Chapter Text
USS Bluefin
The Bluefin and the captured Maquis Q-ship Draskaar moved together through the field of slowly drifting asteroids, their destination a set of coordinates where the ever watchful Lt. Bane had identified energy discharges marking an exchange of high-yield weapons fire.
Akinola had allowed Gralt and his team forty-five minutes to shore up their starboard nacelle strut as best they could before resuming their search for Gibraltar. The obstinate Tellarite wasn't happy with that, and truth be told, neither was the captain. Regardless, the lives of their fellow Starfleet personnel took precedence over repairs which, if completed, would only improve Bluefin's performance by a marginal factor.
Akinola sat patiently in the captain's chair as he resisted the urge to stare at Bane while the man worked to tweak his incoming sensor returns to maximize data yield. He did, however, look over at Strauss to find the young woman's gaze focused on the Australian lieutenant. Far from anxious, Akinola would have described the look on his XO's face as being a mix of pride and longing. He suppressed a knowing smile and the captain turned his attention to the viewer.
"ETA to energy discharge contact three minutes," Fralk announced from the Helm station. The Denobulan was completely engrossed in his console, plotting constant course adjustments to avoid the ever-shifting field of planetary rubble.
"XO, sound General Quarters."
"Aye, sir." Strauss replied, toggling the PA. "All hands, red alert. Stand to battle stations."
Akinola accessed a scrambled laser-link comms frequency, raising the Draskaar. "Commander Ramirez, what's your status?"
Her reply was immediate. "All weapons running hot and shields at full strength, sir. Awaiting your orders, Captain." Akinola had to admit that thus far he had been impressed by Ramirez. Despite being without her ship, she and her team had overcome significant odds to turn the tables on their captors. Upon Bluefin's arrival, Ramirez had exhibited no hesitation at following the orders of a ‘mere' Border Service captain. Rather, she had immediately acknowledged his authority and set about working seamlessly with his crew. Joseph knew there were more than a few first officers in the regular Fleet who would have balked at surrendering their authority to the CO of a cutter.
From an auxiliary console, Senior Chief Brin observed, "Captain, the Trafalgar should be arriving in system any moment, sir."
Akinola responded with a small shake of his head. "They'll drop out of warp at the system periphery due to the severe navigational hazard of the belt. ETA from there to here at max impulse is over forty minutes. I expect this will all be over by then."
*****
Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar
Maxwell sat impatiently as he watched the seconds tick past on the chronometer just below the viewscreen. He was just about to ask for a status report when his chief gunner spoke up. "Ben, we just lost bio-telemetry from most of the boarding party."
Maxwell stood suddenly and moved across the cramped bridge to the gunner's station as he asked, "Most? Who do you have?"
"Osgood and T'Mir are the only two I'm still reading, and their returns indicate both of them may be unconscious."
"What the hell's happening over there?" Maxwell fumed. "Beam those two back straight away."
"Roger that."
*****
Sickbay, USS Gibraltar
The main doors to Sickbay hissed open, and Tark found himself staring down the emitter of the Bajoran phaser pistol Sandhurst had liberated from T'Mir's holster. "Captain?" Tark stepped forward, clearly concerned about Sandhurst's disheveled and blood-soaked appearance.
The captain was kneeling over an unconscious female in the midst of what looked to be almost unimaginable carnage. The walls, ceiling, and work surfaces of the main Sickbay ward were splashed with crimson, and the shredded remains of what appeared to be multiple people littered the floor.
"Sir... are you alright?" Tark stepped aside to allow the rest of his ad-hoc security team through the door. There were gasps and muttered oaths from the others as they caught sight of the slaughter.
Sandhurst nodded numbly and lowered the phaser clutched in his trembling hand. "Maquis. No options," he croaked weakly.
"I'm... I'm sure, sir," Tark offered lamely. As he moved towards a second intact but unmoving figure, this one a male human, he detected the harmonic component of a transporter beam. As the comatose male vanished before his eyes, Tark turned to shout a warning to Sandhurst. The master chief spun around just in time to see the telltale red shimmer of a Klingon transporter beam engulfing both the captain and the woman at his feet.
*****
SS Draskaar
Ramirez called back to where Lar'ragos manned the weapons console and inquired, "You ready for a fight, Pava?"
"Always am, sir."
"Mister Ashok," she called. "Ready those additional generators and power cells. We're going to kick the Maquis in the teeth until they beg for mercy."
The Bolian's only reply was a satisfied sounding grunt.
Taiee stepped onto the bridge, an emergency medical kit slung over one shoulder. She assumed a seat at an empty cargo management console.
Ramirez glanced over at the nurse practitioner. "Evening, Doc. Come to watch the show?"
"More like patch the lot of you up after the brawl," she answered with an ironic smile.
"Fair enough." Ramirez addressed Sarnak, the Vulcan flight control officer on loan from the Bluefin. "How is she responding at helm, Lieutenant?"
"Sluggishly, sir. Her modification into a combat platform included only a slight improvement in maneuverability from the ship's original design specifications."
Ramirez grinned. "You mean she handles like a beached whale."
