Chapter Text
* * *
With his wiry frame, Commander Callum O'Brien, Repulse's chief engineer, hunched over the large "pool table." He dragged a hand through his short, light brown hair, spiraled with its natural curls, while his grayish-blue eyes scanned the current output of the ship's powerful propulsion systems. Though the Excelsior-class cruiser remained at station-keeping with Gol, his hands moved across the touch panels to call up more information.
In his tenor voice with an Irish lilt, he called out, "Mazer. Take a damage control team up to deck three. I need you to run a magneton scan and report back."
Chief Damage Control Technician (DCC) Mazer nodded. "Aye, Commander." She turned and barked orders to a quartet of similarly rated personnel and within seconds of grabbing equipment, they vanished into the nearest turbolift.
"Something wrong with the containment chamber, Commander?" asked a baritone voice; the tone respectfully curious.
Without turning around, O'Brien replied, "I think the sensors that report status on the resonance might have been damaged. The output is showing a number out of expected norms." Keeping his eyes on the display, he asked a question of his own: "May I help you?"
"I'm Leo Verde." After a pause, he added, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
O'Brien turned around and grimaced. "You're the JAG lawyer. Forgive me, if I don't share in your pleasure." He shook hands with Verde fleetingly before turning back around. "And with all due respect, I'm a little busy right now."
Leo approached the table and peered at the display over the man's shoulder. "I promise I won't take up too much of your time, but I had hoped you might help me piece together what happened over here."
"What happened was the captain received orders to prosecute targets in Gorn territory and that's what we did," the engineer fired back with irritation. "Case closed. Bye."
"I see…" Leo's voice trailed off as he tried a different tactic. "It's a shame, then. It would appear someone managed to pull one over on your department, because the orders have been deleted without your knowledge. The captain and the XO are in a tight spot since we can't prove this ship ever received such a transmission from Starfleet Command." He turned to leave. "But, hey, thanks for your time," he said, walking toward the lift doors.
O'Brien scowled. "Hold it right there, JAG," he ordered sternly.
Leo came to a halt. "Yes?" he asked, not turning around. "How can I help you?"
The chief engineer gave Leo his full attention. "What do you mean, exactly, by deleting data right under my nose?"
"Commander," Leo said politely, "I don't want to take up too much of your valuable time- "
O'Brien growled, "Stow it! You deliberately baited me, so don't play games!" He closed the distance between them and placed his hand on Leo's shoulder. The tight grip tugged on Leo's stance as he ordered, "Turn around and tell me what's going on."
Leo looked down at the hand. With his half-profile, his voice growled in a lower timbre. "Remove your hand, Commander." When the hand lingered, he added, "I will not ask you again."
Slowly, O'Brien slid his hand from Leo's shoulder. He folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me what happened." When Leo turned around and fixed him with a glare, he hastily appended, "Please."
Softening his expression, Leo nodded. "Captain Keller and Commander T'Rel both mentioned that they had authorization to operate within Gorn territory because of a set of orders received on or around Stardate three-five-eight-one," he referenced his notes on the screen of his display device.
The chief engineer twisted on his heels and approached a terminal station. After a quick login, he called up the communications records and scrubbed through the entries after landing on the reported stardate. He filtered for priority or command-level messages and found nothing, one week prior or after. "This is the correct stardate?"
"Yes," confirmed Leo. "The comms lieutenant on the bridge had similar trouble locating anything."
"That would be Lieutenant Ha-Vatoreii, I presume," O'Brien mentioned matter-of-factly. "He's good, but we need some specialists." He stopped a passing ensign with a waving hand and told him, "Tell Mister Gee and Chief Sheesta to come down here, instanter."
The ensign, fearful of disappointing him, nodded quickly and scurried off to carry out the orders.
"Why do we need them, exactly?" Leo wondered, already knowing the answer.
"Gee's a warrant officer. He is a communications technician. Sheesta is a data systems technician," explained O'Brien as he worked within the computer system. "I'm a dab hand, but they're the best."
