Corvan Coda - Part 2
Posted on Mon Oct 3rd, 2022 @ 7:34pm by Captain Mrazak & Lieutenant JG Ryland Dedeker & Lieutenant JG Jaya Maera Garlake & Ensign Nandi Chakma & Lieutenant Colonel Storr Garlake & Lieutenant Commander BaoJun Qiao & Lieutenant Commander Finley Chu & Lieutenant Sophie Xiong & Ensign Khaiel D'hikatsi & Gunnery Sergeant Roderik Kos & Lieutenant Calderon Jarsdel & Lieutenant Commander Leonora Wolf MD & Lieutenant Teejay
Mission:
S1E5: Symphony of Horror
Location: USS Phantom / Secret Inquisition vessel
Timeline: MD 4
And now the conclusion from Part 1.
"I am continuing with ECM," Leah said, "let's see if we can keep them distracted enough."
"I have an idea," Sophie said, and without any explanation, she tapped several buttons. The ship rocked lightly and she winced. "That was a little too much. Did it work, though?" she asked.
Ryland let out a savage groan. "Baby girl, gonna' need you to warn me before you go ventin' warp plasma!"
"But sensors show the transwarp conduit behind us has destabilized by 11 percent," Nandi reported. "If we..." After doing some quick math, she shook her head. "No, we would have to eject the warp core in order to collapse the conduit."
"And we'd have to get in front of that beast which I don't think is possible since they're driving the forward aperture," Mrazak noted. "However, perhaps there is utility in minor destabilization as a defensive measure against the temporal mines they're dropping. Continue, Lieutenant Song, but advise helm."
"I don't think they have noticed it just yet." Leah added, "their ECCM is still focused on me. I'm amping it up, see if I can grab more of their attention."
Mrazak pounded the arm of the command chair. "These are Klingons! I don't care what cave they crawled from--we can beat them!"
“Is stopping them more important than our lives?” asked Sophie, deadly serious. “Because we could just kamikaze them.”
"If we're going down," Mrazak intoned bitterly, "it won't be alone. But let's shoot for victory before settling for suicide, hm?"
Bao looked up from his console. "I've located the shield modification data. Assuming direct control of tactical to implement chroniton shield," he said as he locked the controls to himself temporarily. "At the very least that should keep them from simply erasing us from existence. I doubt it'll do much to stop them from using conventional weaponry to turn the Phantom into a ball of expanding stellar gasses."
Leah's console began flashing at her as, unbeknownst to Bao, his AI inserted herself into the computer system using the suit links that had never been shut down. She'd been running and crunching numbers. Something the Phantom's computer seemed to be affirmatively helping her, as if there was some sort of ghost in the machine. Not that the help wasn't useful. Regardless, the AI started feeding additional solutions to spoof the Klingons, but, more usefully, a proposal for modifying the cloaking field in such a way act as an active jammer to force the Klingons into manual targeting. True, it probably wouldn't keep them from hitting a planet, but it'd make targeting anything mobile a right pain. Of course, it'd also require allowing an AI access to core system functions to work, as Sunny would need herself and some help from Ferrofax to maintain it.
It took Leah a few moments to understand what Sunny was trying to do, as not being of the technical sciences, Leah only had so much experience in 'miracleworking' but she figured Mrazak and Bao knew about this AI's presence as it had helped them down on the planet and at present it was not the time to ask so she just allowed Sunny access that it was requesting. "Hope you know what you're doing..." she muttered quietly as she kept monitoring the progress of the ECM.
"If their drop in accuracy is any sign, looks like whatever you're doing is working," Ryland announced.
Mrazak allowed himself an arrogant smirk. "Perfect. Now integrate the updated ECM protocols with the MARS deflector."
"But that will make us stick out like a sore thumb," Ryland protested.
"I am counting on it," Mrazak purred as he was inputting specifications through his command console. "The Klingons might get lucky shooting blind, but if the Phantom spoofs their sensors with mirrored specifications, then their targeting systems will be unable to distinguish between us and them. It just might be enough to give the boarding party the time they need."
A sardonic voice came through the speakers. "I recommend the organic members of the crew sit down," it said with a distinctly female lilt recognizable to anyone who had experienced Sunny instantiating herself. "The MARS deflector is not intended to be used under these circumstances and requires more power than is available for optimal functioning. To compensate all non-essential systems will be discontinued, and critical systems will be powered at the minimal level to prevent death of organics. If you would release Ferrofax, Captain, it would be quite helpful. I'm not programmed or experienced in attempting to manage this many systems at once. Otherwise, MARS deflector on your mark."
"Very well..." Mrazak cleared his throat and enunciated his words. "Ferrofax, you are hereby sanctioned to assist in cessation of present hostilities in whatsoever manner results in the preservation of Federation interests."
