[JP] V.Adml. Reynolds & Cmdr. Marshall - In the End, Survival Is the Only Victory
Quinn Reynolds
((Bridge, USS Gorkon))
Quinn picked herself off the deck, the ship still shuddering around them under a rain of fire from the Borg. Blood flecked at the corner of her mouth after she’d hit the floor, her lip bleeding courtesy of teeth incising the soft flesh. Barely a concern in the grand scheme of things, and looking around the bridge, she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand.
The red alert strobed an unholy rhythm across the bridge as the Gorkon trembled under concussive blasts, the Borg cube looming monstrously on the viewscreen. Tractor beams shot out in a hungry, searching white against the inky blackness of space.
From the Operations console, Jo slammed her hands into the edge of it—a defiant counterpoint to the booming voice emanating from the bridge speakers; its distorted, synthesised words a chilling promise enough to freeze a spine in place.
Borg Cube: =/\= Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated. =/\=
Marshall: Not today, sweetheart. Cutting the transmission.
The Borg's latter statement might be true, only time would tell on that. But they’d never convince Quinn of the former. The Federation had proven time and time again that resistance was anything but futile. She’d be damned if theirs was the only ship to give up. Not least because if they did... Well, that was the end of everything, for everyone.
Reynolds: Marshall, check in with Tahna. We need the civilians out of those labs.
Marshall: I'm on it, sir. ::Her hand moved to the communicator, her voice hardening with urgency.:: =/\= Bridge to Commander Tahna, what's your status? =/\=
Tahna / Nera / Pace / Solkon: =/\= Response =/\=
Marshall: =/\= Potential boarding action coming our way. Priority is to get the civilians in the science labs on decks sixteen and seventeen to a safe, defendable location. =/\=
She underlined the defendable in her mind. Meru wasn't naïve; the implication was there, writ large. Once the Borg boarded, they had little chance of stopping their chillingly efficient drones, singular focus on assimilation, from carving their way through the Gorkon like a cyborg cleaver. They were buying time against a techno-organic juggernaut, and even that felt like a desperate gamble.
Tahna / Nera / Pace / Solkon: =/\= Response =/\=
While Jo began that conversation, Quinn slapped her fingers against her combadge, opening a channel to her First Officer. She missed having Sami there on the bridge—her sharp mind, her practical outlook, her stalwart support—but the former security chief’s experience and level head was needed elsewhere on the ship.
Reynolds: =/\= Reynolds to Neathler. How are the preparations going? =/\=
Neathler / Farvor / Taelon / Finley: =/\= Response =/\=
Reynolds: =/\= The shields are holding, but they only need to drop for a second to allow some Borg in, and we might not get chance to warn you. Keep a sharp eye out. =/\=
Neathler / Farvor / Taelon / Finley: =/\= Response =/\=
Beams of burnt amber lanced out from the Gorkon, impacting the cube in a burst of light that flickered and died on their shields. The vessel didn't flinch. The reply was immediate; a torrent of green energy slamming hard into the Gorkon's forward hull. Their shields flickered, the outer layer taking the brunt of the ruthlessly efficient volley. Behind the Ops console, Jo grit her teeth, her report coming with the hint of alarm, eyes determinedly fixed on the status readings.
Marshall: Shields at seventy-eight percent, Captain.
Reynolds: ::Sourly,:: I’m going to stop saying good news out loud.
Marshall: Pahna, ::the aggravation ground in her throat,:: they've locked on their short-range transporters.
The term “fighting a losing battle” had never seemed so apt. But a transporter lock didn’t mean transport was yet possible. The shields were still up, warding off the burgeoning invasion. For now.
Retaliation came swiftly as fire erupted from the Gorkon's phaser banks, carving glowing trenches across the cube's hull. Despite the well-aimed shot from their tactical lieutenant, the metallic behemoth stood unperturbed. Swarms of drones, resembling chromed ants, scurried across its wounds, swiftly mending them, leaving no trace of damage.
Reynolds: Shore up the shields as best you can; keep them out as long as possible.
Marshall: Diverting power to boost where we need it.
Where they needed it was their engines. Their scans all said that the Gorkon’s Warp XV drive could exceed the Cube’s top speed, allowing them to run for the hills and find somewhere to hide. But as in a stroke of bad luck, the first volley had slammed into the ship in just the wrong place, taking warp offline.
Reynolds: =/\= Engineering, what’s the status on the warp drive? =/\=
zh'Tisav / Finch / Gnaxac: =/\= Response =/\=
Reynolds: =/\= All indications from up here are that we can outrun them—if we can get it back online. =/\=
zh'Tisav / Finch / Gnaxac: =/\= Response =/\=
Ozone and desperation clung to the air, every breath a metallic tang, atmosphere thrumming with an intensity that echoed through the metal bones of the ship. From the tactical console, the Kazleti officer grunted. The Borg were shifting their attack pattern, readying another assault. The predator relentless in pursuit.
Rhakmar: Detected, energy signature. Significant, the power buildup. Broadside, for which they prepare. Weapons systems, I will target.
Marshall: Stoyer, evasive manoeuvres. Get us out of the way before it fires. Use everything we've got. ::Her voice laced with urgency, she continued.:: Sevo, get that Borg knowledge booted up and find any structural weak points you can. We need high value targets fast.
Sevo / Stoyer: Response
The viewport lurched, stars smearing into streaks of light as the Gorkon banked sharply. Displaying the Sovereign-class sleek, the ship dodged a second volley that erupted in a silent blossom near the saucer section, lancing overhead. Quinn grimaced, stealing a quick glance from the miniature readout on the arms of her chair. They were somewhere between a rout and death by a thousand cuts; surviving, but not indefinitely.
Reynolds: We need another option in case engineering can’t get warp back online.
Jo gripped the inside of her cheek between her teeth as her mind flitted through the available options they had to hand. There weren't many, as her brain pointed out—they were up against a Borg Cube. If they didn't come up with a warp drive repair to cut and run at the last minute, they were as good as circling the wormhole.
Marshall: Sevo, are there ionised particles in the nebula?
Sevo / Stoyer: Response
Marshall: We could trigger an ion storm with a controlled explosion. One well-placed photon torpedo might disrupt the Borg sensors and transporters. Enough to buy us some time.
Reynolds: Time is what we need. ::She nodded.:: Sevo, can you figure out how to configure a torpedo to get it done?
Sevo / Stoyer: Response
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
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