Leo nodded silently, allowing the disgruntled officer to work without further distraction. Five minutes later, the lift doors opened and raucous laughter filled the main propulsion compartment. The man, a human with raven-black hair dressed in a casual engineering vest, emerged from the lift, his eyes squeezed shut as laughter overtook him. The female Rigellian Senior Chief Petty Officer in her coveralls joined in on the mirth, playfully smacking his back in shared amusement.
The signs of a well-worn joke were evident in Gee's strained vocal cords as he squeezed out his words amidst spasms of laughter, "And then the Orion turns to the Klingon and says-" The mirthful exchange between the two non-commissioned officers was abruptly curtailed under the icy gaze of O'Brien.
"Erm, reporting as ordered, sir," Gee said, his face still red from his exertions.
O'Brien gestured to his workstation. "I'm having trouble locating a message sent to the ship around Stardate thirty-five eighty-one."
Gee and Sheesta exchanged glances. "Lieutenant Ha-vatoreii asked us the same thing, sir. We just came down from the bridge," Gee spoke first.
Sheesta added, "Whatever message it might have been, both the records of receipt and the message itself are unrecoverable. The puzzling thing is that the data blocks where the message might have resided appear to have been shredded."
"'Shredded,'" repeated O'Brien. "Are the blocks unusable?"
"May I?" asked Sheesta as she approached the station.
The chief engineer pushed himself away to allow her access. They all watched as she manipulated the controls expertly, calling up sections of the ship's computer cores.
"Under normal circumstances, when you delete data using the computer's everyday subroutines, the data is erased. However, we have a secondary and tertiary computer system that can recover the data if someone inadvertently calls for deletion."
Gee stepped in to provide more color. "Whenever this ship receives a transmission from an authenticated source, it writes the data in fifteen different places. Five on the main computer core, and five on both the secondary and tertiary cores."
On the heels of Gee's comment, Sheesta noted, "But all of the blocks on all three cores were not just blanked. Each block underwent a systematic destruction. They're marked by the ship's computer during the diagnostic sweeps as unusable."
"You might as well have melted the isolinear circuits with a damned plasma torch!" O'Brien snarled, followed by a four-letter invective. "How the hell does something like this happen?"
Sheesta shrugged. "Sir, I could speculate all day about how to do it from the software side. My guess is that whatever did it, it came with the message, because I've been crawling all over the computer for the last day and a half. No program that interacts with the data does that."
"Perhaps then, the method and the absence of the data is enough to show that the captain and the exec are telling the truth," Leo surmised aloud, mostly to himself.
Gee and Sheesta peered at Leo, unsure of his identity. O'Brien introduced inattentively, "This is Commander Verde. He's from JAG."
"Good to meet you both," Leo said with a smile. "I was looking for a couple of experts, so I appreciate you coming down to talk to me."
"Uh, sure," Gee said hesitantly. "Is the captain going to be court-martialed?"
"I'm sorry, I can't discuss that with you," Leo replied softly. "But, any information you two can gather for me will be very helpful."
O'Brien's consternation centered around a related point. He shot an angry glare at Leo. "I swear, when I get my hands on whoever did this to my ship…"
* * *
“Admiral Saavik, what an unexpected pleasure,” Trujillo said by way of greeting. “What can I do for you, sir?”
Saavik’s visage appeared on the desktop monitor in Nandi’s quarters, the priority communique having reached her on the cusp of turning in for the night.
“I am calling to ascertain if you’ve suffered some kind of sudden cognitive impairment,” Saavik deadpanned, her Vulcan half dialed up for the occasion.
Trujillo stared for a moment, at a loss for words. Finally, she said, “Can you elucidate further, Admiral?”
“Indeed. I have just received not one, but several messages from multiple flag-level officers in near-histrionics regarding an alleged offer you’ve supposedly made to the Gorn military, Commodore. I trust that the truth of the matter is somewhat less dramatic than I’ve been led to believe?”
Trujillo fought back a wry grin, looking down for a moment to collect herself before answering. “In the interests of preserving the peace, I’ve been talking with the Gorn about what they would find a reasonable solution to our present situation, aside from us handing over Repulse and her crew to their tender care. Their primary concern appears to be the loss of material investment in the facility we destroyed. I was endeavoring to determine whether we might achieve what they term ‘loss parity’ without the accompanying deaths that an armed confrontation would generate. They actually seemed interested in the prospect.”