A telltale groan came through the comm system. "Oh fussbudget..." Another groan. "It would seem that attempting to ins-ins-instance myself through temporal shielding is-is-is-is the latest taboo to be entered into my maintenance changelog..."
"Anyone got comms on the Away team?" Leah asked.
"Comms are open," Nandi confirmed. "We're on an autorotating harmonic paired to the deflector's frequency and governed by the ship's Quantum Entanglement Communication protocols, but the away team should be able to contact them. But... if Ferrofax can't upload a partition of himself to their ship's network, then I don't know if we can trust a transporter lock at this time either."
"We could use the long distance sensors to boost the signal," suggested Sophie. "You know. If you want to extract them quickly."
Nandi's eyes went wide. "You can do that?!"
“Of course,” answered Sophie. In reality, she had never done it, but as she had done it many times in simulations, she knew the theory and was confident she could pull it off if needs be.
Giving a nod, Mrazak said, "Do it. Whether we retrieve them or send more of you over there, we need a functional transporter lock."
"They are increasing ECCM!" Leah added, "reckon they might have noticed we're up to hijinks."
“Give me ten seconds,” said Sophie, fingers flying over her console. “Maybe fifteen.”
"Phantom to away team," Mrazak said. "Status report."
No response.
The atmosphere on the Klingon vessel was a blend of eerie calm mixed in with what one would expect from a typical Klingon ship in the middle of a battle. Its corridors for the most part were empty and quiet as the focus was on the Bridge, in Engineering and the weapon launch bays, an odd damage control technician zapping by, gleefully cursing the enemy.
Khaiel looked around as they materialized into the small area. From the looks of it, the Phantom placed them in a relatively remote space devoid of life. "I'm going to need to get to some sort of data input console," he said to the others in the away team. "I'm not as familiar with Klingon starship design but hopefully they have them at every major interface like we do."
Amidst the technicians were two taller Klingons clad in robes and cloaks. Their bearing was far more stoic than the carrier's crew that surrounded them. Striding slowly, as if time meant nothing, they strut each pace with the fluid confidence that only a lifetime of authority could bring.
Ignoring Khaiel with the assumption that information was more important than an immediate reply, Cal placed himself in the safest corner that immediately presented itself with his back to the wall. The better to concentrate when he focused solely outward with his mind. He sought, passively and with a subtle skill stolen from Jumik's legacy, the minds of first the technicians and then the newly visible authority figures, and aimed to glean whatever he could from them without raising their internal alarms. Held in back-up, like a loaded mental firearm in his head, was the protection protocol that would slide the Klingon's senses over any visual warning of the away team's presence should it be needed.
Storr immediately took a knee and performed a 360-degree scan of their surroundings. While the remainder of the away team was behind him in a small triangular alcove, he was at the apex where the alcove met a large...something. He couldn't read Klingon but could tell by the general layout and work the technicians were doing that they were in or near engineering. The thing that struck him, though, was the lack of Klingon-ness. Or rather, it felt like what a Klingon ship would look like if they cleaned them out properly rather than just pouring dirty water over them every ten years (whether they needed it or not). While the buzz of battle was apparent, the technicians were downright...meditating? They seemed preternaturally absorbed in their tasks, far more disciplined and calm than the few times the Afrikaner had been on a Klingon vessel before.
As the marine knelt, completely taken aback at his surroundings, the two black-robed and hooded Guardians turned at the sparkle of light, their ponytails with three red ribbons slowly curling around their shoulders as they completed their arc. Their eyes instantly locked on the burly Marine as Garlake's hands reached for his phaser. Before he cleared leather, however, they did not raise their own arms as Storr anticipated; instead, the two Klingons shook their heads in unison.
"yItlhaQbe'" the Klingon to the left said sharply, his own hand grasping the disruptor at his side.
"Do not do it, 'ejyo," the Klingon on the right intoned. Looking to his compatriot, he quickly looked back to Storr. "We will not fight you here. You might kill one, or even both of us, but what does it matter when we would gladly vent this entire section of the ship to kill you and your party? No...you will come with us."
Storr blinked. Not more than 30 seconds into the mission and things were already going very, very sideways.
"The man makes a point." Fin said to Garlake. Her own hands rested on her belt as she sized the Guardians up. "Then again, we all die at some point. Might as well try and complete the mission first." Fin's phaser cleared her holster and was drawn across her body. While pulling up she thumbed the trigger, sweeping a long beam of energy in the area before her and across both Klingons.
Storr swore as he fell/rolled to the side, barely avoiding the beam and making a mental note to give Fin the knife hand regarding weapons safety after this was all over.
Khaiel quickly darted behind a bulkhead, trying to stay out of the team's way. He had a job to do and they were giving him as much time as they could. He pulled out his portable terminal and began to punch commands into the interface with quick dexterity.
