By Alan Tripp
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“Captain! … We’ve got a live one over here!” Jenkins yelled from across the bridge, his tricorder sounding that singular ping of detection.
Shallana picked her way across the shattered remains of this ship’s bridge trying to reach her crewman and the survivor he’d found.
About halfway across the command well, her commbadge pinged.
[“Captain, a word with you I must have.”]
“What is it, Commander?”
Commander Adoy had been with her for many years now to a point she no longer saw him as her first officer, but as family.
His timing was never the best, however, and his news seldom a positive.
[“Beamed off survivors from uncaminated decks, we have. Borg circling, they are. Boarding us, begun they have.”]
His speech patterns were a bit different, but had a sing-song quality to them … once you got use to it.
“Make sure security teams are suitably armed and initiate Borg-Tango-Tango-Delta defensive countermeasures,” she ordered. “Don’t lose my ship while I’m gone.”
She glanced in passing at the ship’s dedication plaque which lay scorched on the decking nearby … “U.S.S. Temporal Storm” … “Premonition-class”.
“Have any boarded this ship as yet?” she asked, almost to Jenkins.
[“Yet … they have not. Bigger prizes to claim, they have.”]
“Again … Protect the ship and defend the crew at ALL costs,” she ordered. “And maintain those transporter locks!”
Jenkins punctuated the sound of the channel closing with the clatter of tossing debris to one side as he worked to dig out the humanoid below.
Shallana joined his efforts, both working together til the face of a human woman wearing a captain’s pips and a variant of a Starfleet uniform different from their own.
Flipping out her own tricorder, the readings cleared with proximity to the victim.
Injuries severe … ranging from cracked ribs, brushed organs, crushed legs, internal bleeding and a head injury.
As she touched the woman’s face, the woman stirred, opening her eyes and focusing on her for just a moment.
“Mother,” she whispered. “I knew … you’d … come for … me …”
Before darkness again claimed her.
But at her voice, a chill ran down Shallana Ironwolf’s spine.
Brushing away more debris with a purpose, she found the lady’s commbadge and flipped it over.
Emblazoned on the back was the name of this injured captain … Brianna Carys Llewellyn.
Her daughter’s name. … The nine-year-old daughter she’d left back on earth a few weeks ago for her to spend time with their family … the girl’s grandmother specifically.
Shallana’s heart raced as a mother’s panic and fear for their child took hold.
This was impossible. IM…POSSIBLE!!!
With fevered speed, she rushed to clear the debris as the tricorder’s recording of the woman’s heartbeat faltered.
NO NO NO NO!!!!
Her own breathing caught in her throat. Her own heart beat so fast she would swear later it stopped.
Shallana clicked her badge before pinning it to Bri.
“ADOY! … LOCK ONTO MY BADGE …. BEAM ONE TO SICKBAY NOW NOW NOW NOW!”
OUT OF STORY
This is a short one … One quiet (if you can call it that) moment before the words toss us into the heat of battle and the fight they must wage to save themselves.