“I see,” Saavik replied stolidly. “So, you have not, in fact, ‘sold us out to the Gorn’ or ‘basically surrendered all Starfleet assets along the border’?”
Trujillo shifted uncomfortably in her chair, rubbing at one temple with her hand. “I did send along a report to you with an attached recording of that specific conversation, sir,” Trujillo offered. “I thought it prudent after my discussion with Vice-Admiral Nkosi seemed to leave him rather agitated.”
Saavik’s expression relaxed and the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at one corner of her mouth. “I know. I read it and watched the transmission before being inundated by several officers who had only heard about it second or third hand, yet still felt the need to share their uninformed opinions. Your outside-the-box thinking has more than a few of the admiralty in a collective cold sweat. I assured them that you were merely exploring possibilities and nothing had been agreed upon as yet.”
Trujillo shook her head disbelievingly, puffing out a frustrated breath. “Just between you, me and the bulkhead, Admiral, I think there are a few too many people who’d like to see us in a fight with the Gorn right now, and I'm at a loss as to why. A lot of them are the same ones who were wetting their pants six months ago, terrified that we were going to war with the Tholians. For whatever reason, they seem to think fighting the Gorn would be easier or less costly. I’m guessing they don’t realize that although the research facility building those isolytic weapons may have been destroyed, we have no way of knowing how many of those weapons were distributed to their fleet prior to Repulse’s attack.”
Saavik inclined her head, conceding the point. “I’m taking your plan under advisement, and I’ll be approaching some cooler heads on the Security Council about its merits. I’ll do what I can to keep any political heat off you in the meantime, Nandi. You keep doing what I hired you to do, what you excel at, in point of fact. I share your reluctance to fight an unnecessary war that we just inexplicably tried to start.”
“Thank you, sir. Your support is always appreciated.”
The transmission terminated and Trujillo stared idly at the Starfleet Command delta for a long time afterward before reluctantly climbing into bed.
* * *
"Though Keller's claims appear unsupported, Skip, there's been a curious - indeed, one might say exceptional - push to not only prevent the recovery of pertinent data but also to obliterate entire sectors of storage, thus preventing forensic examination." Leo's voice resonated in a deep baritone over the viewscreen, his heterochromatic eyes reflecting the glow of the screen.
Wearing the iconic Starfleet communications earpiece, he sat at one of the stations in Repulse's command center, ensuring a somewhat confidential discussion with Glal aboard Gol. The background revealed officers on the bridge, each fully engrossed in their respective duties.
Leo's duty weighed heavily on him, evident in his audible exhale and a slight drop of his broad shoulders. With a slight tone of frustration, he continued, absentmindedly running his hand over his beard in thought. "I could construct a solid defense from this... if only Keller would grant me the opportunity to tell him."
“We can’t make the man cooperate,” Glal huffed from his cramped office compartment. “If he wants to throw away his career and spend his twilight years in a penal colony, that’s his business. How are your engine diagnostics and repairs coming along?”
“Shields are rising,” Lieutenant Kesshek’s voice echoed, a tremor of alarm threading through his words as the ship’s computer translated them. His large black eyes reflected the scarlet-hued alert from the tactical console, a silent testament to the developing circumstance.
Leo swiveled in his seat, his eyes drifting away from the station’s visual pickup. The Saurian tactical officer’s palpable concern drew immediate attention; an unsettling undercurrent that permeated the command center. With a deep breath, Leo turned back to Glal on his screen.
“Hang on, Skip,” he said with an authoritative calmness that belied the tension knotting his stomach. “We’ve got a situation developing here.”
From her position at the heart of the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Vara leaned forward in her chair, her blue skin taking on an icy hue under the stark lighting of their surroundings. Her voice cut through the silence, sharp and precise. “Report,” she demanded.
Adding to the growing sense of unease was Lieutenant Thalix’s input. Their voice wavered as they reported from their helm station, “Commander, our ship’s attitude and pitch adjustments are steering us towards a trajectory that will take us back across the border.”