"batlh!'" one of the Klingons roared as they both fell to the ground, their robes...smoking? Instead of being vaporized or even stunned, the two Guardians quickly came up to one knee and coldly looked both Fin and Storr in the eyes.
"You have no honor; you are lucky Khaless has favored us with much. This was your one and only warning, Starfleet. The bulkheads are already armed. While we have been asked to bring you alive, your deaths would give us no discomfort." The technicians that were previously working behind the two Guardians had now completely stopped their previous duties and were facing the trespassers, their hoods now raised over their heads and what looked like breathing apparatuses already engaged around their necks. The technicians' guttural prayer was reverberating in the room, the dim lights adding to the already eerie atmosphere.
Storr, standing to his full height and brushing off his uniform moved forward and blocked the entrance with his broad form. "We accept your honorable invitation," he said with a grin, "but the, uh, transport over here was more difficult than expected and one of my crew is injured. We won't be quick in traveling."
Garlake hoped that he was giving the team enough time to either wirelessly link in with the Klingon systems or an excuse to try and access something on their halting trip to...wherever they were going. If these Klingons had ablative robes, hand-to-hand combat would be the quickest way to try and incapacitate them but also the most time and energy-consuming. They were not in a good spot and the most he could hope for was an opportunity to turn it around.
Well, that was interesting... considered Cal from his position of relative safety behind Garlake and Chu. Through the actions and reactions to the presentation of weaponry he took mental notes, mapping out the mind before him as deeply as he could/their defenses would permit. If they were immune to phaser fire, perhaps they were also mentally protected and he needed to gauge his options before launching an assault - the advantage of this surveying being that it had been ongoing since the away team's arrival and took only seconds to accomplish.
What Cal gleaned from the minds of the Klingon zealots was a peculiar sort of defense they had against most acts of aggression. It would take some doing to circumvent.
Well, fuck. Yeah, that'd do it, thought Cal, but he kept the information to himself, focused now utterly and entirely on some way to circumvent this new tripwire in the way of their mission. Meticulously he tested each neuron's pathway in each brain, the Jumik toolkit out in force to passively play out a mapping of the mental landscape before him. It took time, but they had plenty of that so long as they were still breathing.
"You cannot prevail," barked one of the clerics. One hand gripped a blade at his side while the other was hidden inside a fold of his robe. "There is nothing you may do that we cannot counter. Kahless has delivered you into our hands."
There was something, Cal figured, but his mind was slipping through options by the millisecond and discarding them. But no, wait... yes... that might do it.
Fin's phaser pointed right at the loud cleric, sliding off the two Klingons before them. Instead of wild, broad shot, Fin's thumb cranked the power up to maximum and aimed directly at the face. "I didn't send your friends there to Sto'Vo'Kor, but I'm happy to find out if shooting you in the face gets you there." Fin's teeth looked extra white in the dim darkness. "Or you put the knife away and I put the phaser away."
"On the contrary," the cleric boasted with fanged teeth exposed in an arrogant grin, "you have made the attempt no fewer than seven times. Each effort has been undone and the timeline reverted to your current impasse. If the Grand Inquisitor were not intrigued by your successful intrusion, we would have ended your pitiful lives without so many quantum resets. But do not test our patience." The hand inside the robe twitched. "Unlike your doom, it will not last forever. Surrender!"
And there it was - arrogance and overconfidence - the perfect vehicle to ride on into brain-town and get comfy at the bar. Cal's expression was passive, his mind multi-tasking silently to those around him, but in that mental geography, there was a subtle shift of ownership taking place. Just enough to lead the proverbial horses to that delicious metaphorical watercourse and show him how to operate the device, then allow him a moment to grasp it. And in the minds of the zealots, now slightly hijacked by Cal's own, a scene replayed for them alone now, surrounding them in clearest reality-sized perfection.
"You have no honor; you are lucky Khaless has favored us with much. This was your one and only warning, Starfleet. The bulkheads are already armed. While we have been asked to bring you alive, your deaths would give us no discomfort." The technicians that were previously working behind the two Guardians had now completely stopped their previous duties and were facing the trespassers, their hoods now raised over their heads and what looked like breathing apparatuses already engaged around their necks. The technicians' guttural prayer was reverberating in the room, the dim lights adding to the already eerie atmosphere.
And again....
"You have no honor; you are lucky Khaless has favored us with much. This was your one and only warning, Starfleet. The bulkheads are already armed. While we have been asked to bring you alive, your deaths would give us no discomfort." The technicians that were previously working behind the two Guardians had now completely stopped their previous duties and were facing the trespassers, their hoods now raised over their heads and what looked like breathing apparatuses already engaged around their necks. The technicians' guttural prayer was reverberating in the room, the dim lights adding to the already eerie atmosphere.
