[JP] V.Adml. Reynolds, Lt. Cmdr. Nealther, & Cmdr. Marshall - ‘Til But One Ember Remains
Quinn Reynolds
((Ready Room, USS Gorkon))
Light streaked past the ready room window, warp speed’s optical illusion of stars stretching into thin lines rushing past the ship. Quinn shifted her weight as she stared out, feeling the subtle vibrations of high warp in the deck plates under her feet. A cup of tea steamed in her hands, the ceramic on the knife edge of being too hot to hold.
Reynolds: Captain’s log, stardate 241006.02. ::She took a breath, trying to decide where to start.:: We did what we needed to on Depot 39, but I can’t help but feel guilty for leaving it behind. Our teams got the main computer back online, and undid some of the damage Commodore Johnson did on his way out. But it’s going to take days, if not weeks, to find all the traps and sabotage he and his people left behind. Perhaps even longer to ferret out all his co-conspirators.
She frowned. Even when all the investigations were concluded, how could anyone on that station ever trust one another again? Every day would be a day spent wondering if the person at your side was one of Johnson’s traitors who’d slipped through the investigative net.
Reynolds: It’s clear he’s a clever and meticulous man, and capable of inspiring extraordinary loyalty in his people. They’re so loyal, they were happy to follow his orders without even knowing his goals. Willing to put in danger the people they’ve worked alongside for years, just because he asked them to. It’s... hard not to admire him, in some ways. At least until you remind yourself what he did. And what he has the potential to do.
A sip of tea followed, the piping hot brew just how she liked it. A small comfort in the face of the enormity of the task in front of them. Rubbing her thumb over the edge of the mug, Quinn continued.
Reynolds: We’ve transferred Captain T’Veran to the USS Ozhika for further treatment and questioning. ::She shook her head.:: I don’t know what part she played in this, but it seemed... unwise to have her aboard while we continue our hunt for Johnson. Perhaps I’m getting swept up in paranoia, but I can’t shake the feeling she was intended as part of his wider plan.
Stepping away from the window, she took another sip of tea. No matter how many times she ran theories in her mind, she could find no satisfactory explanation. There were just too many gaps in the data; over and over, they could see the outcome of his actions, but determining the why or how was next to impossible.
Reynolds: After some analysis, the data we retrieved finally gave us some insight. He took a chrono-deflector from the station, and he’s headed to the Omicron Mu system. But we’re at a loss as to the meaning of that combination. Omicron Mu is a tourist destination, and is not, nor has ever been, a location of any significance in history.
Until now, perhaps.
((A short while later: Bridge, USS Gorkon))
On instinct, she looked toward the viewscreen the moment she stepped out of her office. The curve of a planet occupied the upper right of the viewscreen, an idyllic blue marble with wisps of cotton wool clouds drifting through its atmosphere. New Cyndriel, a peaceful colony of some many millions, a popular destination for sunseekers, outdoorists, and artists who came to enjoy its unspoiled beaches, forests, and landscapes.
But what captured Quinn’s attention was the ship on the screen. A sleek shuttle of Starfleet design heritage, though it matched no class currently in service. There was a device mounted on its roof, and she recognised it from the data rescued from the tachyokinetic energy lab. A chrono-deflector, a device which would allow Johnson to rip through the fabric of the universe and travel to a different time. As Quinn entered the bridge, Samira stood up and moved over to the First Officer chair, her eyes never leaving the small craft on the viewscreen.
Reynolds: I take it he’s not answering hails?
Neathler: No, sir. Any attempt to contact Johnson is failing.
Reynolds: And we can’t get a transporter or tractor lock?
Marshall: Not for lack of trying.
That left one thing, and Quinn grimaced at the next logical course of action. Firing on a fellow Starfleet officer—even one who’d caused as much damage as Johnson—was the last thing she wanted to do. Even with the most skilled operators, there was so much that could go wrong. But it was clear the man intended to tinker with the timeline, and they just couldn’t allow that to happen.
Reynolds: =/\= This is Vice Admiral Reynolds of the USS Gorkon. Drop your shields and come to a full stop, or we will open fire. =/\=
Nothing.
Reynolds: I don’t think he’ll pay any mind to a warning shot, but let’s try one, just in case.
Having anticipated the order, Greg’s dark fingers moved over the glossy display, calculating the perfect spot, keeping in mind the vessel’s current speed. A double check later, he gave the order.
Aegam: Aye, sir. Firing phasers.
Quinn watched the phaser beam zoom past the shuttle’s bow, and as expected, there was no hail or change in the shuttle’s velocity. It was no surprise. He’d come this far; why would he stop now? In some ways, she admired his single-minded determination, though she was desperately curious what had inspired it. They still only had rough sketches about his intentions, and his motivations remained in shadows. What was this all in service of?