Sarnak minded his console as he tried to maintain formation with the more maneuverable Bluefin. "I believe that is what I'd indicated, Commander." The Vulcan seemed immune to the laughter this response elicited from the others. As the Draskaar cleared the last of the rocky obstructions, he noted stoically, "We have arrived at the projected coordinates, sir."
Lar'ragos chimed in, "Sensors reading... one Constitution-class starship, one Maquis Q-ship, and a Klingon scout-type Bird-of-Prey."
Ramirez resisted the urge to lean forward in the command chair. "Status of Gibraltar, Ashok?"
"I'm seeing significant damage to the engineering hull and severe structural integrity loss to the main shuttle bay. Their tactical systems and shields have been compromised, and they appear to be running on minimal emergency power, sir."
"She's damaged and in over her head," Lar'ragos muttered sardonically. "It must be Tuesday."
*****
USS Bluefin
Bane reported much the same information to Akinola as the Bluefin crested an asteroid similar in size to the object that caused the great Cretaceous extinction on Earth. Akinola keyed his comlink to the Draskaar. "Akinola to Ramirez, we'll take the Bird-of-Prey. You keep that other Q-ship occupied."
"Acknowledged, Captain."
A photon torpedo accompanied by twin disruptor blasts from Garth of Izar's wingtip cannons slammed into Bluefin's forward screens, causing the bridge lights to dim momentarily as the ship's shield generators pulled additional power to stabilize the defense grid.
"XO, priority targeting on weapons and propulsion. I want prisoners." Akinola planted his elbows on the command chair's armrests and interlaced his fingers, his mind now switching to full tactical mode.
"Aye, opening fire." A volley of torpedoes reached out for the Bird-of-Prey as the smaller ship winged-over and raced for cover. One of the two torpedoes reached its target, as did a phaser blast from the cutter. The two in concert delivered a serious blow to the scout's aft deflectors as the ship disappeared behind a nearby asteroid.
Momentary confusion on the part of the Maquis manning the Q-ship led to their opening fire on Bluefin first, despite the sudden approach of the Draskaar. A salvo of merculite missiles swarmed through the void to impact the cutter's shields amidst punishing strikes from the freighter's disruptor batteries.
On Bluefin's bridge, it felt like multiple sledgehammer blows against the ship's spaceframe which caused consoles to crackle and tossed T'Ser out of her seat at the Ops board. The Vulcan cursed under her breath as she pulled herself back into a sitting position as Gralt called out, "Port-aft shields failing, Captain. Re-routing the auxiliaries to the defense grid, but that's going to drain our available phaser power."
"Do what you have to, Commander," came Akinola's brusque reply. "Helm," Akinola called out over the cacophony of alarms and the squawk of frantic comms bleeding across the PA system. "Get after that bird and keep us out of that monster's gun sights!"
*****
SS Draskaar
"The Q-ship's firing on Bluefin," Lar'ragos assessed as the Draskaar bore down on her sister vessel.
"Open fire, Lieutenant. Give them everything we have." She called over her shoulder to Ashok and ordered, "All ancillary power to the forward shields." Then to Helm, "Mister Sarnak, ramming speed."
To his credit, the Vulcan did not hesitate or demonstrate the slightest emotional response, merely voicing, "Aye, Helm answers ahead full. Ramming speed."
"Bring us in at an angle that will cause maximum damage to their weapons arrays as we clip them, Lieutenant."
Sarnak complied promptly and adjusted the Draskaar's course while Lar'ragos pummeled the other ship with a scorching bombardment designed to tax their opponents' shielding.
Ramirez keyed the PA. "All hands, brace for collision!"
Draskaar slammed into its twin, the impact devastating the faltering shields of the Maquis vessel. Draskaar's underside hull plating gouged a trench across the other Q-ship's faux upper cargo holds which contained her formidable weapons arrays. Secondary explosions rippled across the Maquis ship's exterior as her merculite batteries and disruptor cannons were annihilated by the mass of the attacking vessel.
Draskaar lurched free of its doppelganger, trailed by a cloud of glittering debris and escaping gasses. Lar'ragos pivoted his weapons batteries on their swivel mounts to an aft-ward orientation, and then sent a stream of disruptor fire and the last of their missiles at the now unshielded behemoth. His aim was true, and his fusillade devastated the last of the Maquis weapons arrays as well as their impulse engines, leaving the hapless freighter adrift in a shimmering cloud of flotsam as atmosphere vented from her catastrophic wounds. "Target has been incapacitated, sir," he announced with finality.
"Well done, Pava," Ramirez praised as she assessed the condition of Gibraltar. The ship hung dark and powerless on the viewer, the latter-half of her secondary hull scored and pitted.
"Shall we pursue Bluefin and the Bird-of-Prey, Commander?" Sarnak inquired.
"Negative, Lieutenant. Both ships are too maneuverable, we'd never catch up in this hulk. Bring us alongside Gibraltar so we can render aid."