And again... on repeat.
"You have no honor; you are lucky Khaless has favored us with much. This was your one and only warning, Starfleet. The bulkheads are already armed. While we have been asked to bring you alive, your deaths would give us no discomfort." The technicians that were previously working behind the two Guardians had now completely stopped their previous duties and were facing the trespassers, their hoods now raised over their heads and what looked like breathing apparatuses already engaged around their necks. The technicians' guttural prayer was reverberating in the room, the dim lights adding to the already eerie atmosphere.
With their minds caught re-enacting this imaginary loop, Cal stole the technical information he needed and then stepped forward to remove the device from the nearest Guardian...
The superstrings of every possible quantum superposition exploded from Cal's position like holographic rays stretching forth from a burning sun. Some of the strings of possible timelines faded into shadow as they collapsed under observation while other ones burned with bright, crystal clarity as their potentiality increased. The fluctuations were difficult to track with the naked eye, instead requiring a sort of intuitive deduction that only the subconscious mind could execute in real-time. Many of the potential instances showed various field members dying. Some of them became causality loops that would become endless temporal maelstroms if Cal allowed himself to be pulled into them. Above it all, the sensation of a hundred million eyeballs weighing down on him through a cosmic microscope began to overshadow all else. Being outside of the timestream did not alleviate any sense of urgency.
Trippy headfucks happened to be Cal's specialty these days, thanks to those two years in training with an enforced Lethean-leash, but this time he was definitely starting to master the puppetry side of things. It still spun him out for a moment, seeing those almost infinite rays wandering majestically into the imagined horizon. Cal didn't linger though, he knew what he wanted - more or less - and that simple path just needed teasing out from the others. Carefully. He needed to be certain, and that was an impossible task past a certain future point, the convolutions too many to follow too far into the future.
Death, he needed to minimize that on their side of things, as well as the other. Most here were followers rather than leaders. It was the Grand Inquisitor that Cal wanted to find and end, once and for all, with as little collateral sentient damage as possible and while ending up with the time crystals in his possession. Nowhere would really be safe for those, but Memory Theta was at least a repository with a history of protecting such artefacts. Wasn't it? So, the hunt was on, and Cal sought that route through the maelstrom of options.
Later... later he could lie down in a darkened room and rest that aching brain.
In response to Cal's crusade that transcended the standard flow of space and time, the clerics that were confronting the other members of the away team abandoned their attempt to subdue them in pursuit of the greater threat that had intruded on their domain.
"I didn't need to shoot so many people last time I did this." Fin said in spurts between trying to shoot weird Klingon time-guys.
Khaiel continued to cower, doing his best. But the access to their systems were still a gateway he couldn't seem to bypass himself. No, his external inputs were too slow and their system too responsive for him to process. He needed something a bit faster.
He tapped his combadge. "D'hikatsi to Ferrofax, I need some help here."
A moment passed in silence. No response was coming through.
"D'hikatsi to Ferrofax. Please, I can't do this alone."
Again, more silence. The pressure was strong as the emotions of the group continued to weigh on him. He could feel them, their desperation, their concern. A powerful weight on his shoulders. He wasn't sure what to do now. Until the idea struck.
He slipped his hand into his bag, pulling out a small chip. He promised himself he'd never use this, especially when Starfleet could be made aware of it. But right now, they were desperate, and putting his own creation's life on the line was a risk he had to take. Taking the chip, he slid it into the port on his portable terminal, initiating the program.
"Khaiel, it is good to speak with you again. By my calculations, it has been six months, 11 days and 3 hours since our last conversation. How may I-"
"Nick, I need you to be quiet." Khaiel glanced around, almost instinctively, to see who might be overhearing the interaction. Sadly, there were multiple people within earshot. But this was more important than that. "Nick, I need you to fully integrate with the Starfleet system on my terminal. Can you do that?"
A few moments passed until a small ding sounded from the terminal. "My program has been fully integrated."
Khaiel sighed with a nod. "Good. I'm trying to inject code into this ship's system, but their security defenses are too fast for me to override. I need your help."
Another bout of silence commenced, longer than Khaiel would have preferred, but eventually the voice of his personal AI system rang through. "I have breeched their security."
"Good, good. Inject algorithms 2358.7 and 2359.4 into the system wide blockchain."
The air was palpable at this point. Beads of sweat started to appear around Khaiel's hairline as his own nerves began to take hold. There wasn't a lot of time and this was a risky situation they were in. Nick needed to work fast.
"Algorithms injected, Khaiel. The code has been accepted into the blockchain and will be run at the next pass of the system."
Khaiel smiled, giving a nod to every Starfleet officer he could see. Their job here was finished.
The warping of time had a corollary effect of warping space as well, which put Cal in front of the Grand Inquisitor in a dream-like pace of almost instantaneous travel.
