(Alt 2402): Russell/ihr Gaan "Life Goes On" Part 1
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Captain Josephine Russell
Commanding Officer
Lieutenant Commander Viollika ihr Gaan
Chief Medical Officer
U.S.S. Gemini, N.C.C. 74676
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<Bridge- U.S.S. Gemini, 2402>
Captain’s Log: Stardate 79305.61. We have arrived at the Mutaran nebula. Its historical significance is not lost on me… the site of one of the most famous battles between two Starfleet ships… hopefully Hawk and Dove patrols continue to avoid this area. I’d prefer to avoid open conflict when carrying refugees.
Captain Josephine Russell looked up from her LCARS display after entering the log. She was a different woman now than she was at commissioning. 11 years ago, when she graduated, it would have been impossible to envision herself on the bridge of a starship like the Gemini, let alone in the center chair. Yet here she was, commanding an Intrepid Class Starship like she wasn’t some imposter totally flying by the seat of her pants, sweating bullets as the ship’s chronometer continued clicking away the seconds since their latest rendezvous was supposed to have occurred, and like there weren’t hundreds if not thousands of ships out there which would gladly reduce hers to molten slag in moments.
Jo matured immensely over those 11 years. The dark, sleepy rings around her eyes paid homage to that rapid maturation as much as it told a story of sleep deprivation. Her once striking eyes lost a bit of their luster. Reality tended to dull the sparkles. The school of hard knocks offered one hell of a doctorate program.
“Comeon…” she murmured between clenched, impatient teeth that barely suppressed an exasperated sigh. Old Jo would have turned on the high-energy, long-range, ‘we’re fucking -right- here, come at’ sensors to find the refugees, burn the hefty amount of anti-matter necessary to schorch through subspace at high-warp, pick them up while helping out anyone else she came across along the way, and bring them where they needed to go… while also helping out anyone else who asked along the way.
Mature Jo… jaded Jo… knew better. The sensor output would light Gemini up like a star itself for anyone monitoring the heavens. The kind of power output and subspace field intensity necessary to slide through space at her ship’s capabilities would ring every alarm in the sector at least. This Jo knew better than to take such risks. Old Jo would’ve run in half-cocked and ready to make the selfless sacrifice for a remote chance of rescuing anyone. Mature Jo knew that a dead rescuer rescued nobody.
She couldn’t save everyone. She knew that now. Early on she tried, desperately… but life quickly taught her that if she continued trying to succeed everywhere and every time, she’d succeed nowhere at anytime. Even with a ship as fast as the Gemini, with an insanely talented crew working around the clock shifts, she simply couldn’t help everyone who needed her help.
New Jo analyzed. She triaged situations, crunched the numbers, and helped where returns on investment of time and resources would render maximum effect. She also learned to think before she acted. This Jo would never get caught by a separatist gang of Andorians and beaten to within an inch of her life; she would’ve thought faster, analyzed the situation quicker, and cut bait before it ever came to that. One couldn’t help anybody else if they were dead or rotting in some torturer’s brig cell.
She brought up Carmine’s brief once more. It was brief, but complete. Head to the Mutaran nebula. Wait at the given coordinates… coordinates she’d confirmed with her helmsman three times at this point. Rendezvous with some couriers and transports, and escort them to Vulcan… probably the last planet in Federation territory still offering refuge. Arrive between 19:41 hours and 22:10 hours last night to avoid hostile ships on the way in, and get out as soon as possible. Carmine had specified that she was supposed to wait no more than 2 hours.
Carmine didn’t say lives were on the line. She didn’t need to. Jo wasn’t blind to the fucked up state the galaxy was currently in. The New Triad was on the march, and the Klingons were in full retreat. The remnants of the Romulan Star Empire had been set upon by a Republican separatist movement, and in what used to be the Federation brother battled brother over ideals as well as resources and other practical concerns. She’d watched the opening skirmishes with the same awesome horror as anyone else who’d grown up in the utopian interplanetary alliance, only to see war crimes grow in prevalence and atrocities mount. Starship versus starship became planet versus planet and homeworld versus homeworld grew into wholesale slaughter measurable in the millions.
Josephine stared into her coffee mug, her tired eyes longing for some form of guidance, or maybe assurance that everything would work out in the end. Was she doing what was right? Did it even matter? The coffee was silent.
“Comeon…” she murmured between clenched, impatient teeth that barely suppressed an exasperated sigh. “Where are you?”
The turbolift doors swished open… sorta. Gemini was a wonderful ship… but one dealing in a world where repair stations and friendly shipyards were spare and sparse. Certain repairs took precedence. Triage. Not missing a beat, the familiar form of her longest friend slipped through the opening with all the grace of a Chameloid, pretty smile on her face, eyes still sparkling with hope
Lieutenant Commander Viollika ihr Gaan had seen all that Jo had seen, gone from a junior medical officer to the Chief position in a rapid 11 years thanks to casualties, and stood by her the entire time all without ever losing that luster, that hope which Jo abandoned years ago. That was the benefit afforded to staff officers. All those old lectures about the burden of command suddenly made a lot more sense. She couldn’t help herself though, Vi’s smile was infectious. “Welcome to the bridge, doc!”
