“Cazeash, what’s our ETA?” Campbell got up from his command chair and moved to stand behind his helmsman.

“Forty-six minutes and twenty-eight seconds, sir.” The response came without so much as a glance at the console. Had it come from most other humanoids, Campbell would have questioned the accuracy of the statement without confirmation. But, considering Cazeash’s mental acuity combined with his cybernetic implant, there should be no need to double check.

“Thank you, Ensign.” He contemplated the view screen for a moment, thinking about the mission. Kinoplasmic radiation was known to have adverse affects on computer systems. If everything went as planned, the mission would take less than an hour with only some minor difficulties. On the other hand, they could end up stranded and unable to call for help. He decided that he needed to double check their preparedness. Campbell tapped his combadge. “Captain to Lieutenant Hernandez.”

“Hernandez here, sir.”

“Jose, meet in my ready room for a last minute briefing.”

“Yes sir. On my way.” There was a hint of annoyance in the Chief Engineer’s voice. No doubt he had been in the middle of something. But, if it had been important, Jose would have said something.

“T’Eama?” Campbell walked over to his Vulcan executive officer. She was running some kind of computation on her science console, but turned away from it to face him.

“Captain?”

“To my ready room. I’d like to go over everything one more time.”

“Yes sir.”

Campbell placed Lieutenant Stahlman in charge as he and T’Eama crossed the bridge to his office. Sitting at his desk, he invited his friend to sit down. “So, tell me again what we know about kinoplasmic radiation.”

“As you wish, Captain.” She cocked an eyebrow and continued without much hesitation. “We know very little about it. On Stardate 48892.1, the U.S.S. Voyager encountered a spatial anomaly in the Delta Quadrant that was releasing the radiation. It caused numerous malfunctions in their computer systems, most notably with their EMH program. Since then, Starfleet has devoted resources to study the radiation in hopes of counteracting its effects.”

Campbell nodded. All of that came out of the report he had read, but it was good to hear it again. “Right, and it’s those very effects that are the reason we’re out here.”

“In a sense, yes. With the debilitating effects of the radiation, Starfleet was forced to send probes into the Kinjer System’s asteroid belt after it had been discovered there. Unfortunately, the radiation blocks long-range sensors and long-range communications.”

“Yep,” sighed Campbell. “So we go in, download the probes’ data up close, and jump out. Then we transmit everything back to Command. Problem is, we’ll be at the radiation’s mercy the whole time. Right?”

“Metaphorically speaking, that would be a sufficient analysis, sir.” At that moment, the door chimed.

“Come on in.” With that, the door opened and Lieutenant Hernandez entered the room. “Just in time, Jose. Have a seat. Are we ready to enter the Kinjer asteroid field?”

Taking the other seat in front of the desk, Hernandez shrugged. “As ready as we can be. Given what we know of the radiation’s properties, our computer systems could be worthless. I’ve set up a protocol that takes most of the ship’s artificial intelligence systems offline once we enter the field. According to our simulations, downloads from the probes will take longer but I don’t see any catastrophic malfunctions.cialis All other automation will be at a bare minimum of efficiency, but it should mean we won’t be in trouble.”

T’Eama cocked her head slightly and gave the engineer a sidelong glance. “And should we run into any trouble, our response times will be severely reduced.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have the time to run the whole crew through new training drills. If we could take a whole week, we might be able to get a little faster. If you ask me, we shouldn’t risk the ship for this.”

Crossing her arms, T’Eama stared at Jose. “I do not believe that we have the-”

“Lieutenants!” Campbell had to interrupt. He could see that Jose was irritated, and he also knew that T’Eama’s posture meant she was prepared for an argument. The last thing he needed was for two of his senior officers to fight over this. “That’s enough. I’m sure we’ll be able to adapt to whatever happens. Return to your posts.”

The two officers nodded and quietly left the room. Stepping over to his replicator, Campbell ordered a some Bolian tonic water. Taking the glass, he moved to the view port and watched the stars. He understood Jose’s objections. The ship was so new, the crew had barely just learned how to work it. Now, they would be forced to work without automation.

The argument that almost ignited had also underscored another issue. This was the crew’s first mission together. They had no common experience to draw upon to trust one another. It was his job to hold it all together. An untried crew, an untried ship, and an untried captain.

Nearly lost in his thoughts, Campbell was startled by T’Eama’s voice informing him that they had arrived, and were about to enter the asteroid field. Acknowledging her, he finished his tonic water and quickly returned to the bridge. Sitting down in his command chair, he signaled Engineering. “Stand by to enter the Kinjer asteroid field. Hernandez, activate your protocol.” Closing the channel, he nodded at his helmsman. “Take us in at one quarter impulse.”

“Aye, sir.” As they pushed forward, Campbell noticed some of the console displays flickering. Cazeash suddenly shook his head. “Gah! I knew it!”

“Is something wrong, Ensign?” The last thing they needed right now was for their helmsman to have a problem in the middle of an asteroid field.

“No. I’m fine, I’m fine. Stupid radiation is messing with my implant. It’s like looking through a fogged-up window.” Cazeash reached up and tapped a few buttons on the side of his implant. When it seemed that he wasn’t pleased, he quickly slapped it twice. “I’ve compensated, I think. Don’t worry, I promise not to crash us into anything, sir.”

“I’ll make sure to note your promise in my log, Ensign. T’Eama, status report.”

“Automation systems are at minimal settings. Long-range sensors are offline. However, no malfunctions detected. I am now scanning for the probes.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Ensign Stahlman, communications’ status?”

The large man tapped his console a few times and shook his head. “Too much interference, sir. We probably won’t get a signal out past a thousand kilometers.” Campbell nodded in acknowledgment and sat in silence. He had expected as much, but it was still good to know.

After a few minutes of waiting, Campbell turned to T’Eama. “Any progress, Lieutenant?”

“Captain, this is curious. I cannot find the probes at all. According to Starfleet’s records, the probes should be here. But, I find no evidence of the probes’ existence.”

“That’s strange. Maybe the radiation messed with their navigation and they’ve wandered off course. Look for particle emissions. We might be able to trace where they went.”

“Yes, sir. I was just about to suggest doing just that. Scanning for emissions.” After another minute of manual scanning, T’Eama looked up with both eyebrows raised. “I’ve found their emission trails, sir. But, mysteriously they simply end. There is no debris. They simply vanished.”

“Keep scanning. See if you can find anything else out of the ordinary.” There had to be a reason for the probes disappearing.

“Captain,” T’Eama said, cautiously. “I’m reading tachyon emissions approximately seven kilometers behind us. I am certain they were not there a few minutes ago.”

“Tachyon emissions? Identify the source.”

Suddenly, T’Eama’s head shot up from her console. “Two Klingon Birds-of-Prey decloaking behind us!”

To be continued . . .
__________________________________________________________________________

“Star Trek: On the Line” is a Star Trek Online fan-fiction series by Collin “Cade” Spencer.

Star Trek online is produced by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari. Star Trek is a trademark and copyright of CBS Studios, Inc.

“Confirmed, sir! Two B’rel-class Birds-of-Prey decloaking to aft! Initiating evasive maneuvers.” Cazeash’s hands darted about his console as he fought to manually steer the ship. With the Falcon’s automation systems disabled, he would have to perform everything himself. Behind him, Captain Campbell bolted to his command chair while barking orders.

“Red Alert! Shields up! Stand by to return fire!”

At the Ops station, their Vulcan Executive Officer, Lieutenant T’Eama calmly reported on their attackers’ status. “They are powering weapons and engaging, Captain.” Cazeash could almost respect her collected attitude in an intense situation. Except for the fact that she was just another stuffy Vulcan. As far as himself, he was exhilarated. Finally, he was able to taste some real action.

“Stahlman,” the Captain continued, “see if you can monitor their communications. Cazeash, lock phasers on the lead ship’s engines. Let’s see if we can disable them.”

Cazeash shook his head emphatically. “Not happening, sir! Without automation, I can’t lock on!”

“Right.” Campbell mumbled something he couldn’t make out, but it didn’t sound positive. “Guess you’ll just have to use your best guess, Ensign.”

“The Klingons have opened fire. Torpedoes incoming.” At T’Eama’s warning, Cazeash slammed the Falcon hard to starboard and started pulling the ship about. If they were to have any chance of winning, he needed to bring their torpedo launchers in line with the attackers. He could feel the ship vibrate as disruptor fire peppered their viagra.

“Return fire!”

Cazeash smiled as he activated his targeting program and lined up a shot on one of the enemy ships. He had configured his implant’s Head’s-Up-Display to double as a manual targeting system, but hadn’t had the time to properly test it. Shifting his head, Cazeash centered his sights on the underside of his target as it tried to pass along their port side. With a simple mental command, he sent a burst from both of the Falcon’s phaser arrays. The enemy vessel’s shields lit up from the impact, and it banked away. “Direct hit, sir!”

“Nice shooting, Ensign! T’Eama, give me an update!”

“Direct hit confirmed. Enemy shields at sixty percent. Minor hull damage.” Had his implant been working perfectly, Cazeash would have been able to tell that himself. However, the interference from the kinoplasmic radiation had forced him to tone down the amount of data streaming to him. He sent the ship over a large asteroid and felt the ship shudder from more disruptor fire.

“Good. Stahlman, damage report!”

“Shields at ninety percent. No casualties and no hull damage, sir.”

“Looks like the new shields are performing perfectly. They even held up against the those torpedoes.”

“Actually,” T’Eama interrupted, “the torpedoes missed us entirely, Captain. They are continuing along their last trajectories. The enemies are now moving to attempt a flanking maneuver, sir.”

“Interesting. Cazeash, keep up the fire on your last target and see if you can’t get us into a pursuit course on one. Fire torpedoes when ready.”

“Aye, sir.” His target was now below them, having rolled away from the last shot, and slipping under to intercept them to starboard. The other ship was still behind them, slightly to port, continually firing their disruptors. Cazeash rolled to starboard and angled the nose down while repeatedly firing the phasers. Almost every shot hit its mark, and he could tell their enemy’s shields were quickly collapsing. His target was wounded, and he was ready to finish them off.

Calculating speeds, trajectories, and distances in the blink of an eye, Cazeash adjusted his aim and released a pair of proton torpedoes. A moment later, both torpedoes struck their target, ripping through the remaining shields and detonating against the hull. Then, in a blinding flash, the Bird-of-Prey exploded, sending debris in every direction.