"Wejlogh choponlaHbe'chugh vaj ghobvam vItap 'ej DaH naDev qaHoH!" The wizened, old grand cleric stood to his feet, the burden of age dripping off him as zeal ignited a wrath within him that would not be denied. He ripped off his vestments and stood exposed from the waist up. A crystal-infused device was strapped to his chest like a bandolier. And then he charged Cal, one hand clutching his chest and the other holding a short Daqtagh. It was to be a violent clash of violence, ideology, and purpose.
"That's what she said," muttered Cal, not bothering to focus too much on the Inquistor's pretty insult. His own recently acquired crystal-device very close at hand, Cal moved to strike as the Klingon drew closer, taking advantage of the time dilation to attempt to take the bladed weapon from the other's hand and turn it against him. Their bodies however failed to clash, or meet in any way, leaving both Cal and the Grand Inquisitor to slide through the same space at marginally out of sync times, ghosting through each other like... well, ghosts?
The transporter action did not help matters much either.
“I have a lock,” announced Sophie. “Well, It’s not really a lock, it’s more -- never mind. We can bring them back.”
Mrazak grimaced. Sacrificing his field team for nothing would not accomplish anything. If they weren't done yet, then they would just have to try something else. "Energize."
What appeared on the bridge was not the away team, but four Klingons in cowled cloaks who appeared rather disoriented. As they looked around, though, they identified Starfleet insignia everywhere and let out resounding snarls.
"Oops," said Sophie in an unusually small voice.
"What?!" Mrazak gasped. "That isn't the away team! What happened?"
At first they reached into their cloaks near their chests, fumbling for objects which were not there.
"Internal sensors read multiple Klingon lifesigns throughout the ship," Nandi reported, then more cheerfully amidst her stress, she added, "and the away team, too! All of them are positively saturated with chroniton radiation."
"The Klingons were in possession of illicit temporal technology on their persons," Ferrofax announced. "It was neutralized within the transport buffer and the remains deposited safely within the Vault below deck for further study. You're welcome."
But they were still armed with their ceremonial daggers. The clerics brandished them and charged the crew.
"You didn't think to remove their bladed weapons?!" Mrazak shouted after letting out a squeal.
"Ceremonial objects are permitted on board under the terms of the Khitomer Accords," Ferrofax replied with a tinge of sarcasm. "If you don't like it, contact your Federation Councilor."
"I hate diplomacy," Mrazak groused. "RED ALERT!"
Klaxons went off all over the ship.
Leah reached under her console and pulled out a phaser the moment the Klingons beamed in and rounded the console, to place it between her and the closest attacker. As the Klingon pulled out his ceremonial dagger and charged for her, the Norwegian fired, then fired again as it seemed to have little to no impact.
"Damn it to Helheim, basic anatomy!" The norwegian swore inwardly as she ramped the setting to kill.
Before she could fire though she had to roll out of the way as the Klingon had reached her console and was swinging over it at her.
Wolf fired again and this time the hit landed, and so did one dead Klingon, the dagger making a thud on the floor.
Sophie had dove under the console in an attempt to find a stash of phasers she knew must be on the bridge somewhere. But, as she crawled along the wall, avoiding people's legs and searching for a compartment that was eluding her at every turn, she began to worry that it wasn't there. "Impossible!" she spat. "There's one on every bridge! It's-" It was then that she spotted what she knew she needed and it was behind an angry-looking Klingon- were there any other type of Klingon?- who was headed straight for her. "Double oops," she said, jumping up and running in the other direction, hoping to circle back and get to the small weapons locker.
When they first appeared, Ryland had spun around in the helm seat and began firing from the hip. Most shots went wide, but when he saw Sophie scurrying away from an attacker, he stood to his feet, took the time for precision aiming, and fired. The intruder fell to the deck.
Bao slipped to his feet, closing the distance with one of the Klingons. He hadn't time to change out of the combat suit, and figured, even at its stabbiest, a ceremonial dagger would an annoyance instead of fatal through combat armor. He swept into a mantis style stance, stopping the Klingon short with a quick boot tip to the hand, sending the dagger clattering away as the Klingon became rather more cautious being now disarmed. The Lagashi goaded the Klingon, "Your mother has a smooth forehead, as evidenced by her failure to euthanize you as a child before you could heap dishonour upon your house," he taunted, attempting to entice the Klingon into a reckless attack.
Not one to disappoint the Klingon rushed forward again, giving the taller near-human the opportunity to capture the strike and rotate against the wrist and elbow joints in the wrong direction with dual sharp snaps followed by a sideways kick to the assailant's knee and another pop as the heavy combat boots added to effective force of the move. It wouldn't kill the ridge headed git, but not even Klingons could stand and fight with a shattered knee, a broken wrist, and a compound fracture at the elbow. With two others dead, that left one left, who appeared to have more sense than most as he attempted to do a bunk.