“Oh, my Jo, the espresso?” Vi spoke softly. The Chameloid could smell the coffee from the advisor/second officer’s chair. “But your palpitations…”
The smile didn’t leave Jo’s face, but the exhaustion made its mark nonetheless. “That’s why I have you, Vi.”
“Of course and always my Jo.” Vi whispered, unconsciously reaching out to the Captain’s knee. “But you needn’t torture yourself so. You can rely on your crew…”
Vi tried, she really did, cutey that she was, but Jo was in no mood to hear advice she would not follow for the umpteenth time in the last week. “Time on station?”
The Operations officer took it upon herself to answer. “One hour, fifty-eight minutes Captain.”
The exasperated sigh won out this time. “We have two minutes…” Jo reran the calculations. What was the cost-benefit ratio of turning on the proverbial spotlights and gunning it, again? “Anything on sensors?”
“No, sir.” The Operations officer responded. “But there is significant interference.”
Jo’s fingertips clenched a small smattering of hair and curled it around in thought. “Helm, take us through the nebula. Let’s take a quick peak, low-gain arrays only…”
“Captain, I’m picking up approaching vessels.” There was a hint of anxiety in the Operations officer’s voice. The unknown was what killed you and your ship out here. Jo’s gray eyes darted to her console again and she brought up the sensor screen while her officer continued her report. “Multiple ships. Based on sensor profiles… looks like three couriers, two Shelly class transports, two modified Oberth class with cargo pods and… an Excelsior class starship, Lakota variant. No IFF signature on any of them.”
The bridge went silent. At first blush it seemed like cause for celebration… they’d found the apparent refugee convoy right where it was supposed to be, and mostly in one piece. But Jo, and her crew truthfully, had been through too much to allow themselves to sink into a false sense of security. A Lakota could be a potent adversary. The sensor engrams they were seeing could be faked and masking a battle group. One of the ships could be a ‘fire ship’ ready to kamikazee them for ‘the cause’ whichever one it may be. The situation demanded caution… but it also required some type of action. “Well… I guess we’re unzipping first. Helm, prepare for evasive action and plot an escape course just in case. Prepare for emergency warp speed on my command.”
The helmsman nodded. “Ready, Captain.”
Jo nodded. “Lieutenant… activate our IFF transponder, two cycles only.”
“Aye Captain.” Operations complied as she spoke. “Transponder signal sent…” then the Ops officer sighed with relief. “The group is responding, two cycles ma’am. We’re being hailed…”
As it should be. Everything was going right so far. “Onscreen.”
The weary and life-weathered face of a heavy set, balding, middle-aged Deltan man appeared on the screen. “This is Captain Bachan of the Potemkin… can you recommend a coffee house?”
That particular self-serving challenge question always got a chuckle from her, internally anyway. “Like clockwork, Captain.” The man looked visibly relieved when he heard the answer. “Glad you could make it. You were cutting it close.”
“Well, what’s done is done.” Jo wasn’t interested in the man apologizing. He didn’t do anything wrong… Jo knew that, tactically, a single ship escorting seven others would inevitably lose one, maybe two, to a fast moving adversary even if it outgunned the attackers by a comfortable margin. One couldn’t be everywhere, at all times. “What’s the floatilla’s condition?”
“They’re old ships, held together by proverbial duck tape and prayers.” The Deltan shrugged. “But they’re able to maintain life support and have warp drives. We’re limited to warp six by the couriers.”
Jo’s mind instantly recalculated. Warp six would be a hard slog. They would be prey to just about any full-sized starship out there willing to risk an engagement, and she wasn’t about to leave innocent people to the tender mercies of blood-lust ridden psychopaths or opportunistic pirates and slavers. Not if it could be prevented, at least. A thought hit her. “How many people are aboard the couriers?”
“One hundred and ten, crew and passengers.”
Shit, that was a lot of people for those tiny craft. “Wow, packing them in there, huh?”
“Wouldn’t you given the alternative?”
“You have a point Captain Bachan.” And he did, for what it was worth. In his position Jo knew she absolutely would’ve crammed people aboard in every space that could be inhabited during warp, comforts be damned. Wetting her lips, she compiled and data and ran the numbers. Three hundred and thirty additional souls atop of her one hundred and fifty two crew would stress the Gemini’s systems certainly, but her boat had a five-hundred evacuation limit. It would be an uncomfortable, but manageable, trip. “If we were able to leave the couriers behind…”
The Deltan straightened up. The realization of what his counterpart was planning bringing back some life to those prematurely aged and exhausted features. “We would be able to sustain warp nine for thirty-six hours.”
Plugging in the variables, Jo watched with satisfaction as the plotted course reduced significantly the number of stops, allowing for greater freedom of movement and more leeway in avoiding hostile patrols. The less time they had to spend in open space and subject to all the threats that came with, the better.
“Ionization interference emanating from the nebula will make using transporters impossible, Jo.” Vi dutifully noted.
Jo already knew. Who could have guessed that the quantitative analysis classes she took back at the Academy just to stretch out her time there would actually pay off? “What’s our shuttle complement now?”
