Race Toward Time

 Episode Name:  Race Toward Time

   Written By:  Shaft

         Cast:  Hrisvalar, MacAllister, Medes, Novak, Park, Poole and Shaft.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Shaft

     Aired On:  Mon Dec 16 03:49:18 2002

     Stardate:  52855.2

Time: Sun Dec 15 20:48:59 2002

Stardate: 52854.5

Scene: With the Dominion war at an end, an uneasy peace has settled over the whole of the Dulcais Sector, and a collective sigh of relief is being offered by the crew of 419 and its command officers. Reflecting this fact, an unlikely crew has been assembled for routine patrol of Station space, their purpose that of cross-training and competency evaluation. With the threat of attack in the past, Command has taken the opportunity to form such a crew, and for the first hour of patrol, all is quite routine aboard the Bridge of the Thomas Paine.

Naturally this calm cannot last, and it isn't long before long-range sensors detect a ship making for 419 at relatively low warp. The open distress signal coming from the craft betrays their slow approach. In short order, a stretch of light appears behind the coruscating blue-white of the Anomaly, and the visual elongation of a massive trading vessel eventually coalesces into a giant green-grey trade vessel. A massive wound is exposed on the ship's aft where the starboard nacelle used to be. The port Nacelle is venting plasma at an alarming rate, and to look at the lazy and ununiform drift of the craft, they've lost all impulse drive and helm control.

Its drift, however, is sending it slowly but certainly towards the heart of the Anomaly.

-- Action --

Looking both immensely comfortable and intensely out-of-sorts at her seat in the Command Chair, Poole's demeanor changes as the alert comes in, becoming calm and serious, "Ops, hail that vessel... Helm, bring us about and close on that ship, they're in need of help. Sciences, begin scanning the vessel... is anyone following them? Tactical, bring tractors online... If the station can't help her, we may be her only hope."

Park nods wordlessly and begins a scan of the ship in question.

<CONTEST> Park contests his Shipboard Systems skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

"Please send me the results of the scan when you're finished it, Lt.," Medes requests, sitting forward in her chair. She runs a hand through her mess of hair and glances sidelong at Poole. It's Poole, it's gotta be. Nothing exciting ever happens except when she's on duty with Poole.

<CONTEST> Park contests his Shipboard Systems skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Fails!

Novak's fingers move confidently over the tactical console, the position one she is clearly comfortable with despite her current appointment.

Standing beside one of the aft stations designated for use by medical personnel is the Trill nurse, Ensign Annalisse MacAllister. Although her back is presently to the command center of the vessel, she is still alert and listening to the orders given by the commanding officer; they simply do not relate to her at the present time.

GAME: Novak spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Novak (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Tractor Beam) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Fails!

Operations quickly opens a channel to the wounded vessel while the Helmsman plots a safe course around the Anomaly's no-fly zone on impulse intercept. The view screen winks out and reveals a portly fellow with salt and pepper hair and a rather unkempt goatee. The bridge is low-lit by emergency running lights, and members of his black suited crew are frantic at their stations. "This is Captain Achine Barsil of the CTC Hernes, requesting immediate assistance--" He cuts off as the Tractor Beam from the Thomas Paine comes on-line. "--Well. That wasn't difficul--"

The bridge of both the Thomas Paine and the Hernes rock as the beam locks on target, dislodging a piece of brittle hull over their aft section. "Break your hold! You're tearing us apart!"

<CONTEST> Poole (claiming advantage) contests her Command (Starship) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Poole winces at the news, looking to Novak, "Cease the tractor beam... we'll have to get them out another way. Ready the transporters." Another glance to helm and she adds, "Bring us in as close as we possibly can... within transporter range." Attention moving quickly to the viewscreen, she asks, "How many people are aboard your ship, Captain?..."

Park doesn't turn from his console and sends a TEXT message to Poole's console. The message says, "Sensors show 65 lifesigns on board. 7 wounded in the aft section. 2 in Critical condition."

Novak's only response is a mild frown, so slight as to be easily missed. She acknowledges the order with a nod and sets about following it.