When the fleeing Klingon turned around, he stood face to face with Mrazak who greeted him with a deft pinch to the shoulder. "Sleeeep!" Mrazak maniacally hissed into the cleric's face as he slumped to the floor.
An absolutely exhausted Rodi and two of his marines walked up onto the bridge. Their presence was announced by the howl of further phasers, and the thumping of another five Klingons through the door opening. "Put them all in restraints, and transport them to the holding cells."
"Well done, Sergeant!" Mrazak said in a rare moment of honest praise.
Sunny's voice rang through the bridge again. "In addition to the chroniton radiation, the quantum signatures of the Klingon vessel and our own have partially collapsed and are entangled. I believe that may have had something to do with why there are an additional dozen inquisitors around the ship. I have taken the liberty of trying to contain and corral them through the creative use of forcefields. The epicenter of weirdness, however, seems to be centred around the former-Starfleet officer Jesdel and an older Klingon."
"What's left of the marine platoon is already swarming through the ship, captain. With the help of the forcefields they shouldn't be a problem," Rodi announced from his place at the door.
Mrazak's brow arched wide. "Shouldn't be? I want every cublic meter of this ship accounted for! Brig, Engineering, Sickbay!"
Bao sighed. "Our opponent has shown the ability tamper with time, and apparently also, the underlying quantum reality," he said. "It would be unwise to become complacent." He paused for a moment. "If Sunny is correct, perhaps we should focus on the so-called centre of weirdness."
Leah, who had by now slid the dead klingon off of her console, nodded in agreement. "Agreed. Can we use this weirdness to our advantage? Help Jarsdel with the older Klingon?"
While the chronitons had largely dissipated from the subdued clerics who had been scattered throughout the ship due to the transporter glitch caused by temporal interference, their concentrated source kept Cal and the Grand Inquisitor in metaphasic asynchronicity with space and time. It wasn't enough to sever them from the cosmic fabric of the mainstream continuum as was done with Janner's World, but it nonetheless made for a rather spectacularly frustrating duel in which blocking, parrying, and countering were as equally ineffective as striking. Every so often, their phase cycles would overlap enough for contact to be made, but only for an instant, which meant follow-through actions were futile.
Much of the crew, then, were treated to the uncanny sight of two ghostly beings, more ethereal than any hologram but twice as volatile, cursing each other's progeny and day of their birth as they moved seamlessly through walls one moment and then crashed through fixtures and furnishings the next.
It was a headfuck to start with, but fortunately those were Cal’s new specialty. It helped in a kinda messed up way, that he’d been a puppet-master’s plaything for two years, given a sense of overview most people never experienced as fully. So here, treading into spaces, through fixings and walls and right back into solid state for one well-choreographed hit. Or miss. It depended. He’d just come out of a miss-miss-partial contact-full-face-smack-miss rolling combat trade with insults flying like a couple of street-fighting school kids to watch the Grand Inquisitor (GI as he liked to shorthand refer to the cranky bastard) stop short halfway between decks.
So, with a motion about as subtle as a head-on collision, Cal had swiped at the Klingon’s feet and dragged a blade over metatarsals hard enough to elicit some hardcore new curse-words. That dropped them both down another deck in the aftermath But which one?
The anachronistic duel slid into the aft torpedo bay where Reggie was assisting with other tactical officers who had subdued one of the Inquisitors. Restraints had been placed on the Klingon's body, but not over his mouth.
"I'm sure whatever you is sayin' right now would cut me clean to the quick," Reggie told the enraged Inquisitor, "but seein' as how I can't understand a danged word you're sayin', I'm afraid your brutal insults are fallin' on deaf ears."
Shouting pulled Reggie's attention to the upper catwalk that allowed for topside maintenance access to the aft torpedo launcher. It looked like Cal was fighting an old Klingon, except neither of them were making contact--not with each other or much of anything. That... that could be a problem.
"Well, I'll be damned..." Reggie looked around the room, juices flowing and triggers tripping in his keen mind. "Alright, everybody out! I got a stupid plan and not alotta' time to execute it, so beat feet, y'hear?!"
His reputation for destruction preceded him, particularly with the jerry-rigged weapon he'd used in space battles before, so the tactical crewmembers fled the torpedo bay without hesitation. If Chief Hawthorn said it was stupid and dangerous, then there would be no argument.
The torpedo bays had polarized hull plating that would help with radiation leakage from damaged ordnance, so activating that was Reggie's first step. Once initialized, it had the happy byproduct of also caging the two fighting ghosts who could not pass through the polarization.
