Red Alert

Posted on 07 Mar 2017 @ 7:32am by Commander Rhyan

1,697 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Errand of Mercy
Location: USS Redemption, Science Laboratory 1
Timeline: ED5 1400

Commander Rhyan was wakened by the electronic tones of the ship’s computer alerting him that it was now 1400 hours and his duty shift on the bridge was due to commence in exactly one hour. As he regained consciousness Rhyan realised that he was slumped over his laboratory workstation – the latest data he had compiled on the Zal virus still streaming across the illuminated screen. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and pushed himself upright, annoyed that he was as incapable of functioning on little to no sleep unlike his full-blooded Vulcan brethren.

The Commander’s eyes scanned the workstation and found the still lukewarm mug of Raktajino he had replicated less than an hour ago. He lifted the mug to his lips and downed a mouthful of the pungent Klingon coffee, infamous for its potent stimulant effect. No wonder it was the drink of choice for many Starfleet officers.

With time against him, Rhyan promptly left his lab and found the nearest turbolift that would take him to the senior officer’s quarters on deck two. Frustratingly, the turbolift ride lasted more than a couple of minutes as the lift was redirected away from a section of turbo shaft that was closed for routine maintenance. Out of nothing more than frustration, Rhyan impulsively lashed out and punched the aft wall of the turbolift, leaving a noticeable dent in the tritanium alloy that made up the interior of the lift.

He immediately regretted the act.

Noticing that his breathing was rapid and his pulse elevated, the Vulcan attempted to force his emotions back below the surface. He had limited success in regaining his emotional control, exhaustion making it difficult to completely ward off the growing frustration within him. However, by the time the lift had decelerated and the doors parted he had regained a measure of control and calmly exited the turbolift.

Twenty minutes was all the time Rhyan had to jump into the sonic shower, replicate a clean uniform and dress himself. The final ten minutes he spent in his quarters were spent shovelling a protein-based nutritional supplement into him and downing another mug of double-strength Raktajino. When the computer alerted him once more to the time – 1450 hours – he threw his uniform tunic over his shoulders, tousled his blonde locks in front of the mirror, and then departed for the bridge.

The walk from his quarters to the bridge was not long as be bypassed the turbolift and instead took the ramped walkway that coiled from deck two to deck one via the observation lounge. The bridge was a hive of activity when he entered it: alpha shift finishing their duties and handing over to beta shift. Despite Captain Ashcart being the duty officer on alpha shift, Lieutenant Commander Ferreno was occupying the command station when Rhyan approached it. Clearly the captain had important duties elsewhere.

“Anything to report, Commander?” Rhyan asked flatly, making sure that the fellow Vulcan didn’t detect any of his pent up emotions. The last thing that the sleep-deprived officer needed was a lecture about emotional restraint from one of his own kind.

“It has been a relatively uneventful shift, Commander,” Ferreno replied. He stood up from the captain’s chair and offered it to Rhyan. He resumed, “We continue to maintain a stable orbit around Thorlarus III. Several of Major Afton’s medical teams have already beamed down to the surface to begin assessing and treating the colonists.”

“Excellent,” Rhyan commented, knowing that the Major was obviously ahead in her schedule. The first medical teams were not due to arrive on Thorlarus until later this morning. Hopefully the first of the medics would return with fresh viral samples late this morning, expediting his team’s research into a cure for the disease.

“The only discrepancy of note,” Ferreno commented, “is that we lost contact with one of our marine vessels approximately two hours ago. At this time we have not received a distress call. We have been aware of some intermitted difficulties with the marine communications system, which might explain the failure to respond to hails. The Captain has been notified and we have agreed to send out a search craft should we not resume contact by the next orbit of Thorlarus.”

“Noted, Commander,” replied Rhyan. “Consider yourself relieved and go get some rest.”

“Aye, Sir.”

As Lieutenant Commander Ferreno walked off the bridge, Rhyan settled himself into the captain’s chair and immediately activated the armrest console to display the incoming departmental reports. Green across the board, thankfully. His eyes briefly flashed over the science department briefing that had been submitted by Ensign Marshall – passing over it quickly before his blood began to boil once again. He needed to remain focused on his bridge duties rather than the lingering question over why Marshall was back on board the Redemption, and how his mother was involved in his recent re-assignment.

“Computer,” he called out, directing his focus elsewhere, “bring up the senor data relating the missing marine vessel. Include all relevant data on the flight plan, mission parameters and crew compliment.”

“Affirmative,” the all-too-familiar computer responded.