At the mention of the life signs aboard the vessel, Nurse MacAllister brings up the summary reports on those individuals on her console, quietly glancing over the report which the chief medical officer just made clear through auditory means.

<CONTEST> Novak (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Tractor Beam) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Fails!

Hrisvalar has arrived.

As the Thomas Paine eases around the Anaomaly and closes with the wounded Hernes, Barsil steadies himself, runs a hand through his hair, and answers the question put to him. "We're a crew of seventy-one. But I've not heard from Engineering. My Chief Engineer reported a plasma leak and then we lost all contact with our aft section. We've lost pressure in certain compartments and I have the aft locked down. I've got twelve sharesman back there that I don't know -WHAT'S- happened to..." At this point, the piece of deck plating which the Tractor Beam had been tugging the Thomas Paine's way clangs off the hull, causing a mild shake once more to the Paine's bridge. "Have I got wounded, Skipper?"

"Tactical, try to get a lock on those people in the damaged aft section and beam them out of there... To Medical if you can... or the cargo bay, we have to get them out of there," Poole orders Novak. -direct-

<CONTEST> Novak contests her Shipboard Systems (Transporter) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Fails!

Novak shakes her head mildly, speaking for the first time. A slight Klingon accent is detectable, "No lock can be established, sir. Too much interference."

<CONTEST> Poole (claiming advantage) contests her Command (Starship) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Poole bites her lip as she awaits the word from Novak. Nodding at the news, she asks, looking from Park to Medes, "Results of the scans, outside of the number of lifeforms? Is there any way we can help them repair themselves before they enter the 10,000 km no fly zone? How soon will they cross the border?" Then looking about at the rest of the officers, she asks, "Idea's people.... we have three objectives here. First and foremost, save those people. Second, prevent that ship from entering the no fly zone. Third, save that ship. Now is the time to speak up."

Park looks over at Poole. "I recommend beaming over to the ship with pattern enhancers and attempting to beam off the wounded crew members, sir. I would recommend MacAllister and I be part of that away team since we're most qualified to move injured personnel if it is needed."

Medes taps her fingers on the edge of her terminal. Her eyes flicker to Park briefly, and she sents a TEXT MESSAGE to Poole's terminal. "Sir: requesting permission to start another set of scans, system and structural." Upon receiving permission from Poole, she begins said scans, her mouth set in a thin line.

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Sensors) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

MacAllister looks towards the chief medical officer and nods her head as he makes a suggestion. "I agree with Doctor Park, sir. If I might add, respectfully, sir," the nurse begins to speak even though she is the juniormost officer on the bridge at this time, "we may have to beam them off and sacrifice the vessel if we cannot stop get it under control."

Emerging from the turbolift, Ensign Hrisvalar looms onto the bridge. The towering Andorian moves directly for Mission Ops, a gangly blue giant making for the unattended station - a glance is spared the listing starship on the display, but only one. The details will emerge on the displays, after all. Once there his long fingers flash across the black-and-neon panels of the LCARS like an organ player at the keys, slaving all the functions of Operations to his consoles in light of the lack of a managing officer on station; the time-sharing of all the Thomas Paine is now under control.

The Centauran Captain glances about at his own display, apparently keeping track of the chatter on the bridge. At MacAllister's declaration, the man's face reddens and he shakes his head rather violently. "Like the /STARS/ you are! I didn't drift through this quadrant for the better part of forty years so that you juggernauts could blow up my ship! If you do that, you can slag well do it with me in it!" His tirade is interrupted by a hail to the bridge. "Engineering to the Bridge. Our tractor console exploded. We've got wounded." Park promptly rises to attend to his own crew for the time being, leaving MacAllister in charge. "If I may, Skipper? Get your people aboard, find out what's going on aft, get back there and fix it. Try beaming my able crew us off of here and I'll give your structural engineer something to complain about with my point defenses."