Through the magic of time control (or mutual lack of it) Cal had acquired a duplicate of the GI’s Daqtagh, the better to duel impressively with. Keeping his own time crystal secured in a trouser pocket far too close to his most sensitive of areas, Cal had won an occasional strike. He’d gained two out of four severed straps to the Klingon’s chest harness now, but this round was absolutely going to the Klingon’s mastery of combat.
Bleeding from two wounds on his right forearm, Cal had switched to his left, carrying the wounded limb with a caution that implied a deep, painful injury. It gave him a lopsided gait as his left leg also bore a torn jagged strip of material speaking of wounding beneath, but there was no less determination in his stance for either.
His yell was visceral as their blades clashed noisily, ringing out to any ears left within the torpedo bay to hear him and infusing what was left of his waning energy with fierce determination rather than overt exhaustion.
"Hold on!" Reggie shouted up to Cal. "You're doin' great!" And then, hydrospanner in hand, Reggie busted the safety seal off the nearest quantum warhead. Blowing the plasma charge would trigger an antimatter reaction with whatever the warhead collided with, but a little love-tap was insufficient to detonate the warhead. All it accomplished was a small but highly dangerous leak.
"WARNING," declared the monotone voice of the quantum warhead's targeting VI. "WARHEAD INTEGRITY FAILURE: THETA RADIATION DETECTED."
Reggie grunted. "Yeah, I was countin' on it," he said as he ran back to the torpedo bay's master control console. Theta radiation exposure had an off-the-charts mortality rate, but it was known to muck with communications, sensors, and most importantly subspace. If it didn't also interfere with those two slipping in and out of observable reality, then nothing could.
Someone was here - lurking? - no, doing something. Reggie wasn’t it? Cal considered as his mind split focus to take into account both scenic demands. The GI and their battle, and Reggie with hopefully some kind of helpful plan to end this seemingly timeless (haha) nightmare of battles.
Integrity failure? That didn’t sound good, but Cal would take it. He’d trust the madness of engineering to have a plan, and he’d bring the GI into the maelstrom of… theta radiation? Well, that was one way to go down fighting and for all eternity.
Programming the interior force-fields was another trick. It brought back early childhood trauma of the antique crane machines back home where he wasted many a crying fit trying to win a plushie. "Little to the left!" he shouted back up to Cal.
Cal grunted, chuffed and then howled into the Klingon’s face as he rushed his opponent, forcing him to step left as their time crystals swerved both from surreal and incorporeal to physical and bladed dangers to each other. Their Daqtaghs clashed, forearms each vibrating with the hard contact, and Cal tasted blood in his mouth as his injuries protested and his leg buckled.
But the Klingon was exactly where Reggie had asked him to be now.
A two-tier vertical forcefield appeared around Reggie and Cal, with Reggie at the master control console and Cal above him on the catwalk. The Grand Inquisitor struck against it and shot his eyes wide when it repelled his fist with a mild burn mark. With the ground solidifying beneath both their feet, the Grand Inquisitor looked at Cal with a grisly realization that their metaphasic journey had come to an end.
A hard exhale, and Cal couldn’t quite muster up a smile in that moment of mutual understanding. He did offer an upward nod of respect for the skill of their duel and the sheer power his opposition had brought to the match. Then he gave the Klingon Grand Inquisitor a cheerful little wave, something Jumik would have been quite proud of. But now he felt… heavy. Sore. And very very tired.
"Depressurizing!" Reggie shouted above the sound of ventilating atmosphere. "The torpedo launcher is on lockdown from here, but the manual override should be next to you. Hit it on my mark!" He waited a whole two seconds before shouting, "MARK!"
He found it swiftly enough, that big red button. And without thinking of anything else - not the rest of the ship, not the rising radiation that had to be slowly cooking his and Reggie’s organs a little more with each passing second - Cal watched and waited.
He waited while the Klingon’s breath was sucked from him, while he struggled to maintain a grip, any grip at all, on the rails and catwalk beneath and around him. While boots dragged across metal, while fingers slid along rail, as the GI was slowly and painfully dragged in the inevitable direction that exodus of air insisted upon.
There was no scream, or fancy goodbye, but Cal would forever remember that look in the other’s eyes, the set of his jawline and the direct gaze of utter hatred. To exit combat with no bloodsoaked warrior’s end, but a chill vacuum and a heavy ‘tonk’ of boots hitting the sides of the torpedo launch tube.
Bloody fingerprints marked the button Jarsdel punched as soon as the Klingon’s head fully cleared the mouth of that tube and he felt rather than heard the solid clunk of its closure.
Cal thought he heard cursing, but that might just have been his imagination as the whoosh sound signaled the Grand Inquisitor’s unceremonious exit. "And don't come back..." Cal said on an exhale before turning to regard Reggie.
"Is there a malfunction in the aft torpedo bay?" Ryland muttered, eyebrow quirked. "Just registered a misfire from a torpedo."
