Chapter Text
USS Reykjavík, Stardate 3066.9 (November 6th, 2321)
Captain’s Ready Room
The 3-D chessboard had been forgotten after the second round of Aldebaran whiskey had settled in.
Moments like these were rare for a starship captain. Nandi Trujillo was grateful to have Lt. Commander Glal as her executive officer, a man whose life was the personification of dedicated Starfleet service. He was a former enlisted rating who had risen to commissioned officer and climbed the ranks based on his intelligence, perseverance and raw stubborn pride. The seasoned Tellarite was renown throughout the service as being one of the best XO’s in the fleet, one who’d eschewed any further promotion and planned to retire from his present post.
He was one of those rarest of types, a first officer who could be counted on in every situation, but also one who could on occasion help share the captain’s burdens. With Glal at her side, Trujillo was a little less isolated and the loneliness of her command was just a bit easier to bear.
It had been a good talk between command officers, to be sure, but also one between friends. They discussed their senior staff, ship’s operations, current events, and the ramifications some of those developments might have on their assigned duties.
“We’re slated to conduct a sensor sweep of the Tzenkethi border next week,” Trujillo revealed, sharing a sardonic grin with Glal as she sipped at her whiskey. “If nothing else, Garrett is making good use of that new science lab we installed for her.”
“Lab?” Glal scoffed. “It’s a damned science wing! Planetary sciences and astrometrics with a full stellar cartography suite. You’ve spoiled the woman, sir.”
“We both know we needed her,” Trujillo countered. “By incorporating those changes, we’ve vastly increased our utility to Command. In the past three months we’ve done more survey work than standard security patrols. Times they are a-changing, my friend.”
Glal grumbled into his now empty glass. “Bah, I miss gunboat work.”
“There will always be opportunities in that regard, they’ll just be increasingly rare. This latest wave of Federation exploration and colonial settlement is bound to spark some skirmishes. Look what we just went through with the Cardassians. Five years ago we’d never even heard of them, and now they’re the leading topic in this year’s Tactical Threat Assessment symposium.”
The Tellarite offered his species’ version of a shrug. “You’re just trying to cheer me up. Too much scut-work always makes me cranky,” he groused.
She spread her hands in a gesture of candor. “This is the new Starfleet. They’re big on diplomacy now, slow to anger, slower still to react to obvious threats. We either adapt to the new paradigm or Reykjavík gets mothballed and we get put out to pasture.”
“Something will come up soon,” Glal insisted. “It always does.”
“Bridge to Captain Trujillo,” came across the intraship.
She tapped her combadge reflexively. “Go ahead.”
The voice of the bridge duty officer, Lieutenant Jarrod continued, “Priority orders from Command, Captain. Starbase 234 picked up a garbled distress call from the starship Zelenskyy in the Trelaka system. Zelenskyy reported they’d engaged unidentified raiders attacking a Boslic colony in that system but had suffered damage and gone on the defensive. Zelenskyy is now failing to respond to hails. We’ve been ordered to proceed to Trelaka at maximum warp, render assistance to our ship and take whatever actions you deem prudent.”
Glal smirked at her through his scraggly beard, his tusks quivering with amusement.
“How do you do that?” she whispered sotto voce to her XO, before replying to the bridge, “Understood. ETA to that location?”
“At maximum warp, ETA is eighteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, Captain.”
“Have helm set course and engage at emergency speed, Lieutenant. Stand to yellow alert and initiate Level 2 diagnostics of all combat-related systems.”
“Aye, sir. Bridge, out.”
Trujillo finished her drink in a single swallow, setting the glass down as she eyed Glal with mock intensity. “You’re some kind of sorcerer, aren’t you?”
“On my world they’re called Soul Speakers, sir. As to whether I am one or not, I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me.”
She shook her head with amusement. “Go see to arrangements, Commander. I’ll want Alpha watch at their stations when we arrive on scene. Got to have the first team in their seats if we’re looking at potential combat.”
Glal rose slowly out of his chair, his knees crackling and eliciting a soft moan from the older officer. “Aye, sir.”
“And for heaven’s sake will you go have Dr. Bennett check out those ancient knees of yours? I swear you sound like a mortally wounded Targ every time you get up.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, sir,” Glal snuffled with good humor as he exited onto the bridge.
* * *
The senior officers stood in unison as Trujillo stepped through the parting doors into the windowless briefing room just aft of the bridge.
“At ease.” She slipped into the chair at the head of the table, prompting the others to resume theirs. “This meeting is now in session.” Trujillo nodded towards Lieutenant Arwen DeSilva, Operations officer. “What do we know about Zelenskyy?”
