Hmmm, time for more story.
Chapter Six
Securing the Beauvaunte had been a short but vicious trial. The ship’s acting captain, First Officer Boles, had been disinclined to abandon her ship and crew’s livelihood. In the end, they had had to dump their entire deuterium fuel load and vent three-quarters of the ship’s interior to space. Only then were the fires quelled.
While the boarding party had been involved in this, Sharp had gone about deploying the ship’s entire compliment of twenty-three recon drones into the waiting nebula. All that remained was a long wait, it seemed.
“Shuttle docking in hanger bay.” Came Ensign Lania’s smooth voice from the after section of the bridge. Sharp nodded unconsciously to the report.
“Signal Starfleet Command, ensign.” He called back to her. “Appraise them of mission status and the developments with the Beauvaunte. Include the strategic report Ford and Davenport gave us.”
“Aye, sir. Sending now.”
“Mister Davenport, drone ETA to Point Able?”
“Fifty-seven minutes, Captain.”
“Very well.” Sharp decided he needed a bit of time off the bridge, and also wanted more time with the pilots’ report on likely targets in the Mutara Sector. The junior officers were not very experienced in such analysis, but even their preliminary report showed that the two of them worked very well together and had a good grasp of the area’s current strategic situation. He stood, headed for the lift.
“Mister Davenport, you have the conn. Commander Ellyson will relieve you. I’ll be in my cabin.”
“Very well, Captain.”
Ron stood with a bit of uncertainty as Sharp left the compartment. He could only assume he was meant to take the command chair. The younger flight control spec manning Ford’s post could only shrug back when Ron glanced questioningly at him. Ron sat down slowly.
The view from the center of the bridge wasn’t so bad. This wasn’t the most modern ship, but she wasn’t a complete anachronism either. Sitting in the conn seemed to cover him in a sense of the ship’s power. From this seat, he had command; the ability to make a lot of difference.
The ensign didn’t have a lot of time to bask in the glory, however. He’d barely had time to discover the contour of the seat’s cushioning before the aft hatch opened to deposit the XO and Mister Ford back on the bridge.
Ford paused by the command chair while the exec toured the ship’s stations. The helmsman was still dripping some from his post-mission shower. He grinned a bit at the navigator.
“Been promoted?”
“I aspire to higher station.” Ron replied.
“Not today, navigator.” Ellyson told him as she stepped down next to the chair. “I have the conn.”
“I stand relieved, XO.”
Both pilots reclaimed their stations.
Ron kept looking back to the main viewer as he checked his status and sensor boards. He pondered the Beauvaunte and what had befallen her today. Some of the clues didn’t add up to him. The Bird of Prey would likely have sighted the fuel carrier when it had first arrived. But it had decided not to attack her. Why, then, attack her nearly a day later? Other things seemed off as well. He leaned in closer to Ford.
“Lieutenant, don’t the Klingons usually use gravitic mines?”
“Yup.”
“Thought so.”
“Don’t seem right, does it?”
“No…no it doesn’t.”
“Discussing strategy, gentlemen?” Asked the XO, who’d overheard a small snippet of their conversation.
Ronald turned his chair to face the conn.
“In the Academy, we went over every known Klingon weapons system, even stuff they used a hundred years ago and all the tactics we use against them. Nuclear space mines weren’t part of that arsenal.”
“And Klingon mines are faster.” Ford seconded.
Ellyson seemed to absorb their comments. Her own eyes drifted up to the central viewer. She turned the conn to face the comm station.
“Ensign Lania, order the transporter crew to bring in a sample of the mine debris. Full gamma ray protection. Have it taken to the Spectral Analysis Lab.”
“Aye, sir.”
Captain Sharp made his way down the corridors of C Deck, slowing as he neared his cabin hatch. He’d been reading the strategic reports on the sector since he’d stopped of at the officer’s ward to grab a cup of coffee and a sausage biscuit. He’d been surprised to find that the ward was serving breakfast. He’d lost track of time.
And now, he was equally surprised to find himself standing in front of the wrong cabin. He did a double take as he realized what hatch he’d nearly opened. Cabin C-1. Typically the commanding officer’s quarters. He’d ordered the compartment reconfigured and relabeled as VIP quartering, and remained in his own slightly smaller berth. His cabin, normally the XO’s room, was the same size as that of Ellyson and Bornet’s. He hadn’t been able to take over Captain Pratchett’s former berth.
What the hell brought me here?
Sharp stood there a moment, pondering. Habit usually took him straight home.
Trying to tell me something, Amanda?
Mentally shrugging, the captain kept on around the concentric corridor as though he’d meant to come this way. No one noticed. Most of the crew stood at ready stations, a step below full-on combat alert. He reached his cabin and entered.