Seeing his first kill, Cazeash let out a shout of triumph. “Ha! Gotcha, you damn clam-heads!”

“Cut it out, Ensign. It was a good shot, but celebrate later.” Campbell didn’t sound too pleased with him, but the captain could shove it right now. Cazeash’s adrenaline was pumping, and the thrill of victory was tingling his every nerve. “T’Eama, how are we doing?”

“One attacker remaining. They have moved into pursuit position three-point-six kilometers to aft and they are matching our every move. They fired another torpedo a moment ago, but the shot was wide, sir. It would appear that the kinoplasmic radiation has forced the Klingons to operate without automation, as well.”

“Cazeash, can you shake him?”

He sent the Falcon into a series of wild dives, rolls and turns, trying to lose the Klingon ship. However, after checking his displays, he noticed that the Bird-of-Prey was still securely behind them. “Nope, they’re still on us.”

“Okay, I have an idea.” The captain came to stand behind him. “Keep firing our aft phasers at him, but concentrate on flying. Head straight ahead into the thickest part of the asteroid field.”

“Sir,” T’Eama interjected, “at these velocities, without automation, the probability of successfully navigating an asteroid field is approx-”

Campbell quickly cut her off. “I don’t care about the odds, Lieutenant. Besides, I have every confidence in our helmsman, here.”

He knew the Vulcan was right. By his own estimation, this sort of stunt would be suicide for any normal pilot. But, Cazeash was well aware of how far from normal he was. “Yes, sir! Going in!” With a wide grin, he set course for the center of the asteroid field and pushed the thrusters up to full power. At every opportunity, he let loose a burst from the phasers to keep the Klingons interested in their prey.

But, dodging giant space rocks soon became a full-time job. As the field grew thicker and more chaotic, Cazeash was forced to pull tight maneuvers he barely thought possible in a starship of this size. Sometimes, the inertial compensators could barely keep up, causing the crew to stagger about. A close impact deflected off of the shields, causing a large bounce that knocked a few crew members to the floor. Sparks shot from one of the wall panels.

“C’mon, Cazeash. Keep us in one piece!”

“Yeah, I’m trying!” A quick check of his rear display showed the Klingons were still behind them. Their pilot was good, but Cazeash knew he was better. Looking ahead, he noticed a pair of very large asteroids on a collision course with one another. Again, rapidly running calculations in his head, Cazeash diverted extra power to the engines and surged towards their impact point.

“Um, Ensign, you do know those two asteroids are going to hit each other, right?”

“Well aware of it, Captain.” On the main view screen, the two asteroids loomed large and imposing. As the three of them approached one another, Cazeash rolled the Falcon and slipped right between them.

The Klingon ship was not so lucky. It bounced off of one asteroid, careened into the other, and was suddenly caught as the two rocks collided. As the Bird-of-Prey was crushed, it detonated, shattering both asteroids in a brilliant explosion.

A cheer went up from the bridge as Cazeash whipped the ship around and headed out of the asteroid field. Captain Campbell clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Now that’s what I call flying. See? I knew I wanted you on this ship for a reason. Get us back out of this mess.”

“Yes, sir!” Cazeash beamed with pride. At last, he had shown what he could do. Maybe those idiots at Starfleet Command would finally take notice of his talents. Behind him, Campbell was back to business.

“Stahlman, were you able to get anything off of their communications?”

“One encrypted message, sir. But, more importantly, I was able to determine a direction for their transmission. Assuming their systems are as inhibited as ours, they were probably communicating with somebody close by.”

“Well, then, let’s go take a look.”

To be continued . . .

__________________________________________________________________________

“Star Trek: On the Line” is a Star Trek Online fan-fiction series by Collin “Cade” Spencer.

Star Trek online is produced by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari. Star Trek is a trademark and copyright of CBS Studios, Inc.

Strolling along the corridor, Christopher Campbell ran his hands over the smooth surface of the walls. He marveled at the efficiency of the engineers. In just under two months, they had completely repaired the wrecked hulk of a ship that was over half of a century old. Every system was brand new and state of the art. By all rights, the Falcon was a new ship, fresh off of the assembly line, and unlike any other Starfleet vessel.

The man chiefly responsible for the new ship, Lieutenant Imjim Mott, walked next to Campbell, smiling and admiring his handiwork. Over the past six weeks, Imjim had designed and supervised every aspect of the Falcon’s refit. He even took the time to oversee the new crew’s training on the ship’s systems. Campbell had no clue to when his friend had found the time to sleep.

Together, they walked in silence, on their way to the transporter room. Looking at his friend, he could see a hint of sadness behind the wide grin.

“You gonna be sad to see her go?”

“No,” Imjim replied while gently shaking his head. He took a sideways glance back at Campbell and sighed, his grin melting into a more somber expression. “Well, maybe just a little bit. Actually, I just wish I could go with you.”

“Really?” Campbell chuckled. “Right, and give up a prestigious design position with the Corps of Engineers? I don’t think so.” Designing starships had been Imjim’s dream. Giving that up to go gallivanting across the stars would be ridiculous.

“Well, she’s my baby. I rebuilt her from the ground up for this mission.”

“That you did. So, if I offered you the chance to transfer here, would you?” Having Imjim serve as the chief engineer would be invaluable. No one knew the ship better than him. Lieutenant Hernandez was proving to be a talented engineer and confident leader, but having another friend aboard would have been a serious boon.

“To tell you the truth, not a chance. You’re right. I’d be stupid to give up my current assignment. As much as I want to go, I’ve found where I belong.” They reached the transporter room and walked inside. Chief Womack greeted them with a nod, and invited Imjim step up to the transporter pad with a simple gesture.

“I had to ask, you know,” said Campbell, as he shook his friend’s hand.

“Right. Oh, I almost forgot.” Imjim released his hand and reached down into one of his bags. “I got something for you. To commemorate this whole thing.” From the bag, he pulled a tall, glass bottle filled with a dark red liquid. With both hands, he ceremoniously presented it to Campbell. “Hope you like it.”

Taking the bottle, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he inspected the label. “Chateau Picard, 2391! You shouldn’t have. Seriously. Is this real?”

“I’m glad you like it,” Imjim laughed. “And, yeah, it’s the genuine article. No replicators involved.”

“How did you manage to get your hands on it?” Wine from the ambassador’s vineyard in France was a heavily sought after item.

“I have a relative who used to know the ambassador. I just called in a favor.” Imjim stepped onto the transporter pad. “Oh, and speaking of favors. Could you do one for me?”

“Anything, my friend.”

“I put a lot of sweat into this ship. Take good care of her.”

“Count on it.”

“Thanks. Good luck, Chris.”

“You, too.” Campbell looked at Womack and nodded. “Energize.” She tapped her controls, activating the transporter. Imjim was surrounded in shimmering light, and two seconds later, had completely vanished. Looking at the console, he noted that Spacedock confirmed a successful receiving of his friend. “Thanks, Chief. Ready to head out?”

“You better believe it, Captain,” the petite blonde said with a smile.

“Well, it’s time.” With that, he turned and left the room, heading for the bridge. Stepping onto the turbolift, he thought back over the events of the past three months. He and his friends had just graduated from Starfleet Academy, each going their separate ways. Assigned as the Ops officer aboard the Falcon, he had barely served in that capacity before the Battle of Vega Colony. Out of necessity, he had taken command and helped win the battle. For that, Admiral Quinn had promoted him and placed him in command of the Falcon.

All things being equal, Campbell would rather have continued to serve at Ops. Sometimes, just thinking about his new responsibilities made him nervous. Right now, he felt like he was coiled up tighter than a spring. But, there were a number of people that trusted him. And, more than that, they believed in him. He was not about to let any of them down.

Just before the lift doors opened, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. He felt his shoulders relax and the tension left his gut. His crew needed to see him confident, and he was determined to show them that. When he heard the doors part, his eyes snapped open and he strode from the lift with his chin held high.

“Captain on the bridge!” Ensign Stahlman shouted, snapping to attention. The rest of the crew immediately followed suit. Campbell swept his gaze around the room. Each and every person on the bridge stood as rigid as if they were on the parade ground. They looked confident and eager. All except for T’Eama, his friend and executive officer, who’s emotionless expression was almost comforting.

“As you were.” The bridge crew quickly relaxed and went back about their business. Campbell turned towards T’Eama, who was now seated at Ops. “Status report, Lieutenant.”

Looking up from her console, T’Eama responded with her typical efficiency. “All systems fully operational and on stand-by. Yard command has confirmed that we’ve cleared all moorings, and dock control reports ready, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” She acknowledged him with a slow nod and continued her work. Campbell turned towards the small, green man sitting at the forward command console. “Mister Cazeash, helm status?”

Without turning, the alien blurted a rapid reply. “Helm ready and orbital departure already on plot, sir.”

“Very good, Mister. Maneuvering thrusters.”

“Maneuvering thrusters, ready.”

“Hold station.”

“Aye, sir.” Campbell was sure he could sense irritation in the alien’s response. Cazeash was practically chomping at the bit to get under way. “Maneuvering thrusters at station-keeping.”

“Ensign Stahlman, patch me in to the rest of the ship.”

“Yes, sir.” A moment later, he heard the beep indicating that the channel was open.

“This is your captain speaking. In a matter of moments, we’ll be embarking upon a great quest. A quest of discovery. A quest for knowledge and understanding. A quest into the unknown. Starfleet command has asked us to take up the time-honored tradition of exploration. We will be putting everything on the line to boldly go where no one has gone before. I can’t promise that it will be safe, or even easy. But, I can promise that we will all learn to trust, and have faith, in each other. I have the utmost confidence in this crew, and I look forward to serving with all of you. Now, all hands stand by for departure.”

He was no fan of making speeches, but he felt that he had made a decent one. He would rather have chosen not to speak, but tradition demanded it. Plus, he had been told, it would help to boost the morale of the crew. He turned his attention back to his helmsman.

“Ensign Cazeash, thrusters ahead full.”

“Yes, sir. Thrusters at full, leaving dry dock.” The ship vibrated subtly as it pushed forward. After a few moments, Cazeash glanced over his shoulder. “We’ve cleared dry dock, sir. Establishing a standard Earth orbit.”

“Very good, Ensign.”