Marshall: He's determined, I'll give him that. Increased power to his impulse drive.
Neathler: We’ll have to stop him before he activates that thing.
Reynolds: Alright. Let’s get his shields down so we can beam him aboard. Have the brig prepare—
On the viewscreen, a beam of electric green light tore from the device mounted on the top of the shuttle’s hull, striking through the dark. Johnson's shuttlecraft sailed like a shadow against the swirling distortion marking the emerging rift. Small and sleek as the craft was, its potential for destruction was immeasurable. In front of their eyes, the rift began to take form; a vortex of light and dark, tearing through the fabric of space-time.
Marshall: Johnson's shuttle is activating the chrono-deflector. He's creating the rift. ::Her report came as her fingers flew over the operations controls.:: We might be able to disable it with a torpedo shot, preventing the rift from stabilising.
Tension crackled in the air, every second bringing them closer to encapsulating catastrophe. The viewscreen showed the rift widening as the swirling mass pulsed with raw, unbridled energy. Quinn took a step forward, frowning, trusting her First Officer to take the required action.
Neathler: Aegam, fire that torpedo.
This time, it didn’t matter much where the shot landed as long as it was in the opening rift and Greg fired.
Aegam: Torpedo away, sir.
With anticipation, Samira watched the scene unfold in front of her. The rift now encapsulated the shuttle, beams of energy shooting in all directions. One of them hit the torpedo, resulting in a bright bloom of golden flame against the black of space, beyond the edge of the rift. Far short of its target. No one needed sensors to tell them the warhead had failed to achieve its goal.
Reynolds: Get us in close. We need to get to him before he can go through. ::She turned her head just a little, speaking across her shoulder to the tactical station.:: And try a torpedo spread, maybe that will have more success.
Marshall: The odds aren't great, but it's worth a shot. Shields are taking a battering from the energy the rift's throwing out.
Aegam: On it, sir.
There was barely a shudder from the sleek, powerful Sovereign-class as the engineering crew pushed the impulse engines to and through their usual operating limits. Quinn’s heart drummed in her chest, the irony that they were running out of time to stop someone from changing time not lost on her. She heard the tactical console confirm torpedo launch, watched as the spread sped toward the rift—and once again, each destroyed at the rift’s marches, a brilliant sequence of searing explosions.
Reynolds: Damn it. How close are we?
Marshall: Not close enough. Diverting available power to engines.
The vessel's engines roared, channelling every ounce of energy the fusion reactors could spare into a final, desperate attempt, and for a moment—one hopeful moment—it seemed as if they might just make contact. But the chrono-deflector pulsed with a blinding flash, and the rift yawned wide, its edges crackling, the sight occupying the entire viewscreen.
Reynolds: Lock phasers and—
Like the stories of so many cultures, where a great beast swallowed a person whole, the breach consumed Johnson’s shuttle. Quinn froze, feeling as though she had just been doused in deuterium slush. But she allowed herself only a second of blind panic; the situation required action.
Reynolds: Follow him through.
Aegam: The rift is closing, sir.
Samira stood up and took a few steps forward, as if she wanted to push the ship forward in the hopes it would make the Gorkon fly any faster. Jo had already diverted all power to the engines so it was in vain to give the order again.
Marshall: It's too small, sir. The Gorkon won't fit through.
For a few moments, a heavy silence reigned on the bridge. No one had any answers, for the simple reason there were none to be had. Their efforts had been in vain, and Johnson had accomplished what he’d set out to do. Caught within the borders of the time rift, but unable to pass through; a kind of limbo, at the same time existing within the normal timeline and without it.
Still visible through the twisting energies of the breach, New Cyndriel changed in front of their eyes. Verdant greens and vital blues grew dark and necrotic, a sickly green glow spreading across land and sea like veins filled with poison.
Reynolds: ::In quiet horror,:: What has he done?
Another question for which there was no answer. Only the outcome of Johnson’s actions was theirs to know. A timeline where the Federation, the Klingon Empire, the Romulan Star Empire, and so many more were nothing more than Borg subject worlds. Where everyone and everything they loved was gone, and the only remaining trace of what used to be was a lonely starship named Gorkon.
The rift closed behind him, leaving only the empty void where the shuttle had been.
If there was a way to undo the damage Johnson had done, they would find it. If there was a way to return to life those who were gone, they would do it.
Resistance would not be futile.
fin
--
Vice Admiral Quinn Reynolds
Commanding Officer
USS Gorkon
T238401QR0
&
Lieutenant Commander Samira Neathler
Executive Officer
USS Gorkon
G239508SN0
&
Commander Jo Marshall
Chief of Operations
USS Gorkon, NCC-82293
G239304JM0