Poole was about to say something to Park and MacAllister as the Centauran Captain speaks up. "Aye... I was thinking along the same lines. We won't even /contemplate/ blowing up your ship, except as a last and final resort. We're bound, as I said a minute ago." Looking to Medes, she asks, "What's the damage look like, Ensign?... Is it fixable?" --direct--

From Engineering, the status report is fired off in short clips of speech from the Littlest Engineer. She winces under Barsil's declarations, but her expression is sympathetic nonetheless. "Considerable structural damage to the aft section. Loss of atmosphere and gravity on all decks behind... midships. Additionally, the ship is locked down from midships back. No warp drive. Impulse thrusters damaged and off-line, but with power. Life support presently operating on backup power. We have, according to my calculations, approximately 32 minutes before the ship enters the no fly zone, 44 minutes before it collides with the anomaly." Medes pauses for a second, then turns her chair to look at Poole. "Sir, it is my opinion that the course of action suggested by Lt. Park is much riskier than necessary, not to mention that it'll meet resistance from the crew of the Hernes. She has a docking arm that is capable of coupling with the Paine, and I believe that with the assistance of the Hernes' Engineers, if any remain capable of assistance, yes, sir, I will be able to bring her impulse drives back online. We should be able to dock with the Hernes, board her from there, and bring her impulse drives back up in time to prevent her from colliding with the anomaly." She pauses for a second, and notes, "And I /know/ the EVA suits are charged." A-hem.

Hrisvalar sits down at Mission Ops.

Beaming a smile Medes' way, Poole nods and stands from her seat, straightening her jacket. "/Excellent/ Th... /Ensign/." She looks to the viewscreen, "We're going with my engineer's suggestions. I'll have helm bring us up to dock with you..." Back to Medes, "Ensign Medes, you're in charge of the away team and the repairs to the Hernes. Novak and MacAllister, you are with her. Your priorities are the injured people first. Remember to attach your lifeform monitoring devices for Lieutenant Hrisvalar to keep track of." As she finishes, she moves back to her seat.

Novak nods once and steps back, allowing Ensign Expendable to replace her before turning to wait for Medes to issue further orders.

MacAllister turns from her console to look at the commanding officer of the ship. With a single nod of her head in both the direction of Poole and Ensign Medes, the woman takes a step away from her console and awaits orders from the away team leader.

Back at Operations, Ensign Hrisvalar is already dialing up proper replacements for the departing bridge personnel - Ensign Expendable and a few others from the Expendable Legion are summoned to fill the spots as Lieutenant Poole's orders are carried out. Long blue fingers call up telemetry displays and biomonitor information from Medical in anticipation of the upcoming away operation, then move to boost power allocation to the inertial dampeners. Don't want people going this way and that should the Centaurans not have a smooth-fingered man behind the helm.

The Captain seems mollified that the 'Fleeters are going to give it a go before blowing his ship. Who wouldn't be. "We've got no thrusters, here. So you're going to have to match our speed, heading and rotation for this docking to work. I'm diverting power to the arm now..." Barsil nods aside to one of his crew, and on one of the secondary viewscreens, a vertical arm rises out of the spine of the dying Hernes. The Helm matches all of these factors and within a minute, there's an audible clang throughout the ship as the two vessels join at midships. "You'll be offloading into our midships topside cargo bay. I'm sending my helm and my bridge engineer back to guide you through. They'll have their own EVA suits. Permission to board granted, Starfleet. Good fortunes."

"God keep you, Captain," Poole replies to the Centauran and looks to Medes' and her away team now. "I know this goes without saying, but take an engineering team with you..." Nodding to finalize her orders, she looks to Hrisvalar, "Watch their vitals carefully... Any trouble and I want to know."

"Yes, sir," Ensign Medes replies, slipping out of her bridge chair as a taller, less scruffy and far less lupine Ensign Expendable from the Expendable Legion comes forward to man the Engineering console. Expendably. Picking up a biomonitor, she attaches it to herself, brushes her thumb across her forehead, and nods assent to Poole's statement. "Done. Prophets. And stuff. Yeah. There's a benediction here." So she's not as good with that kinda stuff as Havaris is. She's trying. And then she and her team are gone.

"Aye," replies the grim blue giant, looming over his console as if on a throne himself. Ensign Hrisvalar continues his vigil as the replacements now trickle in, ensigns in their requisite colors angling to fill stations. He eyes the fellow at Tactical a moment, judging, but turns his gaze back to his station after an instant of scrutiny. Those who leave for the repairs are in good hands.