“Captain?” Ensign Stahlman looked up from his his station. “Incoming message from Starfleet Command, sir.”

“Onscreen.” An image of Admiral Quinn appeared on the forward view screen. “Admiral. Here to give us a personal send-off?”

“In a sense, Mister Campbell. Ready for a little shake-down cruise?”

“Ready and willing, Admiral.”

“Good. I have a little mission for you. I need you to head to the Kinjer System and retrieve some probe data. I’m transmitting the details to you now.”

“We’ll get right on it, sir.” This, of course, meant that their mission to the Delta Volanis Cluster would have to wait. But, this would allow them to work out any bugs in the new systems. His mother had always told him that every cloud had a silver lining. Here, at least, he could see the truth of that old axiom.

“Good luck, Campbell.”

“Thank you, Admiral. Take care, sir.” At that, the transmission ended, and the view returned to an image of space. “Helm, set course for the Kinjer System. Warp five.”

“Course plotted. Standing by.”

“Engage.”

To be continued . . .
__________________________________________________________________________

“Star Trek: On the Line” is a Star Trek Online fan-fiction series by Collin “Cade” Spencer.

Star Trek online is produced by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari. Star Trek is a trademark and copyright of CBS Studios, Inc.

The ship was certainly new. But, it was small, and it looked fragile. Had Cazeash designed the ship, he would have made it intimidating to look upon. It would have been larger, more durable looking, and bristling with weapons arrays. Of course, if he had been designing ships for Starfleet, they would be winning this war.

Instead, Cazeash was stuck flying shuttles around Spacedock. That was until he had been assigned to the Falcon. Now, he stood on the bridge, just outside of the captain’s ready room. He was not sure exactly why he was here, but he estimated an eighty-three-point-four-seven percent chance he had received another disciplinary transfer. Reaching up, he pressed the door’s call button.

“Come in,” came the voice of a human inside. Humans annoyed him immensely. They were idealistic fools content with living lives dedicated to peace. On top of that, they designed all of their ships with only their own physiologies in mind, which made almost everything too big for him. However, were it not for humans, no one would have accepted him.

He entered the Ready Room and walked up to the desk. Seated behind it, was Lieutenant Campbell, the captain of the vessel. Campbell stood in greeting. “Welcome aboard, Ensign Cazeash.” He waved to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Cazeash hopped into the seat and glared across the desk at his new captain. So far, he wasn’t impressed. Just like all the other humans in Starfleet, this one was soft and too interested in protocol. Campbell sat back down, and stared back for a couple of seconds before continuing. “You’re undoubtedly wondering why you’re here. Right?”

“That would be a correct assumption, Captain. But, I can guess.” For the last five years, he had never been promoted and had served in nineteen positions. No one wanted him around for very long, so he was always being transferred.

“I requested you.” Cazeash cocked his head, his antennae twitching in confusion. That could not be right. In his entire history with Starfleet, no one had requested him. The captain must have made a mistake.

“Why?”

“The new systems on the Falcon are some of the most advanced in Starfleet. I need top quality helmsmen, navigators, and tactical officers to run them properly. But, because we’re at war I can’t get that many people. Your qualifications are off the charts.” Campbell reached down and picked up a PADD from the desk. “At the Academy, you had the highest marks of any cadet in mathematics, engineering, weapons training, tactics, navigation, and piloting. You set records in marksmanship and piloting that no cadet has broken since. Plus, thanks to that piece of hardware stuck to your head, you can interact with just about any computer system. I need someone like you.”

“Do you not question why I did not graduate at the top of my class?”

Campbell set down the PADD and exhaled slowly. “No, I know why. You have a very, very long list of disciplinary problems. Starting fights, disobeying orders, and an argumentative personality. One ship’s counselor even called you a sociopath. You have a problem with authority?”

“Only when they’re wrong.” Which was often. In his experience, the people in charge had no idea what they were doing. If he disagreed, he let them know.

“I encourage open opinions, but you will follow orders. I won’t tolerate insubordination. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.” Cazeash got the impression that this human had a tough streak. Which gave him more backbone than he was used to in most humans. The captain gave him an appraising look.

“But, starting fights? Seriously? How big are you?”

“I am one-point-one-nine-four-four meters in height, and I weigh thirty-seven-point-six-eight-one kilograms . . . approximately. And, yes, that includes the weight of my cranial implant.” Humans always judged him by his size, which was almost as annoying as their idealism. “My opponents always had it coming to them. And, I always won my fights. As your people say, brains over brawn.”

“I’m sure.”

“Now, may I go, sir? If I’m to pull triple duty as the Falcon’s primary helm, navigation, and tactical officer, I’ll need to sync my implant to the ship’s automation systems. That will exponentially increase my efficiency.” He was tired of talking with the captain, and the sooner he could sync with the ship’s computer, the better.

“Right. Report to Lieutenant Hernandez in main engineering. Dismissed.” Hopping from his seat, Cazeash turned and marched out of the ready room. Crossing the bridge, he pondered his new situation. No one had ever wanted him under their command. The captain was either desperate or a fool. Probably a little of both.

As the turbolift doors opened, Cazeash scurried around a Vulcan woman in a science uniform. As the doors closed, he noticed the woman watching him, one of her eyebrows raised. Cazeash shook his head. The pretentiousness of Vulcans could be even more annoying that humans.

* * *

The little, green man had whipped past her so suddenly, T’Eama had barely been able to get a good look at him. She had never seen a being quite like him before. But, whatever his species, her concerns lay elsewhere.

Traversing the bridge, she observed the panels and consoles. Each one used the latest in Starfleet technology. She could easily appreciate their utilitarian design. Reaching the ready room, she pressed the call button.

“Come in.” She entered the ready room and saw that Campbell was engrossed with some schematics on his private terminal. “What can I do for you, crewman?” he said, without looking up.

“Permission to come aboard, sir?”

His chin came forward as his head jerked up in surprise. “T’Eama! What are you doing here?”

“I requested a transfer to your command after word of your accomplishments reached me.” She raised an eyebrow. “And, you still have not answered my question, sir.”

“Absolutely, permission granted.” Campbell got up from his chair, and came around the desk to stand in front of her. He was smiling and laughing gently. Evidently, he was amused. There was certainly nothing jovial about her arrival, but humans did laugh at the oddest things. Humor was a difficult concept. “So, what have you been up to?”

“After graduating at the top of our class at the Academy, I was promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade and assigned to Starfleet Command as a liaison to the Vulcan Science Academy. I was the highest ranked member of our graduating class. Now, you are.”

“Do I detect some hurt pride?”

“Merely an observation, sir.” He was trying to illicit an emotional response from her. Not to be unexpected. Ever since they had met, he had tried, knowing very well that he would never succeed. She had learned long ago to stop reminding him that she was a Vulcan, as it never dissuaded him.

“Why leave behind such a good opportunity?” It was a good question. One that she had pondered on her entire trip back to Earth. Being assigned to Starfleet Command was enough of an honor. But, to work with the Science Academy was one of the greatest of honors for any Vulcan. To many, leaving would seem extremely illogical.

“It was logical, captain.”

“Logical? How so?” Apparently, he was not going to let the issue go.

“Your mission is to chart unexplored regions of space. You will need the best available science officer. I am the most qualified officer available. And, if I am not mistaken, you have yet to select an executive officer. Am I correct?”

“You’re correct.”

“You need someone that you can trust. Someone that understands you, sir. Therefore, I offer myself as a candidate for your executive officer.”

“You’re right.” Campbell nodded and his expression turned serious. “I need you here, T’Eama. So, I accept. Thank you.” He extended his hand, and she took it after a slight hesitation. The act of shaking hands still felt very alien to her.

“No thanks are necessary, sir.”

Campbell tapped his commbadge. “Ensign Stahlman, please report to my ready room.”

“Yes, sir.” After a moment, a large, muscular human man stepped into the ready room. “You needed me, captain?”

“Please see the Lieutenant to her quarters. She’s our new First Officer, so make sure she gets the right accommodations.”

“Yes, sir. Right this way, Lieutenant.”

* * *

After taking the Vulcan Lieutenant to her quarters, Wade Stahlman took a stroll around the ship. He was still learning the layout of the Falcon, which was unacceptable for the chief of security. He needed to know the ship like the back of his hand. He decided he should perform a floor-by-floor sweep to improve his familiarity.

His father had been a peace officer on Alpha V Colony, and had always instilled the idea that knowing one’s surroundings was a key to defense. Wade’s training as a Starfleet security officer only strengthened that idea.

Deck Two held the briefing room and the Officer’s Lounge. Below that, on Deck Three, were the officers’ quarters, stellar cartography, and deflector control. Deck Four held main engineering’s upper level and the transporter center. Deck Five, the Falcon’s largest floor, contained the crew lounge, recreation areas, the VIP quarters, and main engineering’s lower level. Deck Six held the sick bay, laboratories, hydroponics, the shuttle bay, and the ship’s computer core. Also, filling Deck’s Three through Six, were the crew’s quarters.

Continuing down through each floor, Wade stopped to occasionally check with various personnel. He wanted to make sure everyone knew who he was, and that they trusted him. Their safety was his responsibility. The last ship he had served aboard, the U.S.S. Renown, had been destroyed at Vega Colony. He had nearly been killed, but thanks to Captain Campbell, he was rescued and spent a week aboard a hospital ship.

When word got around that Campbell was taking over the Falcon, Wade jumped at the chance. It was a rare opportunity to serve under the man that saved your life. He would not let the man down.

Moving to the next floor down, Deck Seven, Wade inspected the emergency bridge, brig, armory, and auxiliary transporter room. Finally, on Decks Eight and Nine, were the cargo bays.

Completing his walk, Wade returned to the bridge, the only real feature of Deck One. Returning to his security console, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In just over a week, they would be setting out for the stars, and Ensign Wade Stahlman was ready.
________________________________________________________________________________
“Star Trek: On the Line” is a Star Trek Online fan-fiction series by Collin “Cade” Spencer.

Star Trek online is produced by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari. Star Trek is a trademark and copyright of CBS Studios, Inc.

The new engine room, while similar in layout, held vastly new and different systems. A brand new warp core had been installed only two days earlier, and technicians were still hooking up more systems. At the moment, Chief Petty Officer Jessi Womack, was just finishing the installation of an EPS flow regulator.