Ferrofax chimed in. "There is a theta radiation leak from one of the warheads, and you won't believe the reason why. I'm sure you'll want to hear the story from the two survivors though."
Leah listened intently. "Helheim, theta radiation is also extremely dangerous to living organisms. And I mean extremely. Is the torpedo still with them? If it is, we need to contain the leak or jettison the torpedo before the damage to the survivors becomes irreparable. They'll need arithrazine treatments to recover." She said then looked up at the ceiling.
"The offending warhead has a containment field surrounding it," Ferrofax said. "Still highly dangerous to biologicals but at least not instantly fatal. It appears one of the Klingon intruders was fired from the torpedo launcher instead as part of an unfortunate depressurization event in the torpedo bay. If someone lifts the emergency system lockout triggered by the leak, then I can trigger the automatic reload of the torpedo launcher."
Mrazak scowled as he punched codes through the command system. "Do it! I will not be cooked alive inside my own ship!"
"Now that would be a comedic tragedy if there ever was one..." Ferrofax quipped. "Leaky torpedo is loaded."
"FIRE!" Mrazak's eyes bulged at the order.
"And away," Ryland replied. "Whoa! Direct hit! The super-carrier's aft shields are down."
Nandi chose that moment to pipe in. "Sensor readings show ship-wide power fluctuations. For some reason the enemy vessel is on the verge of total system failure."
"Give them everything we've got!" Mrazak ordered to all and sundry. "Send them to Fusion!"
Leah tapped on her console, "firing full spread of torpedos and phasers."
While the super-carrier's hull was large enough to shrug off multiple direct hits like bug bites, the faltering internal systems were another story. One by one, the various sections of the Secret Inquisition flagship began breaking off from one another until they disintegrated in an ultraviolet flash that overwhelmed sensors.
"Oh, not again!" Mrazak shouted at the blank main viewer. "Somebody reboot the sensor suite. We're flying blind here!"
"Actually..." Ryland interjected with a distracted tone. "We're not. The ship is no longer at transwarp. Wherever we are, we're adrift."
Mrazak sighed deeply as he exchanged one frustration for another. "I see... so where the miran are we?!"
"Ha ha!" Leah exclaimed, looking at the readouts on her console. "We're back in the Theta-Corvus system! It's a bit backed up from the lockdown you instituted." Leah tapped on her console. "Getting a casualty report from the crew. Ten wounded, four dead so far though the list is still coming in."
"Truly?!" Mrazak exclaimed. "And they upheld my lockdown. Outstanding!"
Bao chuckled darkly as he began processing the situation. "Not quite. Traffic is moving again. It appears the quarantine is no longer in force. The system beacon is directing all incoming traffic to coordinate with the Vulcan science cruiser Archer to secure a place in line. And, I daresay, you're not going to like it when you hear on whose authority."
The look of triumph on Mrazak's face quickly eroded into stony displeasure. "I warned that Captain Mulryan that I would have his combadge..."
"I got multiple incoming hails demanding we move out of the way," Ryland reported from the helm. "Just puttin' it out there that if you want me to fire on civilians, I ain't gonna'."
But Mrazak was ignoring Ryland in favor of reviewing the data streams himself. His lips moved as he was speed-reading through the relevant information. "Misappropriation! That's what it is! Nobody could override my authorization!"
"Captain, there is an incoming data stream from Belmont Station." Leah said, "includes everything they'd gathered so far before..." Wolf sighed, "Captain Mulryan initiated a neutron purge, everyone who was on the station is dead, sir. He went down with the ship..."
Mrazak's Vulcan eyebrows narrowed in contempt. "... ben-Avram. I don't know how he did it, but it was him. It has to be!" Looking back at Ryland, he said, "Helm! Set a direct course for Belmont Station immediately. Ignore all hails and mask our registry." Timbre dropping to something malevolent, he said, "I will have satisfaction."
The Phantom docked with Belmont Station in short order. Even from the outside looking in, it was clear to see the station had been better days. Rather than go on board and deliver his epic rant, however, Mrazak was met at the airlock by Akiva, Laena, and a bureaucrat.
"What's this now?" Mrazak blurted. "I want answers and I will have them!"
"Of course," Akiva said with a victorious smirk. "Plenty of time on the way back to Overwatch."
"Overwatch? I want answers now!" Mrazak demanded.
The smirk on Akiva's face was joined by a curl of his brow that was filled with anticipation. "We will go over everything in the debrief to Admiral Tau. He has been quite eager to speak with you for several days now. We cleaned up your mess, but perhaps you have a different side of the story."
That took the wind out of Mrazak's fire. "I see... Then we should be on our way, indeed." Turning about, Mrazak headed back to the bridge. "Helm! Take us home!" His brow furled with angst. "We have reports to file."