--Cut--

Scene: The Away Team under the command of Ensign Medes meet below deck to formalize their assignment. A pair of Medical Officers are prepared with pattern enhancers and emergency medical equipment. One is Park who has relieved MacAllister now that the wounded aboard the Thomas Paine have been tended to. A team of three other Engineers, each one well versed in the necessary aspects of the damaged and critical systems listen attentively to Medes' briefing. They carry with them various Enginering kits and a single clumsy field replicator. Perhaps more burden than it's worth in a gravity scenario, but much more easily maneuvered once they get into the Zero-G aft section of the ship. Hrisvalar sets the mission clock at just under 27 minutes till yellow with a five minute window before emergency extraction and detonation of the Hernes.

The team proceed down the ladder of the Docking Arm and are greeted by a pair of Centauran females in black and green EVA suits. The older of the two addresses the crew, "Welcome aboard. I am Helmsman First Class Keryke Wulffson. This is Engineer Second Class Aious. I'm told we're with you, Starfleet. Awaiting orders."

Park motions to Medes, as Poole placed her in charge. He remains silent.

Poole moves over towards the mission ops console, standing by Hrisvalar. "All in the green?..." Anticipating his answer, she casts a glance towards the tactical officer and moves over that way, "I'll take tactical, ensign. Thanks." Over the com she says, "I'm at tactical, Ensign Medes... Lieutenant Park... The transporters are at your disposal."

"Greetings. I'm Ensign Medes. This is my medical officer, Lt. Park. If you'll direct him to your wounded, I'm sure he's anxious to see to them. The first order of business on the Engineering end of things is locking down the plasma and ejecting the anti-matter. Otherwise we're staring down a warp core breach, as I'm sure you know. Lt., please keep me apprised of the situation with the wounded. If we can transport them back to the Paine, do so. If that's accomplished, return to assist us, please." Medes takes a deep breath within her EVA suit's helmet and turns her eyes back to Helmsman Wulffson. "Lead on, Helmsman. We have approximately twenty-five minutes."

<CONTEST> Hrisvalar contests his Shipboard Systems (Operations) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Fails!

The Andorian nods from his position at Ops, glancing down at the telemetry panel routing directly to the spacesuited crewmen. "Operations is at ready," comes the resonous baritone hush of Ensign Hrisvalar's voice in reply; he does not report his further actions, struggling a bit with locking down a power surplus for a sudden emergency. No matter - he'll nail it down in a moment or so.

"All of our wounded -- serious wounded -- are aft. So your Medical teams will just have to come along for the ride. Our path is going to take us right through to compartments open to space. So stick close, link up, and don't... let go. Or similarly stupid things." Keryke's informality is somewhat indicative of this crew, that's for certain. She nods aside to her fellow Engineer who opens the first door to the airlock into the aft section. The crews step inside with their gear, and the pressure begins cycling. Not to pure void, but to some dangerously thin and low pressure air, judging from the EVA reads. The second door slides open into a smoky chamber entirely enveloped by cargo holds. Walkways lead to the various holds, but the main catwalk leads back about two hundred yards to a hatchway similar to the one you've just exited. "One more section like this and we'll reach Engineering," Keryke explains.

Park grabs his medkit, nods to macallister and follows the other man.

Oh, yes. Informality. Medes can handle that. "Right." She follows after the Centauran female, linking up with some of the Engineering crew from the Expendable Brigade that have come along, toting gear and such. "Magnetize the feet of your EVA suits, we're moving into Zero-G, now. Ensign Hrisvalar, I'm counting on you to keep us apprised of time. Let us know when we hit each five-minute increment." This said, she continues onward after Keryke.

<CONTEST> Hrisvalar contests his Shipboard Systems (Operations) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Fails!

"Acknowledged," purrs the Andorian over the comms. "Synchronizing now." Pacing clicks off in his head as he moves to attempt the power redirect again, eyeing the timer as he does so. It's not something he's done before, readying a static power buffer for a specific system other than weaponry, and so the task still eludes him.