Lying on her back, halfway inside of an access hatch, Jessi felt right at home. Back on her family’s farm, she had learned how to fix her father’s tractor, among other farm equipment. Her petite frame and tiny hands definitely made it easier while working on delicate equipment in difficult to reach places. And, nothing made her happier than working on machines in cramped conditions. Lots of people thought of it as an odd mentality, especially the claustrophobic people, but she didn’t care. Joining Starfleet had been one of the best decisions of her life, and she loved her job.

Of course, under normal conditions, installing a flow regulator was not her job. But, a refit would hardly be considered a “normal condition”. Typically, she served as the Falcon’s Transporter Chief. After she had joined Starfleet, it became apparent that fixing things was not her only talent. She had excelled at transporter control and had been assigned to the Falcon under Captain Qat’Anmek.

For the last two years she had quietly served in that capacity. At Vega Colony, though, everything had changed. Captain Qat’Anmek was dead, and so was most of the rest of the command crew. Ensign Campbell, a man she barely knew, had stepped up to command that day and became a hero. Womack, herself, had been awarded with the Starfleet Medal of Commendation for her quick work in rescuing the wounded at the battle. Awards were not her concern, though. She had better things to do.

After returning to Spacedock, she had been asked where she wanted to serve. Most of the rest of the original crew had either taken positions elsewhere, or had been reassigned. When she heard that Campbell had been promoted and was taking over the Falcon officially, she chose to stay and assist with the refit. It sounded like fun, and it also meant she would have the chance to continue to work with Campbell. He already earned her trust and respect, and that counted for a lot.

“How are we doing, Chief?” Someone she couldn’t see, and could barely hear, was standing at her feet.

“Almost have the last connection!” She shouted her response to make sure whomever it was could hear her. Between the constant din of work in the engine room and the buzz of equipment next to her head, it was hard to hear anything. Brushing a lock of her blonde hair out of her eyes, she reached up and snapped one more coupling into place. She tightened the connection with her auto-spanner and double-checked the seal with a quick scan from her tricorder. With everything in place, Jessi wriggled out of the hatch. Standing up, she shouted, “Okay! She’s all set!”

“I’m right here, Chief. No need to shout,” calmly replied Lieutenant Campbell.

“Sorry!” She grimaced and cleared her throat. She started again, “Sorry, Captain. I sometimes forget my volume control when I’ve been inside of an engine.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with an easy smile. One thing she liked about the new captain, was his rapport with engineers. He had been an engineer, too, which gave him a proper perspective on the profession. Behind the captain, and just to one side, stood a human man with dark hair and almond-colored skin. What really caught her eye, though, was the large scar dominating his right cheek. Campbell gestured to the man and said, “Jessi, this is Lieutenant Junior Grade Jose Hernandez, our new Chief Engineer.”

* * *

“Jose, this is Transporter Chief Jessi Womack.”

She certainly was attractive. A small, slender body with curves in just the right places. A blonde, too. Jose could get used to seeing her around. He extended his hand to the woman. “Chief Womack, it’s good to meet you. Congratulations on your commendation.”

“Thanks, but it was nothing.” She took his hand and shook it. You could tell a fair amount about people from a handshake, and Jose was not about to pass up a chance to analyze one of his new subordinates. Her hands were rough, which suggested a hard worker. Her hand had been offered with the palm facing slightly downward, which meant an assertive personality. Finally, her firm grip and steady eye contact told him that she was confident. He had to admit, he liked her more already.

Taking his hand back, he glanced around the Engine Room. “You guys have done an excellent job. All of this in three weeks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work.” Nodding, Jose watched as two technicians ran a calibration on an electrical relay. When one of them leaned up against the conduit, Jose shook his head in frustration. “Hey!” The techs looked up at his yell. “Don’t lean up against that! If the relay is bad, it could arc against the conduit housing and fry you in your shoes.” After a couple of quick apologies, the two men resumed their work from a safer position. Turning back to Campbell and Womack, Jose raised an eyebrow. “Are they usually that careless?” Womack spoke first.

“No, sir. They’re usually better than that. I’ll talk to them after they’re done, if you’d like, sir.”

“Please do,” he said with a quick nod. “We have safety protocols for a reason, Chief. See to it they’re followed. In fact, I want to put you in charge of a full safety inspection before the ship is under way. Can you handle that?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Thanks, Chief,” Campbell spoke up. “Shall we move on, Lieutenant?”

“As you wish, sir.” As they continued on their tour of the Falcon, Jose watched the young captain. Barely a grade above himself, Jose wasn’t sure if the young man was capable of command. Just because he was supposed to be a hero did not mean he was a leader. Jose had already served in Starfleet for over a year and had only recently been promoted to Junior Grade. Campbell was still wet behind the ears. But, command assignments were not his responsibility, so he would keep his mouth shut. Unless, of course, something forced him to speak up.

Campbell pointed to a phaser monitoring system. “As you can see, we’ve made some significant upgrades to the Falcon’s components. The weapon and deflector systems come from a Shi’Kar-class escort. The new superstructure and shield systems come from a Centaurus-class frigate. And, we’ve managed to get our hands on tritanium alloy for the hull armor. Workers are replacing the old monotanium as we speak.”

“Isn’t that usually reserved for larger vessels?” In a time of war, it only made sense to keep better materials for the front-line ships. A simple scout ship would be a waste.

“True.” Campbell shrugged and looked up, his eyes focused beyond the bulkheads. “But, we’re going into the unknown, Lieutenant. With no transwarp network, starbases could be weeks away. And, no help if we run into trouble. We need the best protection that Starfleet can provide.”

That made some sense. Besides, if he was going to be stuck on this tug, it might as well be as safe as they could make it. His mind started to wonder about how he might add his own improvements to the ship’s defenses. If the shield emitters came from a science ship like a Centaurus, that meant they could handle a much higher power output. Jose decided he would have to meet with the lead designer to see about coaxing some real performance from the shields.

Campbell clapped him on the shoulder, snapping Jose from his thoughts. “So, what do you think?”

“It’ll take some time to get to know her systems, but I think you’ve got the makings of a fine ship.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to working with you, Jose.” A crooked grin crept up on the young captain’s face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.” Turning away, Campbell strolled out of engineering.

* * *

“Thank you, Nurse. That’ll be all,” said Doctor Lehotusa Glow, handing back the PADD. The nurse hurried away, and Lehotusa didn’t need to guess why. When someone could read a person’s thoughts as easy as looking at a piece of paper, there was nothing people could hide. So, Betazoids, such as himself, were constantly feared.

Every type of being had different reactions to telepaths, but, in his estimation, humans were the worst. To humans, the inner workings of their minds were of the utmost privacy. An invasion of that privacy was one of the most serious taboos. Even though his people had strict etiquette and rules about that sort of thing, humans hardly knew it. This led to fear and anger, which just frustrated him. To make matters worse, humans had virtually no control over their thoughts, which annoyed him to no end. In order to maintain the proper mental distance, it took considerable effort to filter out their thoughts, which always gave him a headache.

He leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. Lehotusa thought of his home, back on Betazed. His son was probably out in the yard, pretending to fight Klingon warriors. Upstairs, his daughter was studying for a physics test, or some such. And, downstairs, in the kitchen, his wife was making some of her prize winning uttaberry crepes. He longed to be there.

And yet, he wanted to be here even more. In fact, he had accepted a demotion to Lieutenant J.G. in order to be aboard the Falcon. It was either that, or be promoted up to Lieutenant Commander and get deployed to the war front. And, while healers had their place in war, he wanted none of that. He was a scientist. Sure, he could treat cuts, burns, and broken bones with the best of them. But, his knowledge of the life sciences would be wasted. Out on the fringe of space there was so much to learn, so many puzzles to solve, was where he belonged.

Just outside of his office, Lehotusa could feel Lieutenant Campbell approaching. He felt a strong desire for exploration in the young captain. In that regard, they were kindred spirits, which meant he liked the kid already. As Campbell turned the corner into the doctor’s office, Lehotusa stood and greeted the man. “Right on time, Captain.”

“I don’t like to be late.”

“Punctuality is always a good thing. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” That was not entirely true. At the moment, Campbell was actively thinking about some Bolian tonic water. “So, Doctor, what do you think of the new Sick Bay?”

“Top of the line. It’s so new, I’ll have to learn whole new interfaces. I understand that the last Sick Bay was completely destroyed. Correct?”

“I’m afraid so. One Borg torpedo ripped right through our hull when the shields collapsed. The medical staff didn’t even know what hit them.” Campbell’s pain jumped into Doctor Glow’s head. Instead of simple feelings, he could see what happened. Smoke, fire, the original captain impaled, and a woman named Mercy, shot in the back. With the intensity of the outburst, Lehotusa knew it would be some time before the captain truly healed from that ordeal. He decided to change the subject.

“Any word on when we’ll be heading out?”

“Anxious to get moving?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Absolutely, Doctor.” Campbell’s mind was still distracted, lingering on his memories of the battle. “Provided we stay on schedule, we’ll be setting sail in three weeks. Now, I’m sorry, Doctor, but I’ve got other things to attend to. I’ll catch up you later.” He was lying. All the captain wanted was to be secluded for a little while. Given the emotional distress he felt, Lehotusa decided to give the captain his space.

“No problem, Captain. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, Doc.” And, with that, the captain turned and walked out of Sick Bay, the thought of some Bolian tonic water at the front of his mind.

To be continued . . .
________________________________________________________________________________
This is a Star Trek Online fan-fiction series by Collin “Cade” Spencer.

Star Trek online is produced by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari. Star Trek is a trademark and copyright of CBS Studios, Inc.

Walking quickly through the corridors of Spacedock, Campbell thought back over the last few weeks. The battle at Vega Colony had left him in command of the Falcon, which had suffered serious damage. Half of its crew had been casualties, and many of its systems had been smashed beyond repair. They managed to repair the warp drive and had limped back home over the course of a month. Their trip would have been faster had they used the Federation’s Transwarp Network, but their hull damage had been to severe.

Upon their arrival, they had been hailed as heroes. News of their one lucky shot, which had led to the total destruction of the Borg Cube, had preceded them. Now, he was on his way to be personally debriefed by the sector commander.

Just outside of the admiral’s office, an assistant seated at a simple desk pressed a button at her private console. The door next to her slid open and she gestured for Campbell to enter. Acknowledging her with an appreciative nod, he walked through the door.

