My attack may have been repulsed human, but I did score a direct hit through your shields! (The now-named Trekdom Maneuver)
Klingons do not approach a negotiating table without both sides bleeding on it. And we do rock.
What did you think of my twist on the Gorn weaponry, however...? I borrowed effect ideas on the plasma weapons from that TNG episode where they fought that ship that really wasnt there. 'Dauphin' I think the name of the Ep was... I try to stay away from SFB/C, but do use ship stuff from any source I like. With the Gorn this also had to include weaponry. I did, however, want it to look different enough that it wasn't just stock Rommy-rip-off and would explain why the Commodore in TOS described them as 'like phasers, only worse'.
I also wanted to see someone use rail guns... And there was a mention in something, maybe SFB, that Gorn used em as personal arms...
Anyway, how bout a finish to the story?
CH. 7
Doctor Andrea Keller huddled close to the thrumming machinery as she watched the calmer, but still highly dangerous Gorn. Two were picking their way through the incubator’s low wiring to get her. Both covered her with their deadly looking gauss weapons. One gestured with a flat palm facing down. Keller took the hint and placed her pistol on the deck.
The other alien gestured with his short rifle barrel. She stood, taking in the carnage from the short battle. All of her party lay in heaps on the floor. Blood flowed freely from most of them. Davenport seemed to still be alive; he lay against the port wall, head still lolling side to side. Smith was holding his torn leg. Surall was as inert as a stump.
Worse was Commander Thomas. His body was in a sprawling mess; his chest plate dented and his white helmet caved in. Blood puddled on the near gravity-less deck and globbed up into the air in droplets.
Keller’s throat caught as she realized Ben’s life support indicators were reading green. He was alive, and breathing in fouled air. The doctor’s instinct to preserve life flared into a raging inferno. She shouted futilely at her captors. She rushed to get past the incubators and the nearest Gorn, but the two of them grabbed her. They held her roughly, but not so tight as to injure her. One propelled her to the far end of the compartment.
One of the soldiers bent near the long-dead corpse of the escort’s crewer. He scanned it with a hand sensor and mentioned something to his CO. That alien looked about the room. He focussed his barely visible eyes on the incubator power regulator.
“Ashaaaaw!” The Gorn exclaimed, pointing at the mess of wiring and rigged EPS tubing. The one with the scanner went to investigate it. Then he checked the incubator’s control panel. Puzzled by what he found there, he turned to the officer.
The two conferred. Keller could fathom none of it. At length, he looked at Keller and keyed a device at his golden belt. His clawed finger pointed to the egg chamber.
“Rrrepairrred?”
Keller stammered, but remembered to key her external microphone.
“Yes, we repaired it.”
The Gorn, within his skin-tight EVA suit, cocked his head in wonder, then turned away. He drew a communicator and began to speak in hushed tones. What he got sounded like an argument. Keller wondered what she was in for next as she wish she could make it over to tend to her people.
“Kaay-yaaaw!” Yowled one of the massive Gorn at the port section of the embattled bridge. This officer held up a staying hand and repeated his message once again. Finally, attacker and defender’s weapon fell silent. Ford raised up from behind the lizard body he was hid behind to peer at the enemy commander. Beside him, his security chief fanned the room for his next target.
“Should ve take them now, Keptin?”
Ford saw no victory in that option. The Gorn would merely beam in more troops before backup could make it to the bridge. The captain held aloft a staying hand to his bitter-faced men.
The bridge was a bullet-riddled mess. Consoles were trashed, displays shattered and seats blown to pieces. Many of the bridge officers lay dead or wounded. Ford glowered at the Gorn commander. The lizard held a comm device up to the stumpy protrusion he guessed was an ear. The razor toothed fiend listened to what he heard there, licking his chops in thought. Finally, he lowered his comm and tentatively stood. He keyed a device on his belt.
“Captain Ford?”
“Yeah…” Ford slowly stood. It was an understatement to say he felt uncertain about what was happening. What kind of ploy was being run here?