The Centauran crewmen have a different idea than magnetized boots. Each one takes a tether from the waist of their suit and clips it into a metal runner on the railing. Once clipped, they take hold of the opposite railing and use it to push off, pushing up speed as they go. Their tethers and the runners keep them from flying wide, and they -easily- outpace the more cumbersome Starfleet personnel and their heavy magnet stomps. It will take them only a pair of minutes to make the distance. Two hundred yards at close to three seconds a step? Much longer. "No time for that, Medes. Clip in and push off."

Park takes the idea from the Centauran crewman, grabbing a tether and mimicking their movements. Not as gracefully, to be certain, but still.

Oooh, excellent. It goes /zoom./ Ahem. Medes clips herself in, pausing to keep an eye on the engineering crew behind her and make sure they're all clipped in before she pushes off herself and goes zoom after the Centaurans.

<CONTEST> Poole (claiming advantage) contests her Command (Starship) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Fails!

Poole runs a quick diagnostic of the transporter system, looking over at Hrisvalar, "Make sure I have plenty of power available, Ensign."

<CONTEST> Hrisvalar (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems (Operations) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

"Five minutes elapsed," rumbles Ensign Hrisvalar over the comm, his voice resonating lowly into the pressure helms of each of the away team personnel. He watches them on telemetry, little green triangles on the schematic grid, glowing slowlight particles moving inexorably toward their destination. "Aye, sir," the looming Andorian replies to Poole's request, though he does not look up from the console - his resolve simply solidifies into a single, piercing point set against the wall of difficulty surrounding his goal. Adversity ruptures like a fish's spleen against the spear of his mind, and a current of power is directed away to further irrigate the hungry transporter coils.

Well. At least he ended up making himself look efficient.

The Centaurans rotate their feet towards their direction of velocity once they reach the half-way point, eerily synchronous. At about fifty yards they begin to release some of their gasjets to decellerate. The Engineer, in the lead, engages her magnetic boots against the wall before lowering herself to the ground. The Helmsman simply coasts to a stop and tugs her tether until she makes contact, resuming her footing. The real question is, are the Starfleeters that graceful?

<CONTEST> Medes contests her Personal Equipment (Environmental Suit) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Park contests his Personal Equipment skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

"Good work, Mr. Hrisvalar... I said that right, correct?" Poole asks of the Andorian, fingers splayed out over the tactical console. "How are they doing?"

Zoom. A graceful spin halfway, a slow release of her gasjets, and, when she finds herself still going too quickly as she approaches the end, Medes finishes off by firing said gasjets in the opposite direction, arresting her flight. Guess she went a little /too much/ zoom. Despite all of this, and despite being short (and thus needing more tether to reach the ground), she manages easily to tug on her tether and land gracefully, her boots clunking heavily as they attach themselves to the floor again. Ka-thunkthunk. She waits quietly for the Centauran to lead onward, deferring to the Helmsman for the moment. What, like she knows how to get there better than they do?

Ensign Hrisvalar looks up from his console to remark, "Power surplus secured for transporter systems, sir. At your disposal." This said he turns back to the telemetry display - the green icons marking his crewmates are his primary responsibility, after all. "Vitals are all at optimum, sir. They move very gracefully in zero gravity, our personnel. No doubt the Centaurans will give them points for style. They are navigating with a current time surplus of three minutes plus zero."

Park mimicks the movements, but certainly not the grace. A jerk here, a push off there and down the corridor he goes. He ends up looking like he's having some kind of eplileptic seizure on the way down, but does stop where he intended and doesn't manage to hurt himself along the way.

"Right," Aious comments as she works on the airlock controls for the next compartment, "Once we're through this airlock, we're exposed to space. According to what I've been told, at any rate. We'll have two-hundred yards of that, then the airlock to Engineering. If you're not used to this sort of thing, look straight ahead." The Centauran returns her focus to the doors, which begin opening with a violent hiss of air. The other Centauran begins panicking almost at once.