“Ah, Ensign. Please come in.” As he entered the admiral’s office, he took a quick survey of his surroundings. The room was large and well furnished. A tall, cylindrical aquarium stood in one corner, opposite a grand window. Beyond that window, the beautiful blue and green marble of Earth hung in the sky, slowly rotating amidst a sea of stars.

Behind a hand-crafted, wooden desk sat Admiral Quinn, flanked by a Ferengi aide. Tall and broad shouldered, the admiral possessed the appearance of a seasoned soldier. His silvery hair and beard framed his sharp features, which were accentuated by a pattern of spots adorning his temples and neck. As a Trill, it was rumored that Admiral Quinn had served Starfleet for over a hundred years. However, he never spoke of his past lives, and no one thought to question the man.

Campbell walked up to the admiral’s desk and snapped to attention. Other than Admiral Riker, he had very little experience with flag officers. He was not about to appear unprofessional in front of one. Quinn regarded the young officer for a quiet moment, then smiled warmly. “As you were, Ensign.” Campbell relaxed his posture and clasped his hands behind his back.

Standing, the admiral quickly glanced at a PADD laying on the desk and returned his attention to Campbell. “I’ve read Commander Kelly’s report of what happened at Vega Colony. I’ve also read the Falcon’s logs. But, I’d like to hear if from you. What happened out there?”

“Well, sir, when the Borg arrived, Captain Qat’Anmek ordered us to battle stations and we moved with the fleet to engage. As soon as we opened fire, the Borg retaliated and our senior personnel were killed, including the captain. I took command, and with some excellent work by our engineers, we were able to re-enter the battle. I noticed a weakness in the Cube’s power grid and took a gamble.” A gamble was the best way to describe his actions that day. Had that shot failed, his ship would have been completely defenseless against an extremely deadly opponent. “It paid off, sir. According to sensor logs, the explosion created a chain reaction that destroyed their core.”

Quinn barked a laugh and shook his head. “Now, that’s the kind of thinking we need in Starfleet. Fortune favors the bold, Ensign. That’s a creed I live by. We need more captains like you. If we did, this war might be over sooner, rather than later.” The admiral pulled a small box from a drawer in his desk. “Now, not only did you stop the Borg, but you saved the lives of a hundred Starfleet personnel when you transported those wounded to the Seacole. I have to say, I’m very impressed with you. You’ve shown yourself to be a true credit to Starfleet. I see a bright future for you, Mister Campbell.”

Coming around his desk, the admiral opened the box and pulled out a small, shiny object. Reaching up, he pinned it to Campbell’s chest and returned to stand behind his desk. “Christopher Robert Campbell, on behalf of the United Federation of Planets, I hereby award you the Starfleet Medal of Valor for your actions, above and beyond the call of duty, at the Battle of Vega Colony.”

He glanced down at the medal, and sure enough, the Medal of Valor hung just below his commbadge. That made almost no sense to him. Over a thousand men and women gave their lives fighting in that battle. Snapping back to attention, he saluted the admiral. “Thank you, admiral. But, permission to speak, sir?”

The admiral cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Granted.”

“Sir, why me? What about all the people that died? Like Captain Qat’Anmek or Lieutenant Commander McMary.” His mind flashed back to an image of Mercy, dead in his arms. “I did exactly what I was supposed to do, sir. That doesn’t make me a hero.” That was certainly how he felt. Why should he be honored?

The admiral gave a sad smile. “Son, I’ve never known a hero that didn’t say the same thing. Besides, do you know what that thing really is?” He pointed to the medal hanging on Campbell’s chest. “It’s a monument. Not only does it represent a recognition of your actions, it stands as a memorial to all of those that gave their lives in defense of the Federation. Wear it with pride . . . Lieutenant.”

Campbell’s head jolted with surprise. “Sir?”

“I’m also promoting you to the rank of Full Lieutenant, with all privileges therein. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir. May I ask what my assignment will be?”

Admiral Quinn pressed a few buttons on his console and Campbell’s service record appeared on one of the office’s monitors. “I’ve gone over your record quite extensively, Lieutenant. You excelled at Warp Theory and Engineering at the Academy. High marks in sensor operation and computer maintenance. You also showed a talent for command, which is what earned you a bridge officer position straight out of the Academy. You could go just about anywhere.”

Campbell’s mind swam with the possibilities. A position with the Corps of Engineers, assignment to a ship like the Enterprise, or even a teaching job at the Academy. Any of those jobs might be just around the corner.

“And, there was something else that caught my eye,” the admiral continued. “You’d mentioned, during your time at the Academy, that you wanted to be an explorer. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.” Assignment to the Enterprise was looking even more likely. He had always heard of the exploits of Captain Data and his elite crew. Ever since the android’s “resurrection”, he and his crew had encountered fantastic phenomena, and thwarted a great number of threats to the Federation. Campbell definitely wanted to be part of that.

“Good. Because, as you well know, we have scientific mandate in Starfleet. We’re supposed to explore strange, new worlds, and seek out new life and . . . well, you know the rest. Even though we’re at war, we must not forget that. And, I think that’s where you come in.”

Campbell’s brow furrowed in confusion. It was starting to sound like he wasn’t about to be assigned to the Enterprise. Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure what the Admrial was trying to get at.

“Effective immediately, I’m officially assigning you as captain of the U.S.S. Falcon. Your mission, following the supervision of the ship’s repair and refit, will be to explore the Delta Volanis Cluster. It’s an uncharted region of space just outside the Sirius Sector Block.”

He reeled from shock. He was being given full command? Had Admiral Quinn lost his mind. He had been out of the Academy less than two months and he was already the captain of a ship.

“Now, under normal circumstances, a Lieutenant would never command a vessel, Campbell. But, this war is a drain on all of our resources. We need the best minds in the best places. You’ve got what it takes to be a great leader. And now, more than ever, we need passionate explorers to brave the unknown. I know you won’t let me down, son.”

Campbell saluted again. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.” He hardly knew what else to say. The admiral’s orders were genuine, and he always wanted to be an explorer. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready. Admittedly, his initial anxiety of command had worn off over the month he had spent leading the Falcon. But, in his mind, he believed it to be only temporary.

“Best of luck to you, Lieutenant. Report to the shipyard command center. They’ll assign a team from the Corps of Engineers to assist you in the refit of the Falcon. Dismissed.” With that, Campbell saluted once more and turned to leave. This was certainly going to prove to be an interesting duty.

* * *

The Shipyard Command Center was a bustling room, crowded with officers operating every aspect of construction and repair. If the war with the Klingons had accomplished anything, it had vastly improved Starfleet’s productivity. The Corps of Engineers had streamlined the processes of starship construction in order to meet the demands of a war-based economy. Where it had once taken months to build a vessel, one could now be completed in a matter of weeks.

Watching the activity, Campbell could not help but admire the men and women here. Their work was just as important to the war as any soldier, and possibly more so. Were it not for their dedication, Starfleet would not have the materials with which to fight their enemies.

He had been informed that the leader of the Falcon’s new design team would meet him here, and he hoped that whomever it was would have the same level of dedication.

“Well, well. Not two months out of the Academy and you’ve already made yourself a hero. And, now you’ve got your own ship, too,” said a familiar voice from behind him. Turning to the source of the voice, Campbell’s eyes lit up at the sight of his old friend.

“Imjim! What are you doing here?” Standing with his arms crossed, the Bolian beamed with pride.

“Well, you know Chief Dirz Raxx?”

“Yeah, he’s the crew chief here at the shipyard.”

“He’s my cousin. Right after graduation, he put in a good word for me and I got placed with the Corps of Engineers here at Earth. I’m a design team leader now.”

“Really? That’s great.” Back in the Academy, Imjim had always talked about designing and building starships. “So, do you know who’ll be working on the Falcon?”

“You’re lookin’ at him, Chris.” They both shared a hearty laugh. Imjim clapped a hand on Campbell’s shoulder and gestured to the door with a nod of his head. “C’mon. Let’s go down to Club 47 and talk about your ship over some Synthale.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Grinning, he followed his friend out into the corridor. As they moved through the station, they talked about their other friends from the Academy. Dor’pon had been assigned to security detail on the U.S.S. Kirk, and Davina was stationed at Starbase 24 as a shuttle pilot. Neither of them knew where T’Eama had gone, however they both suspected she had been assigned to a research vessel of some kind.

Strolling into Club 47, with its purple and orange lights bathing its patrons in a strange glow, they took seats at the bar. Imjim ordered them each a synthale and convinced Campbell to recount the battle of Vega Colony. He told his friend the story, to the best of his ability, but chose to not tell him specifics on how his fellow officers had died. It was still too soon, and he didn’t want to burden his friend with that kind of painful truth.

After finishing his story, Imjim downed the rest of his ale and looked back at Campbell with a more serious expression. “I read the Falcon’s status report as soon as I was assigned to her refit. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, but I’ve got some ideas how we can really improve her.

Campbell cleared his throat. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, when I’m through with her, she might be barely recognizable as a Miranda-class vessel. But, she’ll be faster, stronger, and tougher than ever before. I’ve got another cousin at Utopia Planitia that’s shared some design concepts with me, and it’s given me some great ideas.”

And, just like that, Campbell knew that he had just the dedicated engineer he was hoping for.

To be continued . . .
_____________________________________________________________________________

This is a Star Trek Online fan-fiction series by Collin “Cade” Spencer.

Star Trek online is produced by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari.  Star Trek is a trademark and copyright of CBS Studios, Inc.

The internal communication system beeped. “Bridge? Engineering here.”

“Campbell here. What do you have for me Engineering?” They had, minutes earlier, restored main power. However, the Falcon was still defenseless. Their ability to help the fleet rested in the hands of his ship’s engineers.

“Shields are operational, and we have the impulse engines running. We can’t give you full impulse, yet, though. The power transfer grid is overworked.” Checking his diagnostics screen at his Ops station, he confirmed the engineer’s report. “And, it’ll be a couple more minutes before the phasers are back online, sir. We just don’t have the resources to get it done any faster.”

“You’re doing the best you can, crewman. That’s all I ask.” Being an engineer himself, Campbell knew exactly what would be going on down there. The last thing they needed was an officer, sitting someplace else, barking orders and making unnecessary demands. He knew they needed to feel appreciated to bolster their confidence. “You’re doing good. Keep it up.”