*****
Maquis Bird-of-Prey Garth of Izar
Sandhurst blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the Klingon transporter room. He caught sight of a human female standing at the control console, staring at him in evident shock. She reached for something at her waist, and Sandhurst raised and fired his phaser in a single impulsive movement that was completed even before he had fully realized what was happening.
The beam struck the left side of the woman's chest, which erupted in a shower of sparks as the energy stream penetrated her torso and incinerated the organs within. As disoriented as Sandhurst was, he had merely assumed the phaser was set to stun. He had neglected to check when he had pulled it from the Vulcan's holster. "No!" he screamed as he rushed off the transport platform. "No, no, no!" He knelt at the woman's side, searching frantically for a pulse, a breath, any sign of life. There was none.
Sandhurst began CPR, giving the woman life-breaths and chest compressions until after a few moments it became evident that there was no longer an intact heart or pulmonary system left to stimulate.
The doors lurched open with a metallic shriek to admit a burly looking Bolian that the dazed Sandhurst nearly mistook for Ashok. The man looked at the unconscious Vulcan and human laying on the transport dais, then zeroed in on Sandhurst kneeling over the clearly deceased transporter operator.
Sandhurst cast a glance at the Bajoran phaser lying nearby. He realized that if he went for the pistol he would have no chance to alter the setting before firing. He would be forced to kill, again.
The Bolian evidenced no such hesitation and drew a large knife from a leg sheath as he advanced on the blood-spattered Starfleet officer. Sandhurst rolled, snatching up the phaser as he rose to his knees. The Bolian was ready for him and delivered a jolting kick that knocked the phaser from Sandhurst's hands and sent it skittering across the deck. The Bolian raised the knife as he sneered, "Time to die, little man."
His chemically induced strength now ebbing, Sandhurst struck out with a foot, trying for the Bolian's knee. It was like kicking the trunk of a tree, and just as effective. The Bolian laughed mockingly as he sheathed his knife and growled, "I'm going to make this last awhile." He reached down and hefted Sandhurst up by his hospital gown, pulling the captain to his feet. Sandhurst reared back, then drove his fist into the Bolian's face as hard as he could. The captain took some small measure of joy in hearing a satisfying crunch from the man's bifurcated nose. Bluish blood trickled from his nostrils, but the large man seemed otherwise unaffected. He wrapped his meaty hands around Sandhurst's throat and began to squeeze.
Sandhurst gurgled and gasped for breath as his airway was constricted. He clawed and struck at the Bolian's face to no avail. The ship lurched suddenly, the lights dimming with an exterior weapons impact, but the Bolian kept his feet as his face contorting into a blood-thirsty mask of rage. "That woman over there was named Ganzi. She was my lover. Do you understand, human? You've killed my mate!"
With just enough strength left for one last attempt, Sandhurst reached down and grasped the handle of the Bolian's knife. He even managed to get it out of the scabbard before the Bolian redoubled his effort to crush the captain's throat, causing Sandhurst's hand to spasm as the knife slipped free of his slackening grasp and clattered to the floor.
"I say," a clipped voice sounded from behind the Bolian. "I believe he's had enough."
The large man craned his head around to look at the newcomer. He found a youthful looking human male dressed in dark clothing standing by the control console. The man was definitely not one of the Garth of Izar's crew compliment. The Bolian gave Sandhurst's ominously crackling neck a final squeeze for good measure and then tossed the man's body unceremoniously to the deck. "Who the hell are you?" he challenged as he stooped to retrieve his knife from the floor.
"An old friend of Donald's," the man said with a sinister smile. "Besides, you can't have him. He's mine."
"Fine," the Bolian spat. "You two can arrive in the afterlife together." He moved towards the smaller human as his blade carved intricate patterns in the air.
The human didn't move until the Bolian finally committed and slashed outward with the knife. The smaller man stepped forward to catch the larger man's arm, twisting and pivoting simultaneously with surprising strength. He added his own momentum to the thrust that was redirected up and into the Bolian's own gut. The man twisted the knife cruelly, causing the Bolian to cry out in pain as he sank to his knees.
"I can make this quick for you," the human said with false gentleness, "if you beg."
"Please," the Bolian whispered, still trying to pull the knife free with his considerable strength. The smaller man held the blade firmly in place, however, unmoved by the Bolian's efforts.
The human drew an object from his pocket that shimmered briefly in the dim light. He touched it to the Bolian's forehead, and the object emitted a pulse of energy that silenced the man's neural activity for all time, though the weapon left no discernable damage. The human dragged the Bolian with surprisingly little effort over to where his mate had died mere minutes earlier. He laid the man next to her before returning to where Sandhurst's lifeless form rested on the deck.
The man passed the object in his hand over Sandhurst, a yellow teardrop shaped crystal whose facets danced with alien glyphs and colors. "No, Donald. Today is not your day. Soon, though. You have debts to pay." The crystal glowed brightly, and Sandhurst, already dead for nearly two minutes, drew in a sharp, shuddering breath. The ship lurched again, accompanied by the crash of straining shields and the groaning of stressed metals. "Now then, let's get you to an escape pod. Appearances must be kept, after all..."
*****