The ship’s intercom crackled to life, a note of panic lacing the usually steady voice. “O’Brien to Bridge; abort warp activation! We’ve got a crew working on the antimatter containment unit!”
Leo shot up from his chair, his heart plummeting as a stone in heavy gravity at the severity of O’Brien’s words. The possibility of disaster was very real. An unexpected warp could spell catastrophe for those unsuspecting engineers.
Through his earpiece, Glal’s voice sliced through the mounting tension, a sharp edge of bewilderment cutting through his usual calm demeanor. “What’s happening, Leo?”
Sinking back into his seat, Leo’s fingers danced over the console’s input with practiced ease even as he grappled with the uncertainty. He shook his head, dread coiling within him. “I’m not sure yet, Skip,” he admitted reluctantly, “But it seems someone is attempting to seize control of Repulse.”
The steady voice of Vara wavered, the undercurrent of fear unmistakable as she relayed the grim news to O’Brien. “Engineering, we’ve lost control of the ship. Get that team out, now!”
The chilling reality of her words rang clear in the silence that followed, and Leo could see the shock register on Glal’s grizzled Tellarite face. His eyes bulged, and he managed a guttural “What-“ before their communication link cut off. The Starfleet Delta insignia flashed ominously on screen with the words “transmission ended”.
With a sense of urgency gnawing at him, Leo rose from his chair and made his way towards Vara’s central position, each step echoing through the tense bridge.
Thalix’s voice sliced through the mounting tension like a knife. Their tone was one of disbelief as they reported, “Sir... I can’t explain it, but we’re going to warp in ten seconds!”
“Red alert,” came Vara’s command; her voice strained but resolute despite her evident fear.
O’Brien’s voice crackled back over the intercom, laced with confusion and concern. “Bridge, we’ve evacuated the teams! What in blazes is happening up there?!”
Before anyone could muster a response, a collective gasp echoed through the bridge. The crew’s eyes widened in sheer terror as they watched the stars on the main viewscreen stretch into long streaks of cosmic light. It was an unmistakable sign; Repulse made the transition into the interfold layer of subspace. They were only moments away from departing Federation territory, unable to act against the threat of an irreversible course.
* * *
The red alert klaxon jolted Trujillo awake from a dead sleep and the comms in her quarters came to life with Davula’s voice just as she was rolling out of bed.
“Commodore, sensors have detected Repulse changing course abruptly, jumping to high warp and heading into Gorn territory. We received word from Gol a few hours ago that they and Repulse had dropped to impulse to repair damage to Repulse’s injectors and anti-matter containment system from redlining their engines for so long during their time in Gorn space. Then we lost comms with both ships just before Repulse warped away, and now it appears Gol’s been disabled and is adrift.”
Trujillo dressed quickly but not frantically, having long ago learned that slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.
“Disabled how?” Trujillo asked as she cinched her tunic’s belt around her waist and sat down on the rumpled bed to pull on her boots.
“Unknown, sir. It appears she’s running on emergency power. Warp and impulse systems are in emergency shutdown mode. No comms with Gol at this time.”
“Alert Command and contact the Arcadia. Tell Captain Locke that I’m initiating Opplan Iron Curtain and to get the task force into position. We’ll also need whatever ships Task Force Truancy has managed to cobble together and get them headed this way.”
“Aye, sir.”
“All outposts, vessels and defensive points along the border are to come to red alert.” Trujillo stood as Davula confirmed her orders, and straightened her uniform tunic, fastening the flap at the shoulder. “What’s our nearest asset to Gol?”
“The James Kirk, sir. A Loknar-class frigate.”
“Dispatch them to recover Gol as soon as possible. Set course for a position along our side of the border proximate to where Repulse penetrated Gorn space and execute immediately. If Keller and some of his crew staged some kind of ruse to seize the ship, disabling Gol would have been the first order of business before driving back into Gorn territory.”
“Do you think the reported engine problem was a diversion, sir?” Davula asked.
“I don’t know, Commander. But I fear what may happen to Commander Verde if he’s still aboard that ship and Keller’s back in command,” Trujillo said, stepping out of her cabin and into the corridor. “I’ll be in CIC, have Lieutenant Shukla meet me there.”
* * *