[Story by Shawn Alpay, Character Art by Thomas Marrone]
Previously on Star Trek: Loma Prieta…
Episode 1: Shifts – Prologue
Episode 1: Shifts – Act 1
Episode 1: Shifts – Act 2
Episode 1: Shifts – Act 3
Episode 1: Shifts – Act 4
Episode 1: Shifts – Act 5
Episode 1: Shifts – Act 6
ACT 7
The Loma Prieta’s impulse engines and starboard maneuvering thrusters roared to life, and the Starfleet vessel arced gracefully ahead and left, narrowly avoiding a stream of green plasma energy slung by one of the nodes on the innermost science station. A reply of three photon torpedoes was quickly volleyed, zipping forward and narrowly missing their target, with one of the projectiles impacting on the surface of the ring installation and the other two missing completely, disappearing into the anomaly.
“Careful!” Sung exclaimed, with a head whipped back towards tactical. We’ve still got people down on those things. Ratchet down the torpedo power levels, and focus your fire.”
Roberts’ brow began to perspire, and he wiped at it with the back of his sleeve. “If Mr. MacKinnon would kindly keep the ship steady, I could—”
“I will kindly do no such thing, and you should perhaps thank me for it,” the helmsman replied steadily, his fingers gliding over the navigational controls, stewarding the ship around another plasma blast. “I advise you try to anticipate my movements before they do. Following O’Connor pattern beta… NOW.”
The Loma Prieta quickly pushed right, then down towards the outermost ring. This, however, was not a motion of sufficient dexterity to prevent a lucky jolt of enemy fire from making glancing contact with the underside of the ship’s unshielded saucer section. Darkened pieces of secondary hull scattered off, some ricocheting off the ship as it careened downward.
“You’ve got three seconds of straight motion, Mr. Roberts, and I suggest you use it,” MacKinnon shouted back to the tactical station.
Roberts took his opportunity, launching another trio of photon torpedoes. Two were judiciously shot down by the alien array before they reached their targets, but the third piece of Starfleet ordnance found its quarry, impacting with a silent explosion, causing a green gas from the destroyed weapon to spread in all directions.
“One down, sir,” Roberts reported, “but our torpedoes are sitting ducks at this range. Recommend we close distance to employ phasers.”
MacKinnon quirked a brow. “Without shields? I’m good, but I’m not that good. Engaging evasive pattern gamma.”
“Take us in, Mr. MacKinnon,” Sung replied, feeling not unlike the headmaster of an unruly classroom. “Do what you can.”
“I shall,” the helmsman replied, guiding the Loma Prieta towards the outermost ring, which spun lifeless around its smaller counterparts, the virus having successfully procured its deactivation. MacKinnon sailed the ship along one edge of the installation as several bursts of green energy flew past, many of them impacting instead on the surface of the station. The Loma Prieta responded with a third complement of photon torpedoes, one of which successfully disabled another alien weapon.
MacKinnon continued to negotiate the ship along the outermost ring until it crossed axes with the middle station, and with a deft spin and turn, the Loma Prieta followed a new trajectory close against the second installation. Within a few moments, they had quickly closed on the innermost ring, which employed maneuvering thrusters to pivot in whatever direction was necessary to continue facing the Starfleet vessel head-on.
The Loma Prieta’s phaser banks came to life, firing a succession of quick bursts at the innermost ring, disabling another pair of enemy nodes and casting more green gas everywhere. MacKinnon had not attained proximity to those weapons without cost, however, and before the Loma Prieta could rediscover solace behind the disabled science installations, it took several blasts across its hull, one slicing into the saucer section, the emerald beam piercing through the other side.
On the bridge, a cascade of sparks shot out from the engineering console, flinging an unlucky ensign against a nearby railing, her back contorting at an unfortunate angle.
“Report,” Sung bellowed, standing to his feet after having preventatively dropped to a knee, prior to the last volley.
“Heavy damage reported across the ship, sir,” Duty Officer Philipp announced from the ops console, having taken up the station in her commander’s absence. “Hull breaches being sealed by Chief Bamford’s damage control teams. Primary life support at 46%.” The list of damaged systems went on and on — external communications, shield generators, secondary life support, holodecks — but in the interest of presenting only the most relevant data, she prevented herself from speaking further.
“Perkins to Loma Prieta. What’s the situation? I’d really like to get off this thing before it blows.”
“Standby, Captain,” Sung said. “We’re doing what we can.” On the viewscreen, Sung watched the damaged rings began to spew smoke and flame. “We’ve got to get them off those stations,” Sung said, almost to himself, before tapping his combadge. “Bridge to Transporter Room One. Get the away team back here!”
“I’ve got a lock on Owens now, sir — beaming him up now,” Bratt replied. “I’m working on getting a lock on the others — there’s a lot of debris.”
“Very good,” Sung replied. “Keep me informed.”
The Loma Prieta continued along the outermost ring, the remaining alien weapons depositing blast after blast of plasma onto the surface of the installation. Several holo emitters became casualties of the indiscriminate fire, their beams of light first wobbling and then flickering out of existence. The expansive, nebulous backdrop the emitters had been generating began to develop ragged holes, with dark space and bright stars peeking through the tatters.
Suddenly, the ship shuddered. “Sir, I’m losing thruster power,” MacKinnon said.
“Bridge to engineering,” Sung said, tapping his combadge once more. “Tom, I need engines. What can you give me?”
“Not much, Captain,” Hesser replied curtly, the engineering deck having transformed into something just above bedlam. “That last hit was like cutting an artery — we’re leaking power everywhere. I’m now rerouting all the secondary sources I can give you.”
