Stranded
- Raymond Gage
WHUMP!
The
thrusters activated and kicked the lifeboat away from the ship.
He manned the controls, using the thrusters to…there.
He nestled the lifeboat in with the debris from the secondary hull.
He then tapped them and sent it into spin.
Through the view port in the hatch he could see the ship and it’s
destruction spin by every three seconds.
The
Borg cube had a firm hold on the ship with its tractor beams, pulling it closer
to the opening maw in its side. He
shuddered. A beam of fire sprang
out of the cube. He followed its
path and watched in horror as it impacted another lifeboat trying to escape. They must be tracking the automated distress signals.
He frantically ran his fingers over the control surfaces, trying,
hoping. Success.
He
slumped back into the lone chair and watched the continued destruction of the
ship. A small groan passed his lips
as he thought of the crewmembers still onboard, assimilation their fate.
Better to die then become…A blinding flash of light stopped his
thoughts. An explosion ripped
through the ship and he realized what was happening.
O’Malley you blessed mick! You
did it! The explosion tore into
the cube and flashes of light began to glow through its grid work.
He checked his proximity. Ten
kilometers might not be enough. Instinctively
he raised his arms as a blinding flash of light filled the cabin.
The shock wave hit the tiny boat flinging him back, striking his head on
the console. His last conscious
thought was victory.
The sand was warm on his bare feet.
He wriggled his toes burying them slightly then picked them up the fine
grains running off of them. The
gulls screeched at him as he sat on the dune.
“What an idiot!” He
thought. “Got too drunk.”
He pulled himself up off the dune and clamored up its side, and back to
the party. As he approached he
could smell the Captains barbecue. A
smile crossed his face. “That’s
it. That whole Borg thing was a
dream. A nightmare that was the
result of drinking that grappa Tomasini brought to the party.”
“Hey
everyone! Commander Klutz is bac…”
The Captain’s lifeless eyes stared up at him.
Words coming out of dead lips “Save my ship number one!” O’Malley laying on his side, dead. Lieutenant Carlson, her pretty face distorted by nanoprobes
moving through her flesh. He heard
a sound, whirled around. “No it
can’t be! No!” The Borg hopped toward him on one leg, the other severed at
the knee, a vicious scowl on its face. Then
in that Borg voices, “Your next!” He
screamed.
He
sat up quickly, sweat pouring form his face, his uniform tunic soaked.
He was breathing heavily, gasping. He
looked around and realized he was on the lifeboat.
Alone. It was a
nightmare. Only a nightmare.
The party had really happened.
Back on Earth, before they had left for their current mission.
The Captain wanted to get them all together, relax a bit. And now they are all dead and I’m still alive.
Somehow that seems unfair.
He
then pushed those thoughts aside. The
first thing was to survive. He sat
in the lone chair in front of the controls for the tiny lifeboat.
It was time to determine its status.
He pulled up the life support schematics. Okay, this thing was designed for 4 people.
That should then give me breathable air for…ten days.
That should also mean plenty of food and water.
Power supply looks good. Solar
collectors are operational. Thrusters…hmmm
used a little too much propellant. Course
and heading are off. Need to get
turned around. He continued to
busy himself at the task.
Starbase 297, 92 hours after the incident
The chime rang on the
Admiral’s door. “Come!” He
shouted. The Ensign entered the
inner sanctum of the base commander, his eyes forward, a message PADD in his
hand. “Sorry to disturb you
sir.”
“Too
late for that Ensign I am officially disturbed.
So now that we have the pleasantries out of the way what is it you
want?” The Admiral growled
the words out, his bark really worse than his bite.
“It’s
the Antietam sir. She is 12
hours late from her next status report. I
have a copy of her last transmission.” He
handed the PADD to the Admiral, hoping his hands wouldn’t shake.
Thankfully they didn’t.
“Hmmm. Looks like they were ready to deploy the navigational array.
Who’s closest?” He asked the question knowing the answer.
He wanted to see if the Ensign knew it.
“The
Charleston is 14 hours at maximum warp.”
The Ensign felt confident in his answer, he had checked over the status
board before disturbing the Admiral.
“Send
them.” The Admiral ordered.
The
Ensign nodded and made a hasty exit, glad to be free from the intense gaze.
What to have for lunch today? Processed
meal #2 or #8? He laughed out
loud, the sound echoing off the empty walls.
He had adjusted course and trimmed down the power consumption.
He had surveyed the equipment lockers and assembled everything that had a
power pack on it, cannibalizing them. He
left one phaser setting on the console. He
glanced at it. It was set to its
highest setting. He would use it on
himself before assimilation. Better
to die than become one of those things.
His gaze moved to the severed leg sitting near the airlock door.
He had been afraid to touch it. He
closed his eyes and it came back to him.
Aboard the USS Antietam, 1 hour before the incident
“Ships
log, First Officer Summerton reporting. We
have just entered the sector chosen for the navigational array.
All systems report normal. The
science staff reports that the array is ready for deployment as soon as we
arrive at the designated co-ordinates. Our
excursion into the Delta Quadrant has been uneventful at best.
End Log.”
He depressed the panel, sealing the ships log for another few hours.
He glanced around the Bridge. He
was pleased the A-team was on duty. Lieutenant
Carlson at tactical, Lieutenant Tomasini at security, and Lieutenant Commander
Dorna, an Andorian, at science, all part of Alpha shift.
“Steady as she goes Mr. Carlson.”