"It's open to! Tyra! Shut it! Shut it down! SHUT IT!" The Engineer begins madly pounding at the controls to the airlock, but it's too late. A violent suction begins tearing at the crew and Tyra Aious's boots begin sliding towards the airlock. She falls backwards, her boots give way, and she gets pulled along the floorplates until her suit gets caught on the door. Which is still opening, sliding her further and futher out into space. Panic sets into the young Engineer who reaches out towards the others, shrieking.

Aboard the Thomas Paine, warning lights begin flashing all over Hrisvalar's console.

Poole 's gaze snaps over to Hrisvalar, and she barks, "/Report/."

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Fitness skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

GAME: Park spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Park (claiming advantage) contests his Fitness skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

Park doesn't hesitate once he sees the woman go down. He knows he doesn't have the reach to get to her with the tether on, so he unsnaps it and slings the link toward Medes. "Thea!", he shouts out as he launces himself toward the Centauran.

Still tethered, Medes releases her feet from the floor and throws herself after Park. Fortunately, this is one of the times the Prophets are looking out for her, because certainly can't pay attention to do so for herself; her arms wrap around the Lieutenant's waist, and she fires her gasjets, the tether straining as she tries to pull all of them back inside.

Quickly do Ensign Hrisvalar's roughened fingers fly across the panels; a priority message is rumbled down the pipe to the transporter room, and the surplus power feed is double-checked even before the Lieutenant manages to bark her request. "I have decompression alarms on our personnel, sir," he replies smoothly before speaking into the comm. "Away team, report. What is your situation?"

Aious locks forearms with Park, the suction from the now exposed hold dragging her further and further down his arm until they're holding desperately to one another's hands. The rush of air into the vacuum plays a nice counterpoint to the Centauran's defiant scream as she wrenches her free arm around to add it to the hold. Her body bucks wildly as the door continues to rise and the chain of bodies waves about like a streamer in a gale. Kyreke bangs hard into Medes back, wrapping herself around the Away Team leader to add her own gasjets to the counterforce. During the flailing, the Centauran is repeatedly and violently smashed between the rising door and the jagged floor, and by the time the air finally evacuates and the crew are all held fast, lies unconscious on the ground, blood pooling slowly in the bowl of her suit's visor. Park wastes no time. "Two to beam directly to sickbay. Medical emergency."

GAME: Poole spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Poole (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Transporters) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

In a shimmer of glitter and a whine of energy, Park disappears along with the wounded Centauran.

"They're onboard now," Poole announces to no-one in particular after she works the controls. Glancing over in Hrisvalar's direction, she asks, "Time left? And what is their current status?"

She can't run her hand through her hair, but she can run her EVA-suited hand over the top of her helmet. Medes plants her feet back on the floor, sticking herself down again, and powers down her gasjets. A brief stream of epithets in Bajoran and Scots Gaelic are issued under her breath. Sometimes, just one language won't do. "All right. Have we got tethers in the next compartment?" She motions the helmsman forward to help her asses the situation. "Don't anybody even /think/ about untethering until I give the say-so. Good teamwork, all. That could've been a whole lot worse." This instruction and encouragement... sorta... are given to the engineering crew.

"I have a trauma team en route to the transporter room," says the Andorian before turning back to the comm. "Ensign Medes, we have transported Dr. Park and the Centauran to sickbay. Report status of you and your team; you have eighteen minutes remaining."

The next section of of the ship looks like a macabre statuary. Of the two hundred yards between the hatchways, a full seventy-five yards of the outer hull have burst out and torn away like the top of a key-opened sardine can. The blue-white light of the anomaly slowly drifts into view, uncomfortably close, casting ghostly hilights and revolting shadows of what remains of this section.

The cause of the explosion appears to be a ruptured Plasma Conduit midway down this section. Blackened and molten metal has been flash-frozen into place, looking for all the world like a hoary belly wound from old footage of a war on the Russian front.

The running line is, of course, destroyed. But attached to it are the bodies of four of the Hernes' crew. Or what remains of them. Nearest the explosion there is tethered only a waist and a pair of legs, the viscera trailing out, frozen solid with crystallized moisture. Near the door floats an explosively decompressed body, skull cracked open like an eggshell, tongue pushed out between its teeth, eyes missing from their sockets. Who knew blood could crystallize? The rest of the bodies look much the same, save for the severed arm spinning listfully away towards the Anomaly, still gripping a PADD.

