Lt Jg Quentin Beck - It Would Be Bad [Part 1]
Quentin Beck
((Bridge, Deck 3, U.S.S. Ronin))
Although the Captain's orders had been to return to Sickbay to prepare, Quentin found lead weights where his feet should have been any time he attempted to cross to a turbolift; truth be told, there was little else to be done in preparation that he couldn't handle from the Environmental Control station at the rear of the Bridge. It might be different once they were fully engaged in battle, as there would likely be casualties filtering into Sickbay fairly rapidly, but until then he knew he could trust his staff; they'd been doing a damned fine job for him so far, and he didn't expect that to end anytime soon.
So he sat on the edge of his seat, one foot bouncing with nervous energy as the fingers of his left hand danced across the console before him, issuing orders to each of the medical teams. The missing fingers of his right hand tingled and he raised his arm slightly, frowning down at the hook; it also made him think of his proverbial right hand, Ensign Syrex, who was busy doing who-the-hell-knew-what on the Rhine and hopefully staying alive. Truthfully, that was the other reason he'd stayed on the Bridge - if he was too busy mothering the senior staff there, he wouldn't need to worry so much about how she was doing.
Chocobrown eyes shifted beneath arched brows to study each member of the staff as best he could from his vantage point; Kirsty was nearby and he could study her profile, thankful her back wasn't to him entirely. Her focus was astounding, something he'd seen before but hadn't really had the chance to study until now, and he felt sorry for anyone who wandered too close to her targeting reticle.
Her energy shifted between excitement and concern, not exactly subtle shifts of her facial expression giving that away; no one would argue she wasn't a beautiful woman, but in moments of tension like this, it seemed to increase almost exponentially to the point she resembled a warrior Archangel, almost impossible to look at directly without needing to avert his gaze.
She was built for battle, even though he knew she was so much more than that.
His eyes were drawn to the main viewer as the Khitomer started dropping out of warp and he leaned his palm against the console, halfway closing his eyes and willing himself to feel when the Ronin did so, too; the subharmonic vibration was truly impossible to really pick up just by leaning against something, but Quentin still had the trappings of an Engineer, despite his Medical posting, and he had grown to love the Ronin enough he would swear up and down he could feel the change as it happened.
His eyes pulled open again as Ian adjusted their heading to bring them into the proper position and the image on the viewer caught his breath in his throat at the same moment he heard Kirsty just barely mutter under her breath.
Carpenter: Oh God.
Time froze for a moment, at least from his perspective, as his brain tried to reconcile the chaos spread out across the screen before them; his experience with engagements this large had been limited to the simulator and nothing could have prepared him for the enormity of the battle. It was almost beautiful, in a very dark way, laid out almost like a classical landscape; in the background hovered Deep Space Thirty-Three, plasma fires burning brilliantly over different areas of the station and belching from one of the bays lining the main module, the arms of the station trailing debris that traced along behind them in what was tantamount to a ballet dance.
The majority of the fighting was done in the middle ground; swarming fighters flitted around capital ships like flies around cows, though the torpedoes launched by those ships promised to be a lot more destructive than a simple flick of a cow's tail; it was too difficult to tell from this distance how many of those fighters were Starfleet and how many were Lattice Alliance, but entire groups disintegrated in bright flashes.
And in the foreground was the Khitomer, weapons hot and blazing, proving to any haters that she was a force to be reckoned with as she sliced through the blockade like a sizzling knife through butter to launch her attack on the station; Shayne's plan had come to fruition just as expected, some fighters and the smallest capital ships taking the bait and twisting to engage her directly.
The Khitomer's shields glowed blue briefly under the assault, but they held, and Quentin let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The Captain's voice cut through the din, drowning out any buzzing or alerts kicked out by the computer from each individual station.
Niac: Commander Carpenter, launch tricobalt devices alpha through foxtrot at the Khitomers priority targets. Phasers fire at will.
His gaze flicked to Kirsty again and he could swear he saw wings sprouting from her back and her clad in something resembling heavenly armor as her hands traced over the controls in front of her.
Carpenter: Sir, yes, Sir.
The ship shuddered briefly as the torpedo tubes launched, and he could imagine each one making a thumping sound as it departed. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the front edge of his console, his whole body leaning forward as he tried to visually track each of them to see if their aim held true.
Niac: Mr. O'Connor, adjust your course to come starboard ten degrees and drop us under the station, full impulse. I want to get a clear shot at those boarding craft attached to the station. Keep us moving and keep it unpredictable.
O'Connor: Aye, Captain. I’m gonna spin us around the station’s equator and drop us in upside down underneath.
Quentin shook his head as the ship jostled again when something bounced off the shields; O'Connor was a fascinating man, damned good at his job, and the Doctor was pretty sure the Orion tapped into an bottomless well of unmitigated luck.
Niac: Chief, begin charging the main deflector. If we detect a build-up of s-wave radiation from one of those big ships out there I want to try the Khitomer's chroniton pulse. Until then I want all the power you can spare routed to the shields.
Not for the first time did Quentin feel a little… useless on the Bridge. His skills extended past the Medical field, but he was hardly a specialist, and the officer at each station was already so damned good at their job, he couldn't really do much to help. His gaze flicked over to Marty at his left, the Engineer's fingers already darting over the controls to reroute power in the smartest way possible.