His Sixth Sense had been buzzing all day. It always did when a battle was pending, but today it was more insistent. He knew that if he didn’t tread very carefully, he’d have hell to pay. Move slow, he thought. One step at a time. Examine everything.
The captain sat down at his desk and began to organize his files and his thoughts. Hunger took a second seat as he plied his mind to the tactical question at hand. The same questions his junior officers were even then asking had already arisen in his mind. The nuclear mines didn’t fit. Not that the Klingons didn’t possess the capacity to build nukes or the tenacity to use them if it suited them. They’d happily waste a planet if it meant keeping Starfleet off of it. But why use the inferior tracking and thrust systems? Klingon tech was better than that.
One of those mines should have hit us. At least one…
Had someone else laid them? Or had the Klingons just confiscated some miscellaneous weaponry somewhere and decided to leave them in wait? Was he making too much of the occurrence?
We’ll find out soon enough.
The computer’s replication of a boson’s whistle sounded at 0800, calling for the next watch to go on duty. Sharp barely heard it, only noted that a different relief crew would be manning the bridge when he returned. The emergency had kept his primary officers on watch most of the evening. The captain’s mind poured over the subtle facts about fleet and defense deployments in the area. His eyes caught on a report about a mining colony that was under development in the Challa starsystem. The mining installation there was only now under development and was not producing anything. But the core samples from the three central planets promised enormous turnout. These reports were no cause for concern.
What made him pause over the listing was the memory of a report from three months prior. The survey teams landing there had been delayed when filing for mining rights. They’d found signs of prior habitation. After some deliberation, the Federation Counsel had elected to grant mining rights to the team’s company as no obvious attempts had ever been made to mine that planet by whom ever was responsible for the prior signs of occupation.
Jon’s Sixth Sense centered on that system, calming as it often did when he’d found something significant. He compared the Challa system’s location against Starfleet’s deployment in the area. The area was wide open. Cleopatra was the closest starship available. The closest reinforcements were Captain Decker’s patrol force in Sector Five.
“Captain to the bridge!”
Sharp was on his feet and out the door before conscious thought realized what he was doing. His long cold breakfast remained almost untouched behind him. He entered the turbolift, considering how he could determine the threat to Challa and deal with this Bird of Prey.
The captain emerged onto the bridge, eyes locking on the main viewer. A dark shape had formed before them, slowly becoming substantial as it exited the nebula.
“We have him, Captain.” Commander Ellyson told him.
Sharp took the conn, hand closing on the intercom control.
“All hands, battlestations!”
The ship’s alarm called out its repetitive warning as the lighting dimmed down. The key bridge officers were quick to return to their post, rubbing sleep from their eyes in a couple of examples. All eyes locked on the bird-like ship taking shape out of the blue haze before them.
“All weapons on hot standby, active targeting set. Shields are up.” Ford reported.
“His weapons are hot. He’s getting a bead on us as well.” Ellyson added.
Sharp’s dark eyes fell to the wreck of the Beauvaunte between his ship and the Klingon warship. He could handle this situation in a variety of ways, ranging from aggressive to nearly passive. His face set into its stony mask as he snapped closed the command chair’s belt restraint.
“Engines ahead full. Target their engine core. Ensign Lania, order their surrender.”
“Aye, captain.” Came from several positions at once. The ship accelerated like a coiled spring, suddenly released. They passed over the crippled hulk of the Beauvaunte and aimed straight for the Bird of Prey.
“Twelve seconds to weapons range.” Davenport called out.
“Klingon vessel, this is the USS Cleopatra. You are ordered to surrender, respond.” Lania was repeating into subspace.
The distance shrank frighteningly fast.
“Phaser range!”
“Fire all weapons!”
They let the Klingon scout have it with the ship’s entire forward arsenal. Duel mounted phaser cannon spat repeating streams of plasma energy and torpedoes rocketed forth from the above-mounted launchers. The Bird of Prey began a faltering turn to starboard just as the first shots struck home. Its shields flared and arced under the assault, failing in several areas to leave glowing holes blasted out of the armored hull beneath.
The Cleo’s weapons fire tracked from right to left with the Klingon ship’s turn. The smaller warship shuddered and wobbled under repeated hits, then, laboriously, accelerated to get some distance between them and the Federation ship. Only then did the enemy return fire.
Mounted low, between the ship’s wing sections, a heavy disruptor turret revolved and targeted the Cleopatra. In bursts of three shots, the cannon let loose with continuous salvos of cold blue energy. The first hits slammed into the Starfleet ship, their impacts thundering through the bulkheads. The bridge officers bounced in their seats, held fast either by restraints or a good firm hold on their station.
“Hit to forward!” Came from Mister Fujiwara. “Shields holding!”
