Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

XXIV. Unwanted Guests

Jamie Blackthorne sits next to Emma Rosewarne on the bridge of the Sebby.

“This is Admiral Decker. San Sebastián has tactical command. O’Bannon will cover the dive.”

“God help us all,” comes a voice from one of Croft’s charges. He can’t tell which one, or which voice on the two ‘contract’ ships.

“Settle down,” he says. “It’s all good.”

“Divers deployed,” Decker says.

“Signal, Captain. It’s the Crusader. Text only,” says the comms tech.

“Read it.”

The tech hesitates, then looks again at her screen at Emma’s encouragement.

“I guess I’ll have to save your asses again,” the tech reads.

Emma snorts, though the tech maintains complete professionalism.

“Take north on the rose,” Croft says.

The torpedo boat obeys. Croft knows that Torbert’s ship will come in handy if there are any interlopers, even though she’s already expended around twenty torpedoes out of the hundred she carries.

“It leaves eighty or so,” Emma says. He looks at her, wondering if there is some Deltan Link-stuff going on. “You never were good at math, roomie.” She lowers her voice even more. “You got this, sweetie. You’ve trained for it all your life; you’ve done things like it as a first officer. In spite of the silly ass little beret you’re now wearing, I have complete confidence in you.”

Croft nods, then waiting for her to turn her attention elsewhere, removes the green beret with 45 Commando’s flash on it. He sees the left side of her mouth, the side that he can see, quirk up.

An alarm goes off, shattering the low murmuring. “Proximity alert,” Haveka says. “Multiple warp signatures inbound.”

“Red Alert. Raise shields.” Emma says. “Warn the other ships,”she adds.

Three predatory black and red shapes shift into real space. “That’s not so bad,” Croft muses.

Until three other sets of three shapes each.

“You had to say something,” Emma snarks. “Engage the closest three,” she says.

The closest three suddenly disappear in another deluge of torpedoes. “Or not,” Emma adds.

“Starlight, maintain station on the O’Bannon. O’Bannon, engage with point defense if needed,” Croft says, punching the words into his console as well. “A’lanna, take the next in line. Crusader, your choice. We’ll take the scraps.”

To punctuate his words, the Sebby heels over, a slight explosion coming from aft on the bridge. “Damage control to the bridge,” Haveka says from below. “We’re taking heavy fire, Captain. Shields down to 60%.”

“Then shoot back, Veks,” she says.

“We’re not going to be able to take much of this, even with this lot, much less if they bring in more friends,” Emma says, her voice tight.

“Signal from the dive team, copied to us. They’ve found them,” the comms tech says. Morksogian, who is driving, looks down at her screen. “Two of the trios have concentrated on the O’Bannon, while the other three are headed for the boomer.”

“All ships, concentrate fire on the six near the O’Bannon,” Croft says.

“More hyperspace signals. At least ten signatures. No,” Mork stops. Her voice tightens and she glances back to Emma and Croft. “Twenty.”

XXV. Friends

Emma Rosewarne fires an extinguisher at an arcing panel at the front of the cockpit. Both Morksogian and Croft are handling the other extinguishers, while the quartermaster’s mate controls their evasive jinking. Nine of the warp signatures had turned out to be Klingon Birds of Prey, like the previous dozen.

The Crusader, true to her power, had engaged the first three, while other two ships under Croft’s command had dove in, covering the O’Bannon.

“Signal from Flag, Captain,” comms says. “We’re ready to begin rescue.”

“Very well,” Croft says as he sits down. “All ships, re-form on me. Protect the O’Bannon.”

Emma reseats herself, then checks her repeater screen. She sneaks a glance over at Croft. He appears to be calm, absorbed in tracking the pitched battle that he has suddenly found himself in command of, but he can’t keep the worry over the next phase of the operation from his eyes. They had heard Gunny’s transmission about Admiral Decker’s daughter, as well as an additional one about the other survivors.

One of the pods contains a seriously injured XO and another is filled with the three or four dead.

They still don’t know where the other warp signatures were. They hadn’t shown up with the dozen. Either that or they had already arrived and had cloaked.

“They’re so sure of ending us, they aren’t even cloaking,” he murmurs, half to himself.

“Captain, another ship has warped in. It’s headed toward the surface of the giant,” Haveka says.

“A Klingon?” Croft asks.

“No, Major. It’s a deuterium carrier.”

“Like the ones that attacked the FOB. Are they headed towards the O’Bannon?” Emma asks.

The wait for an answer is agonizing.

“No, Em,” Haveka replies. “They’re going to the surface. Near where the eruption occurred.”

