a friendly smile with the Andorian. "Apparently I'm the wrong kind of half-alien." He said this last statement loud enough for Rebbik to look over and sneer.
"You are more familiar with Starfleet and Federation systems," Narli said, "and I appear to be unoccupied, so why don't I go and find the engineers while you, er, make the bridge ready."
Lirik grinned. "Thanks - but don't think that pays me off for your going awol last night."
The Andorian left the bridge in strides, leaving Lirik to make an initial assessment of bridge system readiness. The Orion woman, it appeared, was doing a similar thing.
***
Souveson's heart was pounding. It had been a full twenty minutes since she spotted movement away down the hangar. Not even half the people were aboard yet. Her short journey from the airlock of the Fantasy down to the observation area, had been scarier than anything that had happened to her so far. Her senses had worked overtime, as had her imagination. Alone in the elevator, images of the carnage and destruction flashed through her mind. It wasn't so much the dead bodies, the blood, and the torn and broken limbs. What disturbed her was seeing people she knew laying dead or injured on the floor, and the children, and the crying and screams of people in agony - both physical pain and emotional turmoil.
It had taken a too-tight grip on her arm by Commodore Jackson followed by a reassuring pat on the back to bring her back to the matter in hand. Two more elevators had been found nearby, but that meant only thirty could be taken every two minutes. There were still around 150 people to go.
A large group comprised of the fitter and more desperate among the survivors had peeled off, sensing the urgency of the current situation, to look for a more conventional means of ascending to the boarding platform. Souveson had been instructed by Jackson not to go with them, saying they were doing so against her better judgement, and the Ensign was trying to understand this as she watched through the observation windows for movement. Then it happened.
Something caught her eye beyond the windows in the far distance. She looked closer, and realised lights had come on in the wall opposite. Then she saw figures in a third, maybe fourth level window. "Commodore, we're running out of time."
Jackson was ushering the next group along to the waiting elevators. "Move along there, people, try and squeeze a few more in if you can."
Finally there remained only Jackson, Souveson, O'Hara and some of the casualties who needed to be under her watchful eye - about twenty in all. The Klingon warriors had remained with her to aid in carrying those remaining who could not walk.
Jackson joined Souveson to the side of a window while O'Hara gathered the others close to the elevator doors for a speedy evac. Taking a moment to herself, the Lieutenant joined her colleagues.
"Have you seen anything?" O'Hara asked.
Souveson nodded at the figures slowly moving - almost socially, it seemed - in the windows in the distance. The more handsome of the Klingons joined them, swinging his Bat'Leth up. "We will be ready for them."
"That might not be necessary," O'Hara said, looking around their immediate surroundings. "I have an idea."
* * *
ACT 4