More hits came. Davenport and Ford continued to lash at the retreating Klingon vessel as it turned and juked under their assault. The Bird of Prey was making no preamble about its course. Pushing its impulse drive to its maximum, it was trying to make it back to the nebula. A trail of ionized gasses was already boiling forth from a rupture in the ship’s engine section.
A flash of crimson from the Klingon’s fantail drew Sharp’s eye a moment before impact. Three photon torpedoes struck the Cleopatra, driving her off her pursuit course. The detonations of antimatter warheads were deafening and nearly tore men from their seats about the control room. Ford wrestled with the flight controls, recovering from the lunge-like turn the ship had just been hurled into. Klingon torpedoes were nasty.
“Damage to C Deck, Section Three.” Reported one of the engineers. “Heavy hull fracturing, compartments 17 and 18 venting slowly to space.”
Commander Ellyson crossed the bridge to lean in on the damage control section of the engine station.
“Close off that section. All officer’s quarters are empty and there’s nothing we need there right now.”
“Helm, bring us around to 027 mark 005. Engines ahead flank.” Sharp called out, eyes locked on the tactical monitors. His course would let them cut off the Bird of Prey before it could make the nebula, if they were fast enough. “Open fire when we get back into phaser range.”
“Aye!”
The Cleo came about again, once more facing the retreating tail of their enemy. The Bird’s crew had contained the earlier gas leak from their engines, and they’d found an additional reserve of speed. The old Federation starship pushed ahead, engines beginning to howl in short order. The distance closed rapidly, but not nearly as quickly as moments before.
“Phaser range! Firing!” Shouted Ford with a bit too much glee.
Red bursts of phaser fire and azure torpedoes raced out after the far away Klingon ship. The ship seemingly ignored them, allowing the shots to impact on reinforced rear screens as her dark form began to blur amid the nebula gasses.
“Now getting some interference in our deflector shields.” Lieutenant Fujiwara reported. He was trying to reinforce the forward protection with the power reserves he had available. Power was stretched thin with the savage rate the pilots were claiming it for their weaponry. “Deflector efficiency falling to 80%”
If it was that bad for the Cleo, then it was twice as bad for the Bird of Prey, so close to the nebula. The Cleo kept up her pursuit, gaining steadily on the enemy vessel. A particular strike on the Bird’s portside wing blew out a plume of debris and quickly frozen atmosphere. When the illumination of the minor explosion faded, the Klingon warship faded from sight before them.
“Still tracking the Klingons, sir.” Ellyson told them, having returned to science. “She’s beginning evasive turns. Sensor resolution fading rapidly.”
Never chase an enemy who’s too eager to run, suddenly echoed in Sharp’s mind.
“All stop, Mister Ford. Ensign Lania, order all recon drones in this viscinity to close in on the Klingon ship’s trajectory.”
“Enemy moving out of phaser range.” Ford reported with an exasperated growl in his voice.
“Hold all fire.”
Ensign Lania went about her task of redirecting the closest recon probes. They responded well enough, being relatively shallow inside the charged particle fields before them.
“Drone moving in on Klingon ship’s projected course. Contact in approximately two minutes.”
The bridge’s tactical monitor showed three indicators closing on the close edge of the nebula. Sharp wondered if three drones would be enough to pin down the Bird of Prey amid all that interference. The bridge became silent as the officers sat waiting.
“Those weren’t Klingons, were they Cap’n?” Ford asked suddenly.
“No, Lieutenant, they weren’t.”
“Sure wasn’t the kind of response they taught us to expect in the Academy.” Davenport seconded.
The Klingon vessel hadn’t opened fire nearly soon enough, despite the fact that their disruptors far out-ranged Starfleet phasers. They’d been caught particularly unaware by Cleopatra’s first barrage. And once the battle had been joined, they’d been mostly concerned with breaking contact. The old Federation ship should have fared much worse from the encounter than she had.
“Drone 5 now detecting sporadic energy patterns…” The comm officer reported. “Sending recorded patterns to science.”
Ellyson leaned in as she analyzed the readings.
“Could be a ship under impulse. Order the drones to close on the contact.”
“Aye.”
The blinking icons on the tactical monitor altered their flight path yet again, closing on a singular point. Sharp eyed the position closely. He decided to close in on that area, get within gunnery range again.
“Helmsman, ahead one-half impulse power. Course 012 mark 355.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Again the ship closed in. The nebula now encompassed the entire screen of the main viewer. The tactical monitor began to show haze and static as the increasingly strong emissions of the clouds overcame the ship’s sensors. Sharp watched the slowly swirling clouds, searching for their target.
“Drone 5 has made a solid contact.” Lania said suddenly, voice elevated.
“Begin triangulating with the other drones!” Sharp ordered. He needed a precise position to target with the ship’s guns. Lania did as she was told. The other two drones were out of position and there was too much interference for any of their sensors to react quickly.