The pretty blonde nodded, “Aye Sir.”
She glanced back at him, smiled a quick smile.
They had enjoyed dinner in his quarters last night.
Just dinner, but it was still a pleasant evening.
Suddenly the red alert sounded. “I
am detecting a trans warp conduit opening directly ahead.”
“Trans warp?” Tomasini asked. “I
thought only the…”
Carlson swung in her chair, “Borg cube 89 Kilometers ahead and closing
fast.”
“Red Alert. Shields up! Captain to the Bridge.”
He slid into his seat, bringing up the tactical situation on his console.
Tomasini was still surprised. “I
thought the Borg were done. They
haven’t shown themselves for years. What
are they doing here?”
The speakers crackled. [We are the Borg.
We will add your biological and technological uniqueness to ours.
Lower your shields. Resistance
is futile.] Everyone on the
bridge looked at each other, he could see the fear in their eyes.
Just then the turbolift opened and the Captain stormed onto his bridge.
“Status Number One.” He
brought his Captain up to speed on the situation just as the Borg fired on them.
“Evasive!” The ship
heeled, but too late. The blasts
kept coming relentlessly. The
shields dropped.
The first Borg that beamed onto the bridge was killed by a phaser blast
from Tomasini, the next three adapted. One
converged on the big security chief. He
screamed and raced at them attempting to tackle them.
They shot him. The ship
shook hard. [Engineering to bridge. We’ve
lost a nacelle. That tractor beam
is burning out relays everywhere…. crackle…] the signal went dead.
He looked to the Captain. The
old man was sitting in his seat, bleeding from a cut on his head.
“Abandon ship. Activate
self destruct…AHHHHHH.” A Borg
grabbed him by the throat lifting him from his chair, assimilation tubes
shooting into his neck.
He and Carlson scrambled to the upper deck, popped open the escape pod.
The ship shook again, throwing him into the boat.
He turned. Carlson went to enter the boat and was grabbed from behind.
“NO!” He shouted. He tried to
grab her and the Borg slammed him away, a vicious scowl on its face.
Assimilation tubes shot out into her neck, pumping her full of nanoprobes.
She looked pleadingly at him. He
hit the airlock door and it slammed shut, severing the Borg’s leg below the
knee, the stump falling to the deck of the lifeboat.
He looked through the view port and hit the release stud.
USS Charleston 108 hours after the incident.
The science
officer turned to the center chair. “Sir,
we are detecting debris. Scans
indicate it is the remains of the Antietam.”
The Captain could see the look on the Lieutenant’s face, “What is it
Mr. Hammonds?”
“Sir, I am also detecting debris that matches Borg components.”
The First Officer went to hit the red alert stud on her chair and the
Captain stopped her “If the Borg
were here we would know. Any
survivors?”
“No sir.”
“Continue scanning. Set up
a search grid, scanning any possible routes for escape pods.
Look sharp people.”
Aboard the lifeboat, 122 hours after the incident
Ah!
Nothing like emergency rations.
BANG!
Then again another bang and the lifeboat slewed to one side.
Ping! [Warning. Hull
breach. Cabin pressure loss in 2
minutes.]
He scrambled for the repair kit trying to find the leak. The boat shook again and the lights blinked then went out.
Darkness. [Warning.
Cabin pressure loss in 1 minute.] He
could feel a slight tugging on his tunic. He
shone the emergency torch along the top edge of the cabin and spied the small
jagged hole. Just as he was
clamoring up to reach the hole the gravity generator went out and he floated
away.
Frustration and desperation crossed his face as he pushed off the side of
the cabin and grabbed onto a support just as he bounced by the hole.
He could hear the air rushing out. The
dizzying spots before his eyes telling him that there was not much time. He
grabbed the hull seal and slapped it into place, spraying the epoxy over the
edges.
He felt a different rush of air, the restoration of cabin pressure.
He drifted over to the console and tried to determine what happened. Obviously
a micrometeorite shower. Must have
taken a battery offline. He
grabbed a tricorder and tried to access the database.
He solemnly drifted into the bulkhead as he read the damage. Two of the three batteries were trashed, gravity permanently
offline. His oxygen supply was down
to 36 hours.
As he drifted there he felt a small bump against his shoulder.
He turned slowly and saw it was the phaser he had left out on the
console. He reached out for it and
took it into his hand. He ran his
finger over the power setting. He drifted there, in the dark, rubbing the pommel of the
phaser, staring at nothing.
Starbase 297 132 hours after the incident
The Admiral
sat in his office and looked over the report of the Charleston.
The presence of the Borg was troublesome.
There had not been a reported Borg attack in almost 20 years.
He thought about John Richardson, Captain of the Antietam.
They had served together during the Romulan war.
And now he’s probably a Borg drone.
The Admiral slammed down the PADD.
He stood and paced the room. He
had to make a tough decision. The Charleston
was needed elsewhere and all indications were that there were no survivors.
Damn!
“Ensign!”
The doors parted and the young Ensign poked his head through. “Admiral, sir?”
He held out a PADD. “Contact
the Charleston. Relay them
these orders.”
The Ensign took the PADD and backed out of the doorway.
The doors swished closed. The
Admiral moved to a cabinet across his office.
He opened it and grabbed a bottle of scotch from the shelf.
He poured two fingers of the amber liquid into a tumbler emblazoned with
the Starfleet insignia. He held the
glass up, “To the crew of the USS Antietam, may God have mercy on your
souls.