MacKinnon looked over his display, studying the power readings in particular. “Captain, looks like we’ve got enough juice for maybe one more pass. Then we’re dead in the water.”
As they glided along in relative safety against the edge of the outermost installation, Sung swallowed hard, taking the moment to size up his options, studying the innermost ring as it hung on the main viewscreen. The enemy’s actions were entirely automated, but as it too held its fire, Sung felt like so much stalked prey. “Transporter room, have you got Perkins and Bukowski yet?”
“Negative, sir — that green cloud is destroying my transporter lock. Not sure what it’s made of, but I can’t even read their life signs through it.”
Sung studied the viewscreen. Indeed, it appeared as though the two rings closest to the Anchor had become engulfed in a translucent green field of residue emitted by the destroyed alien weapons. “Keep trying — though they may be safer out there anyhow,” Sung said sardonically. “Roberts, weapons?”
“Torpedoes locked and loaded, sir. Two phaser banks are burned out, but I’ve still got one more.”
Sung thought a moment long, an odd pallor settling over the bridge, the silence pierced here and there from the buzzing of sparks shooting from several consoles. “Go for it, helm,” he said, sitting down in the command chair, gripping rather tightly onto the armrests.
“Aye, sir.” With a few navigational commands, the ship turned up and away from the heavily-damaged outermost ring, which had begun to break apart, giant flashes of light and fire jumping out at the seams. The ship quickly rotated, then set a course back in the opposite direction, hugging the ring for protection. Smoke poured from the several gaping holes on the Loma Prieta’s hull, the most prominent of which also showered light blue sparks. Another wound vented purple gas.
Like before, MacKinnon guided the Loma Prieta towards and along the middle ring, once its axis hung favorably across his trajectory. The ship raced along the installation, trying to get around the business end of the innermost ring faster than it could rotate. Unable to move much faster than the installation, and knowing this to be a waste of a commodity he held in short supply, MacKinnon broke his pace after another moment and turned hard starboard, then down and towards the enemy array.
Both the Loma Prieta and the research station opened fire at the same moment, hues of red, yellow, and green flying past each other in glints and gleans against a rapidly failing holo-display. Almost instantly, both vessels erupted in explosions as the distance closed and payloads found targets, with shards and fumes spewing forth from a seemingly endless fount.
After a moment, the Loma Prieta pierced through the collusion of smoke and debris, moving straight ahead while spinning somewhat in a leftward direction. It careened past the center of the innermost ring and away from the central anomaly, its secondary hull now fairly littered with burns, cracks, and flames. After a few moments, once it had cleared the middle ring, the Loma Prieta’s maneuvering thrusters activated in small fits and bursts, first righting the ship’s spin, then eventually slowing the ship to a stop somewhere near the doomed outermost ring.
—
Near a cracked window, a grimy, weary Perkins pushed himself off the ground, having been flung there during the most recent exchange. He looked out at the crippled Loma Prieta, his hand resting on the bulkhead nearby. The station on which he remained, though heavily damaged, had maintained life support, and the entire installation had begun to rotate, owing to the kinetic force of the weapons fired by friend and foe. His slowly-turning vantage point afforded him a clear view of how utterly the ship had been mangled. Fires burned, smoke emanated, and sparks lept from its hull. Most notably, its deflector dish appeared to be completely burned out, showering jolts of dark blue energy.
Fortunately, the alien array appeared in no better condition, having settled into a slow, listless orbit of the Anchor, a bevy of fires raging on its surface. Its holoemitters were now completely dead, and as far as he could tell, all seven of its weapons nodes had been disabled.
He couldn’t shake a wistful expression as he touched his combadge. “Perkins to Loma Prieta,” he said, almost a whisper.
No reply.
He took in a deep breath and held it before exhaling slowly, raggedly. He was about to try again when he heard a hoarse voice, couched in a bed of digital communication artifacts. “Bukowski to Perkins… are you there, Zach?”
Perkins was silent a moment, almost in disbelief. Bukowski’s station had been the target of the Loma Prieta’s wrath, and yet not only was the installation’s communications array still active, but here she was, radioing over to him?
Perkins overcame his surprise and touched his combadge, turning away from the window and walking a few steps. “Tiffany, I’m here. Are you alright?”
“Bukowski to Perkins.” He heard a couple of deep coughs, wet and pained. Was she hurt? “Bukowski to… Oh God… I guess not.”
Perkins tapped his combadge a couple more times in frustration. “Tiffany, I’m here.” She didn’t reply, and with a furrowed brow, he removed his combadge and looked it over. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that there was a long crack running down its center.
“Bukowski to Loma Prieta,” he heard her plaintively ask. Then, a sob. “Jon… Erik… anyone? I’m at the window,” she said, then fell into another fit of wet coughs.
Perkins moved in an instant back to the window, peering around its beveled edge to catch sight of the innermost station. Amongst the random sources of light coming from the damaged sections of the station, he could discern a bright light turning slowly on and off in a repeating pattern. S.O.S. He quickly set aside his broken combadge and took up his tricorder, keying in a different pattern: C.Q.D. He activated it and held it up against the window.
After a moment, the flashing pattern coming from the other installation went dark. Then, it too began flashing Perkins’ same pattern. Despite himself, Perkins broke into a wide grin, and the two lights danced back and forth against the translucent green expanse.
—
TO BE CONTINUED… STAY TUNED FOR ACT 8 NEXT TUESDAY, OCTOBER 29th.