A sharp sounding alarm came from the comm station.
“The enemy is firing on Drone 5.” Lania reported, working faster.
“There!”
Sharp looked to where his navigator had abruptly pointed. Blue flashes of energy had lit up the gas clouds in a centralized area. Ford was already swinging the Cleo’s bow toward it.
“Ahead full! Target the source of those shots and fire!”
“He’s out of phaser range!” Said Ford.
“Firing torpedoes!” Davenport said next.
One by one in rapid succession, the antimatter charged missiles flashed out and faded into the swirling mist. Ron continued to fire, eyes glued to the target acquisition sensors, hoping for a ping. The flashes of far-away detonations began to reach them on the viewer, but only one for every two or so weapons deployed. The torpedo tracking systems were not fairing well amid the harsh interference in there.
And now the entire viewer was befuddled in the mire of nebular gasses. One by one, the sensor enhancements flared into static and ceased to function. They were left with little more than vague impressions from the more robust arrays and simple visual navigation. Static began to cloud the screen as even the outboard cameras were affected.
“Shields have failed.” Came Lieutenant Fujiwara’s voice, containing the cautious warning. Their hull was now totally unprotected.
“We’ve lost target!” Ford reported. For several seconds, the photon detonations had stopped coming. Ron removed his hand from the controls.
“Holding fire.”
The captain looked toward science.
“XO, full sweep. What do we have?”
Ellyson shook her head, working.
“Drone 5 is non-functional. I’m getting very little from the ship-board array, and only 38% efficiency from the deflector dish.”
“Debris ahead.” Came from Ford.
Sharp’s eyes returned to the viewer. Spinning chaotically in the gas ahead of them was a small field of twisted metal chunks. Charred and blackened, there was little one could make of them. But there was too much debris to account for only Drone 5’s destruction.
“Helm, come left 30 degrees,” The captain said, guessing. “Z-Plus 10 degrees. Slow to one-third impulse.”
“Coming about, aye, Cap’n.”
Shots struck the Cleopatra from portside when the old starship turned suddenly toward the Klingon vessel. The crew held fast to their stations and restraints against the tumult.
“Direct hits! Port quarter! B, C and D Decks!”
“Return fire, port phasers!”
Ford fought the turbulence, hands clinging to the weapons controls as they worked. The Cleo’s phasers lashed back out in the direction the enemy disruptor blasts were emanating. The resulting gouts of flame from impact revealed the dark hulled craft in a hellish silhouette.
“I have helm control,” came from Davenport. “Coming about!”
“Belay, Navigator!” The captain returned. “He’ll pass over us, reverse your turn to follow as he goes by!”
“Aye, reversing turn!”
The main viewer had acquired the enemy ship, and beheld them a dizzying visage as it tracked the Bird of Prey passing over their ship’s hull. Ford continued to beat at the enemy, adding the dorsal phaser array while the ship moved past. As the accelerating Klingon craft sped away, the Cleo fell into line behind it, firing her forward weapons.
“Pursuit course, Navigator! Maximum speed!”
The Comanche-Class ship leapt ahead, turning just as the ship ahead of them moved to evade. The Cleopatra out-accelerated the Bird of Prey, closed the distance rapidly. Ron fired a volley of short-ranged photons, tearing the engine section of the warship into ribbons. The Bird began to spin side-over-side, out of control.
Its return fire halted.
“Hold fire, Mister Ford.” Sharp unbelted and stood, watching flame and debris roil out of the warship’s interior. “Close to transporter range.”
Cleopatra closed in, coming up partially above the drifting blue-black hulled vessel. They were close enough now to make out its feather-like hull paneling. Ford matched speed and trajectory with the Bird of Prey, then killed the engines.
“Klingon ship’s engineering section is open to space.” Ellyson said. “I read minimal power from reserve sources.”
“Life signs?”
“Indeterminate, Captain.”
Sharp ran through his options. He could simply order the ship’s destruction. They were well within their rights. Many other commanders would and would not fret a night’s sleep over it. Jon Sharp’s instincts told him this was not the way to go. He needed answers that debris scans might not give him.
“Commander Ellyson, prepare a boarding party.”
***
A few things I made up for the Abramsverse have been left in this part. The Brid of Prey having a blue-black hull. Always thought that'd be kind of a cool BoP color. (That's colour for you, Andy
) Gave the Klingons blue disruptors, imagining them as really fast firing, long, thin bolts.
Am also including my poorly hand-drawn rendition of the Cleo, since I got my scanner working again. The paper's been thru hell, so it was rumpled. I haven't altered the Abramsversing in the design, so some of it will definitely not fit TOS. Forgive.
--the Guv
Topic: USS Cleopatra (Read 17087 times)