The Gorn centered a revolting look upon him. The captain’s skin crawled. It was like having an alligator suddenly look over at you and speak. “Captain,” he growled, “I am ordered to ceassse hosstilitiesss.”
Chevis was relieved by the thought, despite his urge to keep fighting his attackers, but also suspicious. He swallowed away the fear of being out in the open amongst so many aimed Gorn rifles. The enemy soldiers, for their part, remained still and steady. Some exchanged confused glances. They continued to cover the Starfleet survivors, just as they themselves were being covered by phasers.
“Reason?”
“It wass disscovered that your party wass in the middle of repairsss to our egg nurturer. They have saved the only sssurvivorsss of the Raalssaa.”
Ford became a barely contained volcano of rage. His face flushed a bright red as he lurched over the unconscious Gorn he’d been beside. “A point I tried to make ten f*cking minutes ago! Your captain cut me off and attacked! Now we both have dead people laying every f*ckin’ where!”
The Gorn’s head cocked to the side slightly. If he felt anything such as remorse for his captain’s actions and the death his men had caused, he showed no real sign. The captain now stood close by him, though the human still had to look up at the officer. “Yesss, we regret—“
“You regret! You come over here and attack my ship and now you apologize for your little oopsy! Get the hell off my bridge!”
“My captain offersss her assssistance—“
“I’ve had enough of her help today,” Now Ford’s voice and countenance was as ice. He turned away from the huge alien and picked his way toward his ruined conn. “You just might want to mention to her that the next time I see a Gorn ship in distress, I’m gonna forget I saw it.”
He pointed to the mass of bodies on his deck.
“Now get your friends and get the f*ck off my ship!”
If the alien attackers had not been ready to do just as the captain had said, they were each prepared to force them off. Ford felt pride in their strength of resolve in spite of the ass-whipping they just suffered.
The aliens began to stow their rifles and haul their fallen compatriots over to the aft of the bridge. As the Gorn began to slowly beam out, Ford went to the engineering console. The kid there was shaken and bloody, but not badly wounded.
“Do we have transporters?”
The noncom stood and looked the beaten console over.
“Aye, sir.”
Ford keyed the intercom.
“Transporter Room. Beam our away party home.”
“Energizing,” Came a haggard response. Then: “Captain, we’ve got wounded!”
Doctor Keller’s voice shot through next as the last of the Gorn soldiers beamed off the bridge.
“Sickbay, emergency team to Transporter Room One!”
Ford tapped the button again. “Keller, what’s going on?”
“We have multiple injuries down here,” her English accent was thick as honey as her blood rose to boiling. “Multiple ballistic wounds! Number One has cranial fractures and a severed spinal column! I’m rushing him to emergency surgery!”
Ford found himself, without control, slamming his bleeding fists into the engineering terminals before him. He cursed with conviction, hurling rage at the Gorn giant on the viewer, who was turning to lumber away. He watched the ship recede into the cloudy distance and fell to a sullen silence. At last, he walked over to the remnants of the conn. Emergency medical teams were exiting from the aft elevators, carrying gurneys in and the casualties back out.
“Damage report?” His voice was cracked and tired.
The report was not immediate. Only the grace of the ship’s newer multifunction consoles even made it possible to get the ship back into functional status. Lieutenant Nechayev compiled the worse reports and rendered them.
“Ve have sustained critical damage to our starboard varp engine. Plasma flow is constricted and main power remains operable. Ve have multiple small hull breaches along the fantail, decks nineteen through thirty. Forcefields are maintaining integrity. Aft phaser grid has been severed on deck twenty, section twelve. Aft shield generators are nonoperational.”
Ford considered the report. They’d really gotten off lucky. Had the Gorn been aiming for destruction, the grocery list would be much longer. The damaged nacelle was the worst, though. Without it, they were stranded. They were deep inside the plasma phenomena, and unable to communicate with Command. They were also easy pickings for anyone with a grudge. Such as the Ya’wenn.