Tucker: The main deflector is charging at thirty-two percent and rising. I’ve taken most nonessential systems offline and diverted them to the shields.
Another barrage of torpedoes fired. Quentin tensed briefly when Niac turned to address him and he wondered briefly if the Captain had been reading his mind.
Niac: Doctor Beck, I want constant reports on the radiation levels around the station. It seems like the Alliance is holding off on the big guns for now...probably worried about outright destroying the station before they can claim ownership. If that changes I want to know it as soon as possible.
Thankful for something to keep his hand and hook busy, he dipped his head in a nod and shifted his focus back to the terminal at his fingertips.
Beck: Initiating a full scan of the station and surrounding space. Passive scans are showing ambient radiation levels holding at twelve gray per hour and only the sections under directed attack are showing any kind of spike, but I'll know better once the scan is complete.
He glanced up at the Main Viewer just in time to see the lion's share of the torpedoes making contact and he grabbed the edge of his console just in time to keep himself from toppling out of his seat as the ship lurched to avoid ramming the thing they'd just blown up.
Niac: Report effect on targets! Helm, take us across the stations long axis and then plot an outbound arc towards the Khitomer, we need to get some of the heat off them so they can recharge their shields.
O’Connor: Aye.
The ship rocked again, this time the other direction, and the only reason Quentin didn't fall this time was because he'd snagged his hook in one of the handles built into the bulkhead beside him. Alarms blared and the first wave of his scans came through.
Niac: Damage report!
Tucker: Shields holding at sixty percent. Minor damages to decks five, seven, and nine. There are no casualties to report at this time. I think we got lucky…this time. Also, the deflector shield is almost fully charged and ready to go, currently at ninety-seven percent.
The radiation levels around the Ronin were starting to spike, though that made sense since they'd started drawing some of the fire; as long as the shields held, they wouldn't have to worry too much about testing whether or not the inoculations were going to last in the long term. While there were still plenty of doses left for that turn of events, he wasn't looking forward to distributing them again in the middle of a firefight.
Quentin would have missed Marty's conversation if he hadn't been so close.
Tucker: =/\= Tucker to engineering. =/\=
Engineering: =/\= Morgan here sir. =/\=
Tucker: =/\= Hey Rach, I need you to send a team to deck two and find out what the hell is going on with the structural integrity generator; it’s fluctuating wildly, and this isn’t the great time for that thing to go on the fritz.
Morgan: =/\= Dahl and I will get it right now, Morgan out. =/\=
O’Connor: Thanks, Tuck. I’ll hold off on anything too crazy strenuous ‘til you guys got a handle on that. Meantime Captain, we are still good at full impulse.
Carpenter: We certainly are gettin' their attention now. Multiple contacts bearing, but that hopefully takes some pressure off Snowball and the station.
Frowning, he looked at the scans again and raised his hook slightly to draw Marty's attention.
Beck: You might tell that team to put on some protective gear - while the s-wave radiation isn't a problem yet, I'm reading some pretty heavy gamma levels in that section. ::frowning more deeply and studying the readout:: In fact, we might want to start moving people out of that area altogether until they get it fixed or we're going to start seeing folks dropping like flies.
His fingers darted over the console.
Beck: Dispatching a medical team to just outside the area so they can treat anyone suffering from too much gamma exposure. I've also informed Sickbay to prep for that as well.
Niac: Swat those fighters, Commander, this is our sky and they don't have my permission to fly in it. Doctor Beck, give me a bioscan of the station...what's the status of the population?
Shrinking the active scan for radiation levels to a corner of his terminal, he initiated a more focused scan on the station and his brow creased with concern. Already he could tell the numbers didn't look right, but he waited to make the report until the scan completed. The ship swung around again and Quentin planted his feet to keep himself from tumbling and he thought maybe it was getting easier to judge when they were going to get a big hit like that.
Tucker: Skipper, I’ve got the inertial dampers hemorrhaging power, and I’m trying to compensate so we all don’t end up smears on the bulkhead. And I’m getting fluctuations and surges in the structural integrity field, jumping between forty and sixty percent. I’ve sent Lieutenant Morgan and Crewman Dahl to investigate; I should know more soon.
O'Connor: Trying to compensate best I can but we are gonna get wailed on if I can’t make a few tight turns.
Carpenter: More fighters movin' to engage us. It's workin' so far.
Beck: I'm evacuating nonessential areas of the ship and shutting off everything but the most base environmental controls in those sections to try to give you some more power, Marty. ::to Niac:: Deep Space Thirty Three isn't looking so good, sir. I'm reading heavy casualties in the outermost areas, likely due to the s-wave radiation, and there's one whole section I'm not reading any biosigns at all. That might be unreliable, though - it's almost like someone shrouded that section of the station and the scans are just reflecting off it instead…
He trailed off a little as his eyes were drawn to the Main Viewer and the massive ship that filled the entirety of it in a way not unlike a Borg Cube, though this was far more menacing as it looked like it almost had teeth. Good thing his pants were brown.
[End of Part 1]
Lieutenant JG Quentin Beck
Acting Chief Medical Officer
USS Ronin NCC-34523
A238810SA0