Emma and Croft look at one another. “All ships, concentrate fire on that ship. The marines diving are unprotected.”

“They’re going to all try it,” Emma says, despair creeping into her voice. “It’ll be like whack-a-mole.”

“Captain, incoming warp signatures!” Haveka shouts.

Emma hears a curse from Croft. “Of course more had to show up.”

They turn their attention to the viewport. They wait for the appearance of what would seal their fates.

It would be improper to characterize the sound coming from Haveka as a squeal, but it is definitely a scream.

Of joy.

“Federation IDs!” she shouts amidst the sudden din from the CIC. “It’s the 17th! The Banshees are here!”

Emma feels her stomach twist as she sees the multiple, spearlike, nacelled shapes, with half-disks on the upper bows appear. They don’t waste time.

“Plenty of trade for everyone. Don’t hog’em,” comes a familiar voice with a mix of London and Deltan accents.

She can feel Croft’s roiling emotions—maybe a byproduct of the close bond with Chandra—as her beloved face—to both of them—comes on the screen.

“Heard you both need your asses saved,” she says, a warm smile on her face.

“What kept you?” Croft manages, a catch in his voice as he stares at her. He finds a little bit of his usual snark. “You were always slow.”

Emma knows what is coming next. “You never complained about me being slow before.” She takes Emma in with her burning gaze. “Either one of you.”

They both choose to ignore several snickers from below.

XXVI. The Sea Shall Give Up Her Dead

Karl Havarti carefully lifts Eileen Madison through the joined hatch on their pod. As he turns when she is secured, he realizes that Decker Sinclair is assisting with stowing her XO.

“Goddamnit, Skipper, I told you that we had it,” he exclaims. He senses Thro’lev shaking his head.

“I’m okay, Bunts,” she says shakily, using an ancient slang term for a signalman. The foggy look in her eyes doesn’t back her words up. He reaches up with a cloth and tenderly cleans off the blood from her forehead. A swipe downward takes the slight bit of bloody froth from her lips.

So far, her complexion hasn’t turned blue, but with a punctured lung, it may at any moment. Karl looks at the medtech. Her expression is guarded.

The Master-at-Arms looks through the hatch. “Everybody is transferred to these two pods, Mr. Thro’lev,” he says.

Thro’lev nods, wincing at the pain in his broken-off antenna. “Very well.”

“We’re ready, Aerfens,” comes the melodious English-accented voice of the Gunnery Sergeant leading the divers.

“Very well, Gunny,” Thro’lev says. “Stand by to render honors,” he adds.

There is quiet in the pods and without. Through the port, Karl can see the marines coming to a semblance of attention in their pressure suits, in the morass of the gas giant.

Thro’lev starts to speak, but Sinclair shakes her head. “Communications Technician 2nd Hank Dougherty,” she says in a clear, but shaky voice, “Engineering Technician (Propulsion) 3rd Fazir Narouk. Leading Yeoman Na’ella. We commit their bodies to the deep, that they may rest in peace, until that day that the stars shall give up their dead.”

She slumps back down after the abbreviated, modified service for the dead. Karl sees the tears in her eyes as they close. He wipes his own away.

“Detail, Present Arms,” comes over the speaker. Karl sees the marines outside salute.

“Order Arms,” finishes the command.

“Let’s get you out of there,” the gunny says.

“Release the two pods.” Thro’lev orders.

There is a tchunk sound, as the pods drift away from the assembly. Another loud clang on the hull and the pods begin to rise. The assembly with the remaining pod and their honored dead, starts to sink as the artificial gravity transfers to the two pods.

As they get close to the surface, Karl looks up. He can see multicolored flashes coming closer to them.

Until they are in the midst of the lightning. Karl can see shattered shapes in the black. He is thankful that most, if not all, appear to be Klingon in origin.

“Release the grapplers,” a new voice says. “Tractor them in.”

“All ships, cover the O’Bannon as she withdraws with our shipmates,” a voice that Karl vaguely recognizes says over the comms.

“Large signal jumping in,” says a male voice.

Karl turns just in time to see a massive shape appear. His heart falls as he recognizes it as a Klingon K’t’inga-class battlecruiser.

Still the biggest bully in the Klingon schoolyard.

At least his heart falls, until the ship starts to open fire.

On the remaining Birds of Prey. He can see another ship flaming in the slight atmosphere of the gas giant, as it plunges into the planet. A ship that looks like some sort of large freighter.

“All ships, execute combat withdrawal,” Croft says over the comm. “Prepare for warp maneuvering”.

Karl looks over at his captain, still resting and unconscious.

A smile on her pale face.