Ripples

by Jerry Conner

From the Officer's Lounge, Captain Jerry Conner regarded the bulk of U.S.S. YEAGER. "It's amazing to consider, isn't it, Number One?"

"Sir?" Mike Layne asked.

"We joined Starfleet," Conner reflected, "with the understanding that we might be laying down our lives in the cause of peace: ever-vigilant to the enemies of the Federation, especially the Klingons. Now, in a matter of weeks, we find ourselves looking at them as allies."

"I doubt the situation is quite that simple, sir," Layne injected. "I fear that we are still looking at many years of open conflict before a true and lasting peace is reached."

"Oh, I have no doubts of that," Conner replied. "Look at the false starts the United States and the Soviet Union had back in the late 20th century. Even when they reached a peace, there were all the little European dictators who were unwilling to give up their piece of the pie. The fact of the matter though, is that if the Americans and Russians hadn't joined together, World War III would have wiped out Earth, and without it, there would have been no Federation. Without the Federation, the Klingons would have rolled over what we now call the Federation and it would all be Empire. An infinity of ripples, Number One, each changing the shape of the next. Without the Gorbachevs and Yeltsins, there never would have been the Gorkons."

He put down the cup of tea, watching the waveforms of the hot liquid. "Infinite ripples."

The tea surged against the back of the cup, as Conner felt the surge of acceleration. As he was about to reach for the intercom, it came alive.

"Bridge to Captain Conner," came the voice of Officer of the Deck Ty'elle Dujhar.

"Conner here, go ahead."

"We have received a distress call from the Klingon Bird-of-Prey Nightflyer. They are under attack just inside the Neutral Zone. There are no Klingon cruisers in the vicinity, and Klingon Space Central has asked our assistance."

"Current status?" Conner asked.

"We are making best possible speed for the Nightflyer's position. ETA is thirty-eight minutes."

"Go to yellow alert. I'm on my way."

As he pulled on his duty jacket, Michael Layne was already on the turbolift, heading for the combat information center several decks below. Seconds later, he was on the turbolift to the bridge one deck above.

The bridge was a scene of barely controlled chaos at moments like this. Crewmembers scrambled to prepare the frigate for combat with an as yet unknown enemy. Bridge staff were strapping themselves in with the five-point harnesses recently installed as non-combatants cleared the bridge. The marine jokingly referred to simply as "Jarhead" had taken up his position at the turbolift, complete with his rifle, neatly stenciled with "ACME Phaser Bazooka". There was nothing humorous in the set of his eyes, however.

As Conner exited the turbolift, Dujhar cleared the center seat and strapped himself into the communications officer's position. Communications Officers did not normally serve as Officers of the Deck, but Ty'elle Dujhar was not a typical communications officer. He had served as a ship commander in the Camazotian Defense Forces, and as the Captain of YEAGER's squadron mate the JOHN B. McKAY. He had taken a grade reduction to Department Head to get back into Starfleet, though he was still a Captain on Starfleet's rolls. His was a talent too great for Conner to consider wasting. Though he joked about his "emergency reserve backup captain", he thought of Dujhar as a fellow captain serving on board rather than as a department head under his command.

Conner was concerned for his friend though. Dujhar's father had died in battle with the Klingons, and Ty'elle himself had had numerous bad scrapes with the Klingons, including getting his first command, the shuttle Trailblazer shot out from under him by a Klingon ship. He could only imagine the strains Dujhar must have been undergoing at the thought of rescuing his hated enemies.

He had no concerns, though, that Ty'elle would not do his job. He was far too much the professional for that. Still, it would be hard to go to the rescue of an enemy whom you had not so long ago sworn to kill. He hoped the inner conflicts would not rip his friend apart.

Conner made a quick visual inspection of the bridge. By this point, only the flashing yellow lights, restraint harnesses and the armored marine betrayed the fact that the bridge was operating in any way out of the ordinary. Conner turned to his communications chief. "Status?"

"All systems report combat readiness," Dujhar confirmed. "Combat Information Center operating at full efficiency, all interlocks engaged."

These interlocks provided the YEAGER's "belt and suspenders". Dual controls confirmed that there would not be even a moments hesitation if either of the ship's control centers were rendered inoperative.

Now all they had to do was get there in time.

"Time to intercept," Conner asked, for the third time in as many minutes.

"Intercept now plotted for two minutes... mark," Kraiggearra replied.

"Red Alert," Conner ordered.

Indicators flashed to red and the crew of YEAGER made the final transition to full combat preparedness.

"Tactical," Conner ordered.

A three dimensional grid overlaid the computer enhanced viewscreen. On it, they could see a symbol of a Klingon Bird of Prey. Translators engaged and identified it as the Nightflyer. A second ship, obviously a Klingon design, had disabled its transponder, or at least changed it from the frequencies Klingon Space Command had given them.

The reason became obvious as a disruptor bolt smashed the Bird of Prey.