“Sir?” The Bajoran woman, San Leena, seated at the sensor console, got his attention. “I’m receiving multiple signals regarding a need to evacuate wounded personnel.”

“Which ships, crewman?”

“I’m having difficulty sorting it out, but it sounds like the Khitomer, Kelvin, Oakland, Bohr, Renown, and Montreal. They need help, sir.”

“And that’s what we’re going to do.” He opened another internal channel. “Transporter room?”

“Chief Womack here,” came a feminine voice.

“Do we have enough power to begin beaming wounded aboard?”

“Only if you reroute the power from somewhere else, sir.”

He punched in a few commands on his console and shrugged. “I’ve just pushed shield power to the transporters, Chief. Can’t use the shields while beaming, anyway. Will that be enough?”

“It’s not much, but I’ll see what I can do with it, sir.”

“Do what you can, Chief. There are a lot of wrecks out there. Beam up as many wounded as you can. I’ll figure out what to do with them as soon as they’re aboard.” There was no way they’d be able to handle dozens, even hundreds, of wounded. The Falcon’s Sickbay had been lost in the hull breach, leaving virtually no medical personnel aboard. Again, he opened a ship-wide channel. “All available medical personnel, please report to the transporter room.” There were bound to be some crew with medical training, and those wounded needed to be looked after.

His attention returned to his console, and he sent the Falcon along the best path near each of the damaged ships. Without full impulse power, the ship simply crawled along its path. At this rate, the Falcon would never rejoin the fight. After an agonizing minute of silence, Campbell looked over at the sensor station. “San, how’s the battle going?”

The young woman tapped away at her control panel. “The Cube’s shields have dropped to about twenty-five percent, and I’m reading a large amount of surface hull damage. The fleet appears to have been joined by another three vessels, and they’re managing to hold their own, I think.” This was good news. If the defenders could hold the Borg back long enough, Starfleet could get more reinforcements to the system.

The comm system beeped again. “Engineering here. Full impulse power restored and phasers are back online.”

“Good job, crewman. Now, stay alert. We’ll be back in the line of fire momentarily. Bridge out.” He closed the channel and opened another one to the transporter room. “Womack? How are we doing?”

“I’ve got them, sir,” came a cheerful reply.

“That’s good, Chief. How many were you able get?”

“All of them, sir. About one hundred.”

“That’s . . . amazing, Chief.” He could hardly believe it. In less than two minutes, she had beamed aboard more wounded than the Falcon’s crew complement. “Good work. Stand by.” He shook his head and closed the channel. With that many wounded aboard, there was no way he was going to go back into combat. But, without a proper medical staff, he wasn’t going to be much help to these wounded, either.

He needed to find a way to save the wounded and get back into the fight. Checking his display, he noticed an Olympic-class medical ship floating ahead. That gave him an idea. “San, status on that medical ship up ahead?”

“That would be the U.S.S. Seacole, sir. Her engines, shields and weapons are out, and she’s on auxiliary power only. However, I’m not reading any other significant hull damage, and there’s plenty of life signs.”

“Any Borg aboard her?”

“No, sir.”

“Hail her.”

“Aye, sir. Channel open.”

“Seacole, this is Ensign Campbell of the Falcon. Do you copy?”

After a few seconds, San glanced up from her panel and smiled. “Response coming in, sir.”

“On screen.”

The face of a Bolian woman flickered onto the main screen. She looked both relieved and anxious. “This is Captain Alcott of the Seacole. Our external sensors are completely smashed, Ensign. What’s happening out there?”

“The fleet’s holding on, Captain. The Borg have us on the ropes, but we’re not giving up.” He didn’t have time for small talk. “I need your help with something, Captain.”

The Bolian’s brow furrowed in confusion. “We’re hardly in a position to assist with the battle, Ensign. But, we’ll do the best we can. What did you have in mind?”

“We’ve got around a hundred wounded aboard in dire need of medical attention. Can you still take on patients?”

The captain beamed with a broad smile. “Absolutely, Ensign. Our doctors will be standing by.”

Campbell re-opened the channel to the transporter room. “Chief, we’ll be pulling up alongside the Seacole. I need you to transfer all of the wounded to them, immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned his attention back to the main screen and nodded. “Thanks, Captain.”

“No, Ensign. I should be thanking you. You just saved the lives of a lot of people. Seacole out.” With that, the main screen returned to a view of the battle raging on ahead of them.

As soon as Womack reported that she’d completed transporting the wounded, Campbell restored the shields and pushed the ship’s throttle up to full. Ahead of them the Cube’s surface flashed with dozens of small explosions as the fleet’s weapons began to finally break through its shields. They would be in weapons range soon.

“Youngren, how are the weapons?”

The man at the Tactical console ran a quick check. “Phasers are at seventy-two percent, but torpedoes aren’t responding.” That was not good news. With the weapons in that state, there was little chance of them dealing serious damage to the cube. They needed an edge.

“San, give me a full scan of the Borg cube. Feed the data to my console.”

“Aye, sir. I’m reading extensive hull damage and drastic power fluctuations in the Cube.” Campbell watched the data scroll across his screens. Even as damaged as they appeared to be, the Borg were still more than a match for the fleet. Except for one thing. Selecting one point on the Cube’s surface, he ran a second scan. He was detecting some kind of power overload in a section that showed massive hull damage.

“We’re in range, sir,” Youngren announced. “Shall I open fire?”

His fingers flying over his controls, Campbell pushed all available power to the phasers. “Youngren, I’m feeding you a targeting solution. Lock on and give me a full-power phaser blast. Put everything into it.”

“But, sir, with the phasers in their current condition, that’ll burn them out. We’ll only get one shot!”

“I know! Just do it!”

“Yes, sir.” Youngren sighed and pecked at his controls. “Phasers locked. Firing.”

The Falcon vibrated as the phaser array let loose a single, high-intensity beam at the Cube. With a direct hit at the position he had indicated, a massive explosion rocked the Borg vessel. Plasma fire gushed from a corner of the Cube as an entire section blew free. Subsequent detonations ripped through the Cube in a chain reaction.

Campbell and the other two crewmen, let out hollers of victory and astonishment. Realizing the Cube’s destruction was imminent, he set the ship on a sharp vector away from the area. He knew from his studies that if a Borg Cube was going to explode, be somewhere else.

A huge blast of plasma fire erupted from the interior if the gargantuan vessel. Suddenly, a shock wave burst from the center of the Cube, obliterating it and sending the surrounding Starfleet vessels reeling.

The Falcon bucked under Campbell’s feet, and he managed to hold on as the ship lurched to starboard. Sparks showered from above and the bridge filled with more smoke. As soon as the inertial stabilizers compensated, he checked his screens. The Cube was history. Only five other Starfleet ships remained intact, but the threat was gone.

“Sir?”

“What is it, San?”

“We’re being hailed.”

“Put it on screen.”

An astonished-looking man with a crooked smile stared down from the main viewer. “Falcon? This is Commander Kelly on the planet surface. That was one hell of a shot! How’d you do that?”

Campbell smiled and remembered something else Admiral Riker had said to him. “Well, I got lucky, sir.”

“Somehow, I don’t think luck had anything to do with that. My men down here have contained the Borg landing parties, but I’m guessing you’ll be the one remembered as the hero of the Battle of Vega Colony.”

Captain’s Log – Supplemental – Stardate 86089.1
Ensign Christopher Campbell commanding. After suffering extensive damage in our battle against the Borg, the U.S.S. Falcon has been ordered to return to Spacedock for repair and reassignment.

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Author’s Notes:  And so ends the first episode in my Star Trek Online fan-fiction series.  I hope you’ve enjoyed it thus far, and I hope you’ll stick around for a long time.  Thanks to such an entertaining game, I’ve already got enough material to continue this for years.

Star Trek online is produced by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari.  Star Trek is a trademark and copyright of CBS Studios, Inc.

Ensign Campbell dropped into his seat at the Ops station and ran a quick sensor sweep. A single Borg Cube was pushing through Vega Colony’s defenses. Scrambling to intercept the intruder were two dozen Federation starships. They had not expected any form of attack, and thus were not stationed for defense.

They had certainly not expected a Borg attack. Admiral Janeway’s nanovirus was thought to have defeated the Borg three decades earlier. While some had suspected the Borg of surviving, common thought said otherwise.

“Campbell, report,” said Captain Qat’Anmek. His voice was calm and deliberate. If sight of the Borg unnerved him, he was not letting it show. Of course, he wasn’t human, either. Perhaps the man’s species didn’t show fear.

“Sir, the fleet is moving to engage. The Cube’s shields are at ninety percent, their hull is holding. At their present speed they’ll be in transporter range of the planet in six minutes.”

“Thank you Mister Campbell. Helm, get us in weapons range.” The captain turned to Mercedes McMary, his tactical officer. “Mercy, set up a rotating modulation for the phasers. Lock all weapons.”

“Aye, Captain. Modulation set, weapons locked.” Campbell glanced at the Lieutenant Commander to see how she was handling the situation. Although her face was stoic and professional, the glint in her eye betrayed her love of battle. Between that and the captain’s placid demeanor, he knew the ship was in good hands.

“Fire when ready.” Ahead of them, the Falcon’s phasers connected with the Cube’s shields, joining the weapons from the other vessels in the fleet. Disruptor fire from the Cube darted out in response and the ship began to shake.

“Shields weakening, sir,” Campbell reported.

“Reinforce shields with auxiliary power. Stand by on reserve batteries.” At that moment the ship pitched forward knocking everyone on the bridge off balance. Captain Qat’Anmek, knocked from his chair, picked himself up and scrambled over to the Ops station. “Report!”

“They’ve got us in a tractor beam, Captain! Shields draining! All reserve power is gone!” Campbell tried rerouting power to the shields, but the Borg’s tractor beam drained everything he fed to the them. “It’s no good, sir. Shields are gone. We’re sitting ducks!”

“Forget the shields, Ensign. Polarize the hull.” The captain’s composure began to dissolve. “Break us out of this tractor beam!”

“Too late!” shouted Mercy. “Incoming torpedo!”