“Bronstien,” The young lieutenant was still able bodied. He’d taken down more than his share of the Gorn. Now he stood beside his console, a blank expression on his thin face. He blinked and looked Chevy’s way.
“Take us ahead, helmsman. Best impulse speed. Follow the Gorn’s exit vector. They’ll know what’s clear.”
Johnathan just nodded back in response. The glare he leveled on the ship in the center screen belied his wishes to open fire on the Gorn’s exposed backs. He sat in his blood-wetted chair and began laying in commands. The great battered ship‘s engines hummed to life once again. Ford leaned against the weapons console. “Nechayev, begin implementing repair orders. Have Commander Tolin report to me when she has a complete estimate on the nacelle. And get me a casualty list.”
Ford continued to lean there. He was tired, much as each of his men were. The Gorn were a frightful presence. Just the sight of them had made the captain faint of heart. Now that it was over, the pressure in his chest was clenching. He would have to get to his ready room soon to take his meds, but not till some of the repairs were underway. Then…then he would go to sickbay…
Epilogue
Commander Benjamin Thomas awoke in a groggy haze. The room about him was alight and fuzzy. Nothing was in focus. A warm buzz filled his senses. He looked about.
Close by, more felt than seen, was his closest friend. The captain dozed in a seat he’d pulled close to the XO’s recovery bed, book in his lap and a glass of rum at his elbow. Ben could now recognize the shape and contents of the sickbay. So, he’d been injured. Accident…or…
No, the memory of the fight on the Gorn ship was much too vivid. He jerked at the unbidden memory of his helmet crushing down on him. The putrid stink of the air pouring in through his breached mask…
Ford roused at his friend’s groan. Ben looked much the worse for wear, but he was alive. The big man’s head was wrapped in old-fashioned gauze cloth and held a lightweight neural stimulator on it. Ben’s neck was braced with a hard restraint. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for some time. If he ever fully recovered…
“Hey, Ben.” Chevy said softly, grasping his XO’s hand. His hands were so huge and strong. But now, they quaked just to return any pressure. Ben’s eyes watered.
“How many did we lose, Chevy?”
Ford pursed his lips a bit fighting his anger and resentment.
“Forty-seven dead. Over two hundred wounded, twenty-seven of those still in triage. Two with injuries that’ll cash them out of the Fleet.” Ford’s voice broke and he squeezed a little harder. “Maybe a third…”
Ben forced a swollen smile.
“Aw, f*ck that, Cap’n. I’ll get over this sh*t.” He noted for the first time that his head was immobile. His left hand reached up and probed the metal apparatus holding his head still. “What’d I wind up with, Chev?”
Chevis shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He leaned close, and though it killed him, he looked his friend in the eye. “You suffered a broken neck and severed spinal chord. Keller repaired all that she could, and the nerve tissue is whole again. But swelling and infection could hamper the nerve from finding the correct pathways again. She says there’s possibility of motor function impairment.”
Ben looked away. He was under too many drugs for the weight of it to hurt too much. A tear welled up in spite of that. “Will I walk?”
Ford chewed at the skin of his lip. He nodded.
“One way or the other, Mister Thomas. We’ll get you back on the horse.”
Ben drew a jagged breath, refusing to cry openly, even in front of Ford.
“How bad is the ship?”
Ford glanced away.
“We’re stranded. Starboard nacelle took direct hits. Ten of the coils are shattered beyond repair. We’re workin’ on everything else, but engineering has yet to render me a viable plan to get us out of this area and back to a repair dock.”
It was a moment filled with silence before Thomas spoke again. His eyes found Ford’s, filled with anger and loathing. There was a new, building darkness there.
“No good deed goes unpunished, huh?”
Ford coughed out a bitter laugh. Karma could be a cruel thing.
“Yeah…No good deed goes unpunished.”
END
Topic: 'No Good Deed'--Story #2 (Read 12674 times)