The command console erupted to life with a wealth of data and information relating to the marine craft’s mission. They appeared to be investigating a disruption to the communications system that links all marine vessels to one another. Link 16 it was apparently designated.

Not one to set aside his role as science officer, Rhyan brought up the marine communications system and studied the waveforms and reported disruptions. He wasn’t immediately able to identify a natural or artificial cause for the breakdown in the system, but something about the waveform disruption seemed familiar to him. He set the computer immediately to work in identifying the likely sources of the disruption and then moved on to the crew manifest.

“Computer, please list all missing marine officers.”

The computer responded immediately, listing the names of the missing marines in a neutral, uncaring tone. “Second Lieutenant Smythe. Lieutenant Roberts. Major Blackburn.”

Cassandra? No.

Rhyan did not believe in coincidences. As concern for his former friend began to swell within him, a greater sense of foreboding began to unsettle the Vulcan. If Rhyan considered himself to be the unluckiest Starfleet Officer in service, then Cass Blackburn was his Starfleet Marine counterpart. The question he needed to answer – and fast – was whether she had once-again orchestrated her escape from service, or had she fallen foul of something else going on in the Thorlarus system.

“Commander!” Lieutenant Commander Doyl was still handing over to her relief at the tactical station when something attracted her attention. “I have three ships approaching the Redemption from the planet’s surface. Configuration unknown.”

“Hail them,” Rhyan ordered as he stood up from the command station. When the viewscreen didn’t activate as he had expected, he turned to face Doyl. “Commander?”

Doyl tapped a further set of commands into the console in front of her and then made eye contact with Rhyan. She shook her head. “They aren’t answering our hails, Commander.”

“Raise shields. Red alert.”

“Aye, Commander.”

As the bridge lighting dimmed and the familiar red glow appeared, Rhyan tapped his comm badge. “Commander Rhyan to Captain Ashcart. I think you are going to want to get up here.” He tapped his comm badge once again to deactivate it without waiting for a response.

“Sir,” Ensign Deveraux, the helmsman, announced, “I am picking up a faint Federation signal from the three ships approaching us. The signals are highly distorted, but they are definitely Starfleet in origin.”

Adrenaline began to surge within Rhyan’s veins, the exhaustion that had been biting at his heels appearing to instantly disappear. Perhaps Cass hadn’t tried to escape after all. A momentary sense of guilt arose within Rhyan before he dampened it down and returned his concentration to the problem at hand.

The Vulcan turned his head and refocused his attention to the screen in front of him. “Doyl, put them on the main viewscreen. Tell me everything you can about those ships.”

“Aye, Sir,” Doyl responded, pushing Ensign Saris - the beta-shift security officer who was to have relieved her - out from the tactical station. Her fingers feverishly worked the console beneath her.

The viewscreen immediately erupted to life, once again showing the purple tones of the planet below them along with three pixelated dots moving swiftly towards the Redemption. At the current resolution, Rhyan was unable to make out any distinctive markings that identified them. He called out for Lieutenant Commander Doyl to improve the quality of the image. When the viewscreen zoomed in he was equally confused and concerned.

Ensign Saris was the first to state the obvious. “Those are Starfleet runabouts!”

“Doyl, hail them again. All frequencies.” Rhyan was growing increasingly concerned that the approaching vessels were not likely to be friendly in nature. His suspicions were soon to be confirmed.

“Nothing, Commander. They are receiving our communications for sure,” Doyl replied, “but they seem unwilling or unable to answer.”

No sooner had Doyl finished her sentence than the leading runabout launched a full barrage of quantum of torpedoes at the Redemption. The shields thankfully absorbed most of the energy, but not without violently shaking the ship and blowing a number of EPS conduits throughout the bridge. Rhyan stumbled forwards but remained on his feet. When a second barrage of torpedoes collided with the Redemption’s shields, Rhyan grabbed the armrest of his executive officer’s chair and pulled himself down onto it.

“Doyl, fire a few warning shots at those runabouts. I don’t want to destroy them if we don’t have to – I just want to scare them off.” Rhyan’s orders were clear and concise.

“Aye, Sir.”

As the viewscreen displayed the Redemption’s phasers firing into the path of the runabouts, Rhyan was concerned that they did not seem to be stopping their approach. He tapped his comm badge once again. “Commander Rhyan to all crew – battle stations. Marine fighters, prepare for launch. Sickbay, prepare for casualties.”

OFF: Okay guys, time for a bit of excitement! Somebody can take over from this thread now!

 

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