The deck jumped under Campbell’s seat as the torpedo ripped through their unprotected hull. Next to him, the helm station exploded sending shrapnel all over the bridge. Cries of pain were followed by silence. Sparks showered from the ceiling and the lights went dark. After a moment, the bridge’s emergency lights flickered on and Campbell lifted his head from the control panel

His ears rang from the explosion and blood trickled down his right cheek. Something heavy pinned Campbell to his console, but he managed to shrug it off with a strong push. Remembering his training, he ran a diagnostic scan to assess the ship’s situation.

“Captain,” he began, “the hull has been heavily compromised. A large forward section is . . . gone. Shields are out, warp core offline, and we’re on emergency power.” He waited for an acknowledgment. None came. “Captain?”

Turning in his seat, Campbell examined the bridge. Mercy, bleeding from a serious head wound, was picking herself up from under the tactical station. Commander Sulak, their First Officer, lay dead next to the captain’s chair. Two other crewmen were slowly climbing to their feet, but the rest appeared to be either dead or unconscious. He looked down, which was when he realized that the object that had pinned him to the console had been the captain’s body.

Captain Qat’Anmek had apparently been killed by debris from the helm console. Had the captain not been standing where he was, that debris would have surely killed Campbell instead. He stared at his commanding officer’s body in stunned silence.

“Look out!” someone yelled. He looked up as two Borg drones materialized on the bridge. Before he could do anything, Mercy sprang into action. Springing over her console, she threw a flying kick into the first drone, toppling it over a chair. The second swung its heavy utility-arm at her, which she swiftly ducked under. Her right hand shot upward, the base of her palm striking the drone just under the chin, snapping its head back.

Pivoting on her right foot, she hooked the drone around the neck and toppled it to the floor. With a fierce shout, Mercy brought her knee down on the drone’s throat with a sickening pop. The other drone, returning to its feet, leveled its arm at the woman and fired. A bolt of green energy struck Mercy in the back and she dropped to the floor.

“No!” The sight of Mercy being struck down spurred Campbell into action, and he picked up a baseball bat-sized piece of debris and bounded across the bridge. He swung his makeshift club at the remaining drone’s head, knocking it down again. Spinning his weapon around, pointing its sharpest point at the drone’s chest, he brought it down with a scream of rage. The impaled drone gave a few twitches and ceased moving.

Campbell raced over to Mercy’s side and checked her vitals. She was gone. He hung his head and tried not to think about it. Choking back his frustration, he returned to his post and paged Engineering. “Engineering? This is the bridge. Status report.”

After a long pause, a woman’s voice nervously responded, “Engineering here. The Chief Engineer is dead and the warp core is offline. A few drones beamed aboard a minute ago, but a security team managed to destroy them.” She took a deep breath and continued, “They just . . . opened fire. They didn’t even try to assimilate anyone. I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either. Worry about that later. We need that warp core back online.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Bridge out.” Closing the channel, he ran an internal sensor scan for Borg lifeforms. The scan came back negative for Borg, which meant that they had not tried very hard to take the ship. Then, he checked the external sensors for an update on the rest of the battle.

The Borg had moved on, pushing closer to the planet. Floating in their wake were the wrecked forms of nine other Federation ships. They had lost almost almost half of their fleet attempting to stop the Borg, and no progress appeared to have been made.

“What do we do now, sir?” That question had been directed at him. Campbell turned to regard the voice. Both of the surviving crewmen, a human man and a Bajoran woman, were staring at him. Then, it hit him. He outranked both of them and that gave him the bridge. The two glanced at each other and the man repeated, “What now, sir?”

Campbell’s jaw dropped slightly as he thought. He needed to get the next available officer to the bridge. “Computer,” he began, “identify and locate highest ranking, living officer aboard.”

“Ensign Christopher Campbell is located on the bridge,” responded the matronly voice of the ship’s computer. The news caused his heart to sink. The very situation he had pondered less than an hour earlier had come true. He had no choice but to take command.

Again, he turned to face the two crewmen requesting orders. “What are your names, ranks and specialties, crewmen?” Once more, he regretted not having a better chance to get to know his fellow crew.

The man, tall and dark skinned, wearing an engineer’s uniform, stepped forward. “Ronald Youngren, Petty Officer First Class, weapon system maintenance, sir.”

Behind Youngren, the petite Bajoran woman in a science uniform spoke, “San Leena, Petty Officer Second Class, astrometrics, sir.”

They weren’t ideal for his needs, but there weren’t any other options. “Mister Youngren, you’re a weapons technician. Does that mean you’re qualified on a tactical console?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, that’s where I need you.”

“Aye, sir.” As Youngren moved to his new station, Campbell looked at the other crewman.

“San, I need you to monitor sensors and communications. I’ll be taking the helm and I won’t be able to do that anymore. Think you can handle it?”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” The woman nodded and moved to sit at one of the auxiliary consoles. Campbell rerouted helm control to his station and noticed that he could get some maneuverability from the thrusters.

The internal communications system beeped. “Bridge, this is Engineering.”

“This is Campbell, go ahead.”

“Sir? Where’s Captain Qat’Anmek?”

“He’s gone, crewman.” He didn’t like being the bearer of bad news, but he was not going to lie to his crew. “Now, I need you to focus. What’s our status?”

“Uh, we have partial main power. Impulse engines and shields will be back on in a couple of minutes. Weapons might take a little longer.”

“Thank you, Engineering. Keep me informed.” He closed the channel and sat back. Ship systems were not the only thing he needed working properly. The crew needed to know the situation and he needed them to trust him.

Campbell cleared his throat and opened a ship-wide channel. “This is Ensign Campbell. Due to casualties, I’ve now taken command of the Falcon. We’ve been hit hard, but we’re still alive. We’ve still got some fight left in us. The fleet is struggling against the Borg, and they need all the help they can get.” He let that hang in the air for a few heart beats. “So, let’s get back in there and give ‘em hell.”

To be continued . . .
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Author’s Notes:  This is the third installment in my Star Trek Online Fan-Fiction series.  If you have any questions or comments please feel free to leave your comments below.  If you do leave a comment, it may not show right away, so please be patient.  Thanks for reading.

Star Trek Online is by Cryptic Studios in association with Atari.  Star Trek is copyrighted and a registered trademark of CBS Studios Inc.

The door hissed open in front of him, and Christopher Campbell stepped into the ship’s lounge. One of the few recreation areas on the small ship, it was currently packed with just about every off-duty crewman. Of course, that still only numbered about thirty people. Miranda-class vessels weren’t known for their size.

Walking over to the replicator, Campbell ordered a Bolian tonic water. His friend, Imjim, had turned him onto it over the course of their years at the Academy. He found the taste to be decent, but it was the drink’s calming qualities that he most enjoyed. And, right now, he needed to relax.

He was anxious. That much was certain. Tomorrow they would leave for the front line of the war, and he really didn’t know if he had it in him to be a warrior. He went into Starfleet to get off of Earth and learn starship engineering. And, even though he’d been trained for combat, that didn’t mean he was ready. Especially if he had to take command, for which, again, he had trained.

In truth, though, he hadn’t volunteered for command training. He was “volun-told”, as the saying went. Mr. O’Brien, one of his engineering teachers at the Academy, felt that Campbell had “the instinct” for leadership. O’Brien had insinuated that if Campbell didn’t take command training, that he might fail Transporter Theory. So, he took the command class, and passed with flying colors. Still, that didn’t mean he wanted it.

What he really wanted was to explore. He wanted to see and discover things that no one else had ever experienced. That was part of Starfleet’s mandate, and a war was just a needless distraction from that. Instead of an explorer, he’d have to learn how to be a soldier. Under simulated conditions, with his friends at his side, he’d been a lion. But, now he was on a new, real ship with a totally different crew.

And that brought him back to what was making him nervous. He didn’t know this crew yet. He didn’t have a strong understanding of their capabilities and attitudes. Realistically speaking, there were only a handful of officers of higher rank than him aboard. It didn’t take that much imagination to see that he might very well have to take over in an emergency. And, the simulations were over. Real people could die if he made a mistake.

Captain Qat’Anmek seemed to have full confidence in him and the rest of the crew, which gave Campbell some reassurance that everything would be alright. He took another sip of his tonic water and sighed.

At that moment, Lieutenant Commander Mercedes McMary, the Falcon’s Tactical Officer, strolled into the lounge. “Mercy”, as the captain called her, was a vibrant, athletic woman that possessed a piercing stare and a warrior’s spirit. On Campbell’s first day aboard, she’d tested his martial arts skills in the ship’s gym. He lost.

Her gaze swept across the room, eventually settling on Campbell, sitting alone and quietly drinking his beverage. She smiled and walked over to him. “May I join you, Ensign?”

“Yes ma’am.” He smiled and casually gestured to the seat next to him. Since their sparring session, they hadn’t interacted beyond official bridge duties. Perhaps she wanted to get to know him as much as he wanted to get to know the rest of the crew.

“Well, Ensign, now that you’ve been here over a week, how do you find the Falcon?”

“She’s a good ship. Old, but sturdy. I’ve noticed a number of the subsystems must predate the Dominion War by a few years.” In actuality, he’d even seen a few items that indicated that the ship was close to sixty years old.

“She’s old, its true.” Mercy nodded, then shrugged. “But, the Federation needs all the ships it can sail. The Klingons are cranking out warships twice as fast as us. Which means older vessels, ones that should be mothballed, are being pressed into front line service.”

“Well, at least the primary systems are more contemporary. Which means we should be able to hold our own in an open engagement.” One of his first duties aboard was to familiarize himself with the ship’s shields, weapons, and warp core. They were probably an equal match for a Bird of Prey.

“Which we have, Mister Campbell. This isn’t an untested ship or crew. You might be new here, but the rest of us aren’t.” She stood and straightened her uniform. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”

“Yes ma’am. I appreciate your visiting with me.” With that, she nodded and walked out. Campbell wasn’t sure if he’d pressed a button with her, but he certainly felt she had gotten very defensive with him. Perhaps that was just her personality. He would just have to figure it out later.

A number of the crew began to filter out of the lounge and he glanced up at the room’s chronometer. It was about time for a shift change, which meant he was due on the bridge in a few minutes. He downed the last of his tonic water, which brought back thoughts of his friends. He started to wonder how they were handling their new assignments.

Suddenly, an alert klaxon started blaring and red lights began flashing on all of the wall panels. A voice boomed over the sirens, “This is your captain speaking. Red Alert! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill! Borg vessels have entered the system and are on an intercept course. I repeat, incoming Borg!”