“Two type XI and one type VIII cargo shuttle, Captain.” The Ops officer almost hesitantly offered.
Jo looked over her shoulder. “That’s it?”
“We lost the Type IX during the last run.” The helmsman almost guiltily added. “And we sold off the workbees…”
“To pay that ransom, right.” Jo remembered.
“We can add two more type VIII and type XI shuttles to help with the lift, Captain.” The Deltan added.
All together they’d be able to move 52 people each trip, not including any necessary cargoes. The math wasn’t mathing in her favor… she didn’t have damn near three hours to kill. Given the relative distance of the ships and the fact that the shuttles would need to dock via airlock because the couriers had no dedicated shuttlebays… “approximately how long would it take to evacuate each courier if they docked with us?”
The Operations officer’s eyes bulged at the request. Starship to starship dockings weren’t exactly common, or easy to pull off for that matter. “Assuming we have one courier dock at the port and starboard airlocks at the same time so we can still maneuver if we need be…” the results of programmed simulations sped across her screen. “If we make the right preparations and we’re only concerned about getting them physically onboard before jettisoning the couriers, we could probably move all passengers and crew inside of forty five minutes.”
Vi gave voice to Jo’s conclusion. “Forty five minutes is certainly a better outcome for our schedule than hours, Jo.”
“Still chancey.” Jo, for her part, gave voice to her own doubts and concerns. Vi was right though. Forty five minutes beat several hours any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Her only alternative was to order that the couriers be left behind. She didn’t even know if she had it in her to give that order. And if she did, having come this far, how likely was it for the floatilla to follow it? And ‘even’ if they followed it… hundreds of people abandoned on slow moving, defenseless, antiquated boats in the vastness of hostile space where predators waited in practically every system was not a result that Carmille would accept (assuming again that Jo could even live with herself after making it.)
One thing was certain. They weren’t going to get out any faster by doing nothing. “Alright, let’s reach out to them. I doubt that what passes for sensors on those hulks is doing any better with the nebula than we are, so we’re probably going to have to walk them through this. Vi, we’re going to be taking on over 300 people…”
“Fear naught my Jo, I have, as you say, ‘taken the initiative’ and made sickbay ready for medical evaluations and treatment.”
Jo chuckled. “Thank you Vi, but we’re going to need space so I’m asking you to assist with relocating our crew.”
Vi blinked. A second time. For once, she was struggling to comprehend the order. “My apologies dear Jo, but is Logistics not the purview of Operations?”
“Traditionally.” Jo nodded. “But our crew has been through a lot. They’re exhausted, irritable, downright grumpy. Many have lost loved ones or close friends. Getting them to give up their quarters, the last thing that some of them have, and voluntarily take on roommates is a giant ask, and the message might be easier with your personality.”
The bubbly medical officer considered what she was told, stood up, and nodded dutifully. “If you wish it Jo, I will make sure all in need have a home here.”
“Temporarily, of course.” Jo added. The two locked eyes briefly. They were part of the crew as well, and had been through just as much as anyone present. In Vi’s eyes was a sad, puppy like pleading… a longing for… well, for the past. For something once shared, for a connection put on hiatus… set aside for the mission, for the sake of the greater good. There were a lot of ‘what could have beens’, skeletons of potential futures that the necessity of command and her own sanity required be locked away. A future with Vi was but one of those skeletons, one that in weaker, quieter moments resurfaced itself on occasion. Her eyes never held anything but love, compassion, desire… never so much as a hint of criticism, of doubt, of negativity. What could have been…
Jo gave another nod, sharper this time. The type you give not just in agreement, but in encouragement to go. The message was received. Vi might have been eccentric and quixotic at times, but no one alive could reasonably think of her as dumb. Once again they had a task to perform, a mission to accomplish, a need to set aside personal desires for the greater good.
Jo didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until the turbolift hushed closed behind her, and her focus once again turned to the mission at hand. “Lieutenant, I doubt the sensors on those antiques are fairing any better than our own. You might need to modify docking procedures and accommodate their handicaps on the fly.”
The helmsman nodded even before his Captain finished the order. “You got it, Captain.”
Jo’s eyes next found her Operations chief. “We’re also going to need to establish procedures and subroutines for casting those ancient scows off after they’re cleared, Lieutenant.”
“Yes ma’am.” the woman replied affirmatively. “Captain, the crew should be made aware that with more than 300 additional souls aboard, environmental and certain life support subsystems like the replicators may be…”
Jo silenced her with an understanding nod and resigned sigh. “Good point. I’ll inform the crew.” She cleared her throat and tapped her combadge. “Russell to all hands, we are taking on over three-hundred refugees. As a result, system access controls and replicator rationing will be implemented, effective in fifteen minutes. Russell out.”
The Ops officer was confused. “In fifteen minutes Captain?”
“Mmmhmmm.” Jo confirmed as she lifted her now cold coffee to her lips and choked down the remainder before slamming the steel bottom on the headrest of her seat. It wasn’t the most elegant move she ever made
“Why the delay, ma’am?”
Jo cleared her mouth, took a breath, and then held the empty cup back up again as she strode to her ready room. “Refills.”