"Klingon hailing frequencies," Conner ordered. "Tie in translator." He had no reason to hide the fact that he was from the Federation, and felt no need for "linguistic legerdemain". Let them know exactly what he meant.

Ty'elle nodded from the com station.

"Attention Klingon Battle Cruiser. This is Federation starship U.S.S. YEAGER operating under the authority of Klingon Space Control. You are ordered to break off your attack and stand by. Acknowledge."

Dujhar looked up, nodding in the negative.

Conner repeated his call, garnering the same response. He shook his head in resignation. "Helm, arm photon torpedoes and phasers. Concentrate fire on their impulse engine structures."

"Armed," she replied, seconds later, "Ready to fire."

"Fire."

Expertly aimed torpedoes smashed down the thinner aft shields of the battle cruiser, followed instantly by similarly aimed phaser blasts. One intercooler exploded and spun off into space. Decks below, they saw the starboard side impulse engines go dark. The cruiser released one more volley, then pulled up and made a run for deep space. Traditionalists were fanatics by the standards of either government, but they were not fools. A stock D-7 was no match for this highly modified MIRANDA-class frigate in a fair fight.

"Condition of the Bird of Prey?" Conner asked.

"Not good," Grin'elle Kriet responded from the engineering station. "Judging by these scans, she took at least a half-dozen square shots from the cruiser. I'd like to shake the hand of the engineer who's held her together this long."

"Current course?"

"Entering the upper atmosphere, under control, but just barely."

"Can we beam them out?" Conner asked, almost certain of the answer.

"Negative," Kriet responded. "Their impulse engines are throwing off too much radiation and they're having to overload them just to maintain control with all that damage."

"Launch the Alert Teams," Conner ordered. "Vector them in on the Nightflyer and make sure Nightflyer knows they're on the same side."

Dujhar did not bother replying to the command. "Escort One, Rescue Five One. Emergency scramble. Synchronize course with helm for targeting." He flipped several switches, then barked several short, guttural sounds. It was the first time anyone on YEAGER had heard him use Klingon battle language, but his old school mate Grin'elle did not seem surprised.

On the hangar deck, Joanna Gage and James Windingcreek finished strapping in as shuttle Rampart's engines hummed to life. With a final click of buckles, they were ready.

"You heard the man, Elwood," Gage said. "Punch it."

The Rampart leapt out of the starboard hangar, seconds ahead of the Hoover. In a matter of seconds, they had visual contact with the Nightflyer and were pacing it. Minutes later they had left Hoover far behind.

Nightflyer had its wings set at optimal landing setting, trying to take advantage of every available erg of lift. She still trailed smoke and sparks from most of her engineering section. Occasionally she would heel to one side as her crew fought to keep her in the air. There was a single fairly flat mesa ahead, if they could maintain lift to reach it. Around it, the terrain offered no chance for survival. It became obvious that Nightflyer did not have adequate lift to clear the mesa's edge.

"Hang on," Hunter said. "This is gonna be a bit bumpy."

Rampart swung under the bulk of the Nightflyer until the Bird of Prey filled most of their field of vision. Slowly, painstakingly carefully, Hunter eased Rampart directly under Nightflyer. Hunter activated a control, and blue light flared above them as Rampart's deflectors pushed against the heated bulk of Nightflyer, pressing down on it.

Hunter redlined Rampart's engines and pushed back. The blue light flared white, then flickered red, as Hunter used the shuttle's engines and deflectors to slowly increase Nightflyer's lift. The nose of the Bird of Prey lifted above the edge of the canyon.

From the right seat, Lieutenant Case called off figures. "Deflectors at fifty-three percent and dropping. Speed Mach point eight three."

The nose of the Bird lifted higher, and they heard the thrum of impulse engines as her crew did their best to help. Both ships rocked as aerodynamic forces came into play on the close formation.

"Deflectors at twenty-one percent," Case called out. "Engines approaching critical."

"Just a little more, darlin'," Hunter cooed.

Nightflyer was above the rapidly approaching cliff face as Case began to count down deflector power. "Eight percent... Five... Three... Break!"

Hunter performed several maneuvers which were expressly forbidden in the Rampart's technical manuals and cleared the mesa's edge with yards to spare.

Nightflyer activated what was left of her repulsor system and attempted a landing. There was a flash of red, and one wingtip plowed into the ground. The ship began a slow tumble as the crew of the Rampart watched in horror.

Her command module snapped, skidding in a relatively straight line at the cliff's edge as the engineering hull continued its disintegration. As the mangled secondary hull began to skid to a stop, the command pod hung on the cliff's edge for a brief second, then dropped over.

"Get us down there," Gage ordered Hunter. "There's still a chance we may have survivors."

The Rampart dropped over the edge of the mesa as the Nightflyer's engineering section came to a stop at the cliff's edge. The terrain did not end as abruptly on this side, and the command boom had dug a fairly straight furrow in its slide to the bottom.