DeSilva toggled the tabletop LCARS interface in front of her, prompting a rotating hologram of a Miranda-class starship to appear above the center of the table. “Type nine variant of her class, launched thirteen years ago. Standard Class-IV armaments package. She’s primarily employed conducting light escort, perimeter patrol, and courier work. Crew compliment of two-hundred seventy.”
“Her captain?”
“Lt. Commander Eldred Withropp commanding. Academy class of ’05. Zelenskyy is his first commission as a CO.”
“The colony?” Trujillo prompted.
The bronze-hued Lieutenant Gael Jarrod from Security fielded that answer. In his slightly nasal, Oxonian-English accent he recited, “Boslic colony of Kiruta, established on Trelaka VII forty-eight years ago, Captain. Population at the time of the last Starfleet visit was a little over eight-hundred thousand, scattered across about a dozen settlements on a single continent.”
“Known enemies?”
“The Boslic are non-aligned,” the Science officer, Ensign Rachel Garrett replied. “They trade openly with just about everyone. The Boslic home system has had run-ins over the past few centuries with the Nausicaans, the Orions, and the pre-Federation Andorians, but no notable conflicts within the past four decades, sir.”
“Piracy activity in local sectors?” Trujillo asked, clearly in brusque efficiency mode today.
“Typically low-level and infrequent,” Jarrod answered. “A few known pirate groups, raiding small outlying colonies for supplies and fuel. Most pirate bands would avoid a colony the size of Kiruta, especially since the Boslic aren’t known to be pushovers. That colony has fully functioning orbital defense grid and a sizeable self-defense contingent.”
Trujillo nodded soberly, mulling over all she’d heard. “Very well. We’ll be in-system in a little over two hours. Dr. Bennett, I want you to continue familiarizing your staff with Boslic physiology, as we may be stumbling into a mass-casualty situation. Use whatever resources you need, to include converting cargo space and spare cabins into medical wards.”
She turned to address the Chief Engineer, the Zaranite Lt. Commander Kura-Ka. “Commander, please ready your staff for assignment to emergency repair teams. From what little we gathered from Command, it appears Zelenskyy’s taken quite a beating. If she’s still intact by the time we reach the system, we’ll doubtless need to effect some significant repairs.”
“Aye, sir,” Kura-Ka replied through his face-concealing breathing apparatus.
Trujillo then polled the senior staff, confirming the readiness of their individual departments.
“Anything else before we arrive in-system?” she asked.
There was nothing, so Trujillo stood. “Very well, this meeting is adjourned. Resume your posts, maintain yellow alert and set defense condition two.”
The others followed the captain to their feet and moved to depart, gathering up cups and data-slates they’d brought with them.
Rachel Garrett nudged her fellow ensign, Flight Control officer Farouk Naifeh, as the more senior officers exited the compartment. “How often does this happen? Running to the defense of missing or jeopardized ships, I mean?”
He grinned in response. “Why do you ask?”
“This is the third time since I’ve come aboard that we’ve been tasked with this sort of mission. The first time, when we found the Esau…” she blanched, traumatic memories bubbling up.
Naifeh reached out to grasp her shoulder, sensing her sudden unease. “Yes, we do get sent to the rescue quite often. We’re fast and we have teeth, or so Commander Glal is always saying.”
She gave a curt nod of understanding, words failing her.
“I don’t know what we’ll find when we get there, but I can almost guarantee that it won’t be as bad as what you found aboard Esau.”
She held his gaze. “I hope you’re right, for all our sakes.”
* * *
Dropping out of warp within a star system was a risky proposition, as the overlapping gravity wells of the system’s planets and star could play havoc with a starship’s warp field. This could result in anything from exploding nacelles to a warp-core breach to destabilizing the integrity of the local star itself.
Reykjavík did it anyway.
“Warp deceleration complete. We are at one-third impulse speed, approximately one AU from the colony planet. All engine systems read nominal,” announced Naifeh from the helm.
“Weaps,” Trujillo called, using her established shorthand for the Tactical station. “Give me eyes.”
In accordance with her wishes, Jarrod displayed a three-dimensional tactical overlay of the star system on the viewer.
DeSilva at Ops reported, “Three vessels detected in orbit of Trelaka VII, four more are holding at various positions in close orbit of the system’s seventeenth planet, a gas giant.” Icons representing each of the ships came to life as ship’s sensors painted them. "No sign of Zelenskyy in system, Captain."
Jarrod surveyed Trelaka VII's orbital zone. "It appears the colony's holding their own, sir. The three raiders in orbit are still engaging the Boslic defense satellites."