Campbell stood and turned to face the outside windows. Sure enough, the Starfleet vessels surrounding Vega Colony were already engaged with the Borg. His mind raced back to his Kobayashi Maru test and his conversation with Admiral Riker afterward. “Just because we haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they’re gone,” the old man had told him. Blinking his eyes away from the memory, he rushed to the bridge. Today, he knew, would not be a good day.

To be continued . . .

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Author’s Notes:  First off, I’m giving credit where credit is due.  Many of the situations, characters, and events that will be featured in this series come from the minds of the writers of Star Trek Online at Cryptic Studios.  If it wasn’t for their dedication and imagination, I wouldn’t have such a wonderful piece of source material.  So, I especially want to thank all of them.  This is why I consider this to be a fan-fiction series, rather than a truly original work.

That said, I have gone about twisting and adjusting a number of the events from the game to suit my purposes.  Some of what I will write will be entirely original work.  Additionally, I am not using any mission specific to the game’s primary plot lines.  This series will use the game’s side missions as an inspirational basis for my own plot(s).

Star Trek is copyright and trademark CBS Studios Inc.

“Well, what do you think we’ve got here Imjim?”

“I’ve no idea, sir.” Imjim shrugged and let out a sigh. “Could be anything.”

Campbell lightly chuckled and countered, “We’ve been doing this stuff for four years and that’s the best you’ve got, my friend? C’mon. What’ve you got?”

Imjim called up the system and planet information on his screen, quickly browsing it for clues. “Well, it’s an agricultural world with a primarily human population numbering around two million. The planet resides in the Kobayashi system, which puts it on the Romulan-Federation border, about ten light-years from Klingon space.”

“There’s a shocker,” chimed in Dor’pon, the burly Andorian tactical officer. “Planet’s sitting right in the middle of a war zone. We’re probably wandering straight into a Klingon trap. Recommend we sit back, wait for reinforcements, and enter the system in force.”

“Not necessarily Klingon, Dor’pon,” Campbell interjected. “That close to the border, could be Romulans or Remans out for misguided revenge for the Hobus incident, Orion Syndicate or Nausicaan pirates, or even the Gorn. It’s a pretty contested region of space. But, duly noted.” He turned to the petite woman sitting at the helm. “Davina?”

“Sir?”

“What’s our ETA and how far behind are the nearest Starfleet vessels?”

Her fingers danced across the controls and she glanced back up at Campbell, and took a deep breath. “Um, we’re approximately ten minutes from Maru, sir. The next ship behind us is about three and a half hours away. Whatever’s going on, if we stop to wait, there might not be any civilians left to rescue.”

Campbell’s jaw clenched in frustration. “I’m well aware of that possibility, and I don’t think we can risk it. Whomever is attacking Maru isn’t just going to wait for us.”

Someone cleared their throat at the back of the bridge. “Why is it that we assume that the planet is under attack?” That was T’Eama, their Vulcan science officer, interrupting almost on cue. She had a knack for playing the Devil’s Advocate. “Making assumptions, in this case, is illogical. We have no evidence to indicate that a hostile force is even present. A distress call simply states that emergency aid is required. It could merely be a natural disaster has caused extensive devastation and may be contributing to their inability to communicate.” The bridge went quiet while the crew digested this piece of wisdom.

“Well,” Campbell broke the silence, “we’ve got no choice. We go in now, prepared for anything. The longer we wait, the more we put innocent people at risk. Red Alert, all hands to battle stations!” He returned to his chair and regarded his bridge crew. “If we’re walking into a trap, I don’t want us caught with our pants down. If not, it won’t hurt to be cautious.”

The next few minutes were nerve-wracking. Their brainstorming session hadn’t given him any more information and left him just as concerned as he had been before. If anything, his mind was now racing with the possibilities.

He was confident that his crew could handle anything. They’d spent the last few years truly getting to know one another, and he trusted them completely. Of course, this could be the most difficult test they’d ever undergone.

“Sir!” Imjim’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “We’re in sensor range of Maru. Long range sensors are picking up weapons fire and numerous vessels. And . . . oh hell. Sir, it’s the Borg!”

Campbell jumped out of his seat. “What!? On screen! Now!” The main view-screen flickered and the distant image of Maru was replaced by the imposing sight of a Borg Cube flanked by a pair of Spheres. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and everyone on the bridge was frozen in shock. The Borg were blasting smaller civilian vessels as they attempted to escape the planet below.

“Full power to the shields! Helm, get us between the Borg and the civilians! As soon as we’re in range we’ll hit ‘em with everything we’ve got! Let’s give ‘em something bigger to shoot at.” He knew they wouldn’t last long, but there was no way he was going to stand by and watch innocent people die. “Send to Starfleet Command: Borg incursion in the Kobayashi System. Request immediate assistance!”

Dor’pon looked over his shoulder and shook his head. “No good, sir. They’re jamming all transmissions.”

Suddenly, a chilling message cut in over the ship’s speakers. It was the sound of dozens of synthetic voices droning on in unison. “We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ship. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile.”

“Right,” Campbell found himself saying. “I’ll give ‘em this, they’re consistent.”

Dor’pon looked up from his controls, “We’re in range!”

“Fire! Fire at will!” The Renaissance’s phaser banks lanced out at the Cube, torpedoes trailing behind. Small explosions danced across the Cube’s shields.

“Keep up a rotating modulation, don’t let ‘em adapt! T’Eama! Use the deflector dish to fire a tachyon beam. It might help drain their shields.”

“Aye sir.” Cool under pressure, the Vulcan woman quickly obeyed his command. “The Borg are returning fire.”

“Evasive maneuvers! Brace for impact!” The ship rocked underneath him with such force that Campbell was ejected from his seat and sent rolling across the floor. Behind him, a console exploded, sending sparks and acrid smoke into the air. Picking himself up, he shook off the sudden disorientation and scrambled back to his chair. “Imjim! Damage report!”

“Forward and port shields failing, hull integrity at sixty percent! Hull breach on decks four through seven! Primary life support offline, switching to back-up.”

“Auxiliary power to the shields! Dor’pon, keep up the pressure!” Another impact shook the ship causing a floor panel in the middle of the bridge to explode. Davina was hurled from her station and she landed in an unmoving heap below the main screen. Imjim was motionless in his seat, burns covering the right side of his body. Campbell’s ears were ringing and his head hurt from some impact he didn’t recall. “T’Eama, take the helm!”

Bounding forward, he pulled his friend out the Ops station and sat down. Hull integrity had dropped below twenty-five percent and the shields had all but collapsed. “I’m rerouting emergency battery power to the shields and activating a frequency rotation to reinforce them.”

T’Eama sent the ship into a series of turns keeping the ship’s strongest shield arc facing their attackers. “Sir, at this rate, I estimate a ninety-eight percent probability that the ship will be destroyed in the next sixty seconds.” She glanced over with one eyebrow raised. “Give or take two percent, of course.”

“Of course,” Campbell smiled back. “Fine. Let’s do this. I’m putting all remaining power to the forward shields. Dor’pon, sound the evacuation alarm and fire a full forward spread. T’Eama . . . ramming speed.”

“Yes sir,” their response came in unison.

The ship rocked with detonations as it moved closer and closer to the Cube. One explosion sent Dor’pon hurtling across the bridge. Campbell watched the distance indicator rapidly click down from kilometers to meters. He was proud of his crew, they’d done very well against these odds. Today was a good day.

There was the sound of a massive explosion and everything went white. But, there was no heat, no debris, and no shaking of the deck. Then, there was no sound. Only a disembodied voice, strong and loud. “End simulation.”

The bright, white nothingness dissolved, replaced by the black and yellow grid of a holodeck. The wounds on Campbell’s fellow cadets vanished and a medical officer moved to revive them with a hypospray. In the holodeck’s doorway stood Admiral William T. Riker, current commandant of Starfleet Academy. His imposing stature accentuated by his immaculate uniform and perfectly trimmed gray hair and beard. Dor’pon must have been the first to spot the officer, since he suddenly shouted, “Ten-hut! Admiral on deck!”

Admiral Riker frowned and regarded each of the young people now standing at attention. “Congratulations cadets. You’re all dead. The Renaissance is destroyed and most of the citizens of Maru will be assimilated into the Borg collective. But,” a smile formed on his face, “that’s what we call a ‘no-win-scenario’. The Kobayashi Maru Test is one of the most difficult simulations we teach here at the Academy, and you performed admirably. Well done. You’ve all proven you have what it takes to be Starfleet officers. I look forward to seeing you all at Graduation tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The other cadets began to file out of the room and Campbell stopped next to the Admiral. “Sir?”

“You have a question, Mister Campbell?”

“Yes sir.” Campbell’s brow furrowed. He was glad the Admiral was proud of his performance in the test, but something bothered him. “Sir, why the Borg? No one’s seen them in almost thirty years. Not since Admiral Janeway defeated them, anyway. Given the war with the Klingons, why not test us against them?”

Riker inhaled sharply. “Always be prepared, cadet. Just because we haven’t seen them doesn’t mean they’re gone. Besides, what better ‘no-win-scenario’ than a lone vessel against the Borg?”

“If I recall, you seemed to handle yourself pretty well, sir.”

Riker laughed, “Well, I got lucky. Now, get out of here. I think your fellow cadets are going to want to party.”

“Yes sir!” With that, Christopher Campbell marched off to join his friends for a celebratory drink.

* * *

Ensign Christopher Campbell – Personal Log – Stardate 86053.2
I’ve been assigned to the U.S.S. Falcon, a Miranda-class scout vessel under the command of Captain Qat’Anmek. I’ll be serving as Operations Officer while we patrol the Neutral Zone watching for Klingon invasion forces. Our first stop is Vega Colony. We’ll be taking on supplies and a few more crew before we head out. I’ve wanted to serve in Starfleet since I was a boy. Now, I have a whole career ahead of me.

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Author’s Notes: This is the first in what is planned to be a continuing fan-fiction series here on Professional Procrastinators. Any stories in the future will be based upon my experiences, as a player, in Star Trek Online, the new MMO from Cryptic Studios. The images above are screenshots from the game that I’ve taken personally.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. Star Trek is a Trademark and Copyright of Paramount Pictures.