Barely waiting for the Rampart's skids to touch the ground, Gage was on her feet and pulling emergency supplies from their compartments. "Case, you're with me. Windingcreek, you and Elwood get to the top and check them out."

Case slid one of the emergency packs onto his back, slowing only long enough to grab a pair of collapsed Stokes stretchers and check his phaser. Gage leaped clear of the gate as it was still dropping, with him only steps behind her. Seconds later, the Rampart rose once again.

Gage quickly surveyed the situation. The command module was tilted nose up the hill, with her severed boom pointing at them. Above them, the engineering section of Nightflyer teetered over the precipice, barely maintaining equilibrium. Occasionally, stones would dislodge and drop toward them.

She ignored the threat and moved to the shattered boom. As she hoped, the doors had not sealed, with all power having gone to maintaining flight controls. With an effort, she and Case forced them apart.

Nightflyer's bridge was an op art nightmare of red hydraulic fluid and lavender ichor. She doubted she would ever be able to enjoy her favorite color again. She pulled her tricorder, checking for vital signs. There were none for a moment, then she quietly cursed herself. In their haste to launch, she had not reset the tricorder for Klingon life signs. As the tricorder hummed once more, she noticed that the results were little different. The carnage on the bridge was as complete as it looked.

She was just about to declare the area a loss when she heard a moan. Setting the tricorder to tight beam, she swept the room once more. At one point, very faintly, there were signs of life.

Pulling aside the wreckage, she found a young Klingon officer. He was bleeding profusely from a wound which seemed to nearly flatten one side of his head. Stanching the bleeding, she activated the communicator she wore as a headset. "YEAGER base, this is Rescue Five One."

"YEAGER," came the voice of Dr. Brackett. "Go ahead Five One."

"Patient is a Klingon male, young adult. I have major cranial trauma, a compound fracture of the upper leg and multiple lacerations and contusions. Patient is currently pinned under a console."

"Stabilize the bleeders and immobilize the fractures. Administer ten grains of caffeine in one liter of normal saline and transport as soon as possible," Brackett ordered.

"YEAGER, please confirm pharmaceuticals. Did you say caffeine?"

"Affirmative," Brackett replied. "The order is for ten grains of caffeine. They use coffee as a battle drug."

"Well, that explains Kordon," she muttered to herself.

"Please repeat, Five One," the radio responded.

"Disregard, YEAGER. Five One out."

She returned to the task at hand. Klingon blood did not clot as easily as human, and it took her longer to staunch the flow than she would have liked. As she worked, Case was working at the console supports which pinned the Klingon. With a snap, the last one broke free. He quickly set up the Stokes stretcher, and helped Gage prepare the Klingon for transfer into it. Outside, there was the patter of rocks on the hull. They stopped a moment, u ntil the noise stopped for the moment.

"Almost ready," she told him. Practiced fingers tightened straps and checked restraints. She snugged down the last strap. "That's it. Let's get him out."

The task of transporting the Klingon through the wreckage of the hull was not that simple. Between the weight of the Klingon, the blood-and-fluid-soaked decks and the strewn pieces of wreckage, the short trip seemed almost endless. Several times there were the loud thumps of larger rocks banging against the hull.

They stopped at the jagged end of the boom for a moment to catch their breathe. As they leaned on the door sill, panting, there was the resonant clang of a boulder smashing into the hull with enough force to nearly knock them off their feet.

"Time to go," Case muttered. Gage nodded agreement and carefully hefted her end of the stretcher. They did not look back until they were well behind the cover of a rock structure several hundred yards away from the module to one side.

Moments later, the Hoover sat down near them. Careful hands loaded their charge aboard for transport to the better equipped Rampart, above.

As they climbed the gate, Gage stopped for a moment to regard the hulk of the Bird of Prey, then her companion. Case spoke first, "You know, we could have gotten squashed."

"I know," Gage replied. "You didn't have to go in."

"I know, but I had other things on my mind," he said.

"Like what?"

"Like how I was going to run out of that wreck with you under one arm and him under the other," he chuckled.

Of the thirteen crewmembers of Nightflyer, only four had survived the crash. One of those, the engineer who had kept the engines functioning, had bought that last surge of power with his life. Kordon joined the surviving Klingons in saluting his passing.

Gage's patient did not regain consciousness for several days. With their limited knowledge of Klingon anatomy, Brackett had preferred to simply aid the natural healing process, rather than trying to accelerate it. Gage stopped in to visit him on the fourth day.

"I am told," he said weakly, "That you risked your life to rescue me."

"It's my job," she told him.

"Then Gorkon was right..."

"Gorkon," she said the name to herself. "Where do I know that name from?"

" He worked with the Vulcan, Spock. I had the honor of serving in his personal guard during the negotiations."

"Of course," she answered, suddenly remembering. "So, we are worth defending?"

"Courage and honor are always worth defending. I will honor my Chancellor's decision and your courage."

With a thump, he put down the cup of tea he had been drinking. Joanna Gage watched the ripples in it.

Infinite ripples...