Trujillo was on the cusp of asking who their new friends were when Garrett spoke up from the Science station. “Three of the ships register as Nausicaan Fang-class corsairs, sir. Two are Xepolite Rantha-class destroyers, and the last two are Alshain Talon-class combat skiffs.”
“An eclectic mix,” Glal grunted from his post at the aft of the bridge.
“Just so,” Trujillo muttered in reply. Then, more forcefully, “Helm, engage course for that gas giant, full impulse. That’s where we’ll find our missing ship.”
DeSilva risked a glance back at the captain from her post. “And the colony, Captain?”
“The colony can wait, Lieutenant, and they appear to have things well in hand at the moment. We don’t know what we’ve warped into; this could be an active interstellar conflict we're unaware of. If Zelenskyy’s intact, they may be able to provide the necessary context to this situation. We need answers before we start kicking peoples’ teeth in.”
From behind her, Glal gave Trujillo an assaying look. The captain was notoriously impatient when her orders were questioned, most especially when the possibility of combat was present. Perhaps she’s starting to mellow with age, he wondered. Then an unsettling thought struck him, twisting his innards. By the Great Hoof, maybe she’s… evolving!
As Reykjavík raced towards the gas giant and it’s accompanying nine moons, Garrett set to work scanning the apparent threat vessels, running a series of comparative analyses on their power and weapons systems to assist Tactical should it come to a fight.
“Ops, open a channel in the clear.” Trujillo said.
“Aye, sir. Channel open.”
“Unidentified vessels, this is the Federation warship Reykjavík. We are answering a distress call from another Starfleet vessel that originated from this system. Identify yourselves and your reason for being here, or you may be presumed hostile.”
A full minute ticked past and the enemy’s silence was deafening.
“Picking up signs of debris in high orbit of the gas giant, sir,” DeSilva noted, breaking the lull.
“Confirmed,” Garrett added too quickly. “Duranium and tritanium composites in sufficient quantities to suggest they came from a Starfleet hull.” She looked to the captain, her expression somber. "Not enough mass to constitute an entire starship, sir."
DeSilva sent a smirk over her shoulder in Garrett’s direction that went undetected due to the younger woman’s intent focus on numerous displays. The ensign had just stepped on DeSilva’s incomplete report, but the lieutenant empathized with Garrett’s raw intensity and her overwhelming desire to contribute. They’d all been eager young ensigns once.
Trujillo nodded wordlessly, already having deduced that the gas giant was where Zelenskyy had gone to ground.
“We are being scanned, sir,” Jarrod alerted from Tactical. “The ships are ascending out of the gas giant’s atmosphere and appear to be bunching up, a diamond tactical formation. Their shields are raised, and their weapons systems are armed.”
“Acknowledged,” Trujillo answered. “Who’s manning these ships?” she asked as she pulled her swing-arm command display up and over her lap.
DeSilva caught Garrett’s eye and pointed to herself while delivering an ‘it’s okay’ wink to the junior officer before answering. “Sensors reading a mix of Nausicaan, Chalnoth, Orion and Xepolite lifesigns aboard those craft, sir.”
Trujillo grunted dourly. “The usual suspects, then.” She then toggled the comms open from her own interface. “Unidentified vessels, you have failed to respond to my challenge. Unless you do so in the next thirty seconds, you will be identified as hostile. You will lower your shields and disarm your weapons, or I will disable your ships. If you take aggressive action against us, I will destroy your ships. This is your final warning.”
“Captain,” Garrett spoke up from Sciences, “the power readings on those ships are way off their baseline. I’m seeing significantly enhanced weapons capabilities and reinforced shields, and their power plants are generating upwards of thirty-percent higher output than would be expected.”
“Auxiliary power to forward shields,” Trujillo commanded in response. “Weaps, target their weapons emitters and shield generators. Thirty percent yield on photorps to start, fifty percent phaser power.”
“Aye, sir. We’ll be in weapons range in twenty-three seconds.”
“Noted. They have fifteen seconds yet to reply.”
A volley of missiles swarmed away from one of the Nausicaan ships, angling towards Reykjavík from different quarters.
“Merculite missiles,” Jarrod noted laconically.
Trujillo raised one finger, a signal to Jarrod to take countermeasures.
“Engaging phaser point defenses, sir.”
Their phasers lashed out in quick succession, annihilating the incoming ordinance thousands of kilometers from their hull.
“Their time’s up, and I believe we have their answer,” Trujillo announced, cocking her head slightly. She reached to close the open front flap of her maroon tunic, fastening the shoulder clasp. It was a dead giveaway to the bridge crew, a silent tradition that spoke of impending combat.
“Their funeral,” Trujillo mused. “Mister Jarrod, increase weapons yield to maximum and open fire.”
* * *