"Prophets... " Medes' stomach turns, and she leans a hand against the doorframe. It takes a second for her to collect herself, and it's only by extreme force of will that she's able to keep her EVA suit from becoming a hostile environment in its own right. Once her stomach stops rebelling against her, she takes a deep breath and looks over her shoulder at the crew. "Just... keep your eyes on the crewman in front of you. Helmsman, I want you at my side. It's going to be slow going, we're going to have to keep our feet magnetized. I want everyone linked up. Tether to the person in front of you, do it now. Doublecheck your partner's tether. Let's move, we're running out of time."

"Ensign Medes, this is Operations. Please report your status." Not liking at all having to repeat himself, the Ensign's smooth and fluid voice takes on a harder note of urgency. "Is everything all right?"

Helmsman Keryke is not quite so fortunate as Medes'. This is, afterall, her crew she's looking at. She steadies herself on the bulkhead and tilts her head -backwards- as she loses her lunch, so that her visor doesn't cloud with the gunk. She spends a few precious moments gathering herself before straightening up and nodding her head in her suit. Silently she leads the way as far as she can, which is to the blow-out. At that point, there's a giant hole to be navigated in the floor plating. "Rope. Something. I'll lead. You can follow me across." Her voice is quiet and in a drone.

Gaze on Hrisvalar and ears perked and listening to the open com channel, Poole calls the Hernes' captain. "I'd like to begin moving as many of your crew as possible over to my ship. Any non-essential personnel..... ones you wouldn't need once we get your ship back on it's feet."

Barsil, still monitoring his ship's condition and the ever-nearing Anomaly, makes a choice that he's not happy with. He glances back to the screen and nods his silent assent. "Start with the children. They're all in the creche, Ship's Fore, Topside Compartment Two. Take all of my crew except for bridge crew, Engineering and Medical. I'm staying aboard." Barsil returns to his work on the bridge, leaving the 'no matter what' unsaid.

"Understood Captain... Poole out," Poole flicks the com down to security and makes sure there's a team down there to help bring the evacuating people onboard.

"Operations... We have... four dead crewmen... in a section of the ship that's been blown open to space. We're attempting to cross it now. Everyone here is... not injured." Medes won't say 'all right,' because, well, throwing up inside your EVA suit and speaking in a monotone do not constitute all right. Turning her head back to Engineer Expendable #9, the one with the emergency replicator, she orders, "Give me a hundred yards of cable with a heavy-duty magnetic anchor at the end. Attach it in the other room, and close the door behind us." Once that order's filled, she instructs, "Stay attached to one another. Helmsman Wulffson is going to go across first. We're crossing in groups of two thereafter. Make sure you double-check each other's tethers."

"Acknowledged, Ensign," replies Ensign Hrisvalar, and his voice drops back into its regular, near-subsonic calm. "Please be advised that we are evacuating all non-essential crew onto the ship - you have fifteen minutes remaining, so please be expedient. If you require anything from stores, ensure that we are informed. Operations out." He looks up from his console, then, to address Poole: 'The mission proceeds as planned, sir. A trauma team has already delivered Dr. Park and the Centauran to sickbay and I have another on standby should we need it. With your leave, I'll route refugees from the Centauran vessel to the cargo bay."

The Engineer promptly replicates up the requested cable, Very thin, but very strong. Once it's replicated, he fastens one end to the deckplates on this side and gives the other to the Centauran. She clips it to her belt and pushes off, guiding herself easily over the divide. She doesn't stop, either, until she reaches the hatch on the other side. Once there, she sets herself down gently and fastens the line to the wall beside the door, clipping her tether to the line. "I've got a green light on the seal. How are you back there?" The Engineer glances to Medes, "Secure, Sir. Ready when you are."

"Already done, Ensign... there's no place the teams at the docking arm /can/ take those people... We're a light escort. The cargo bay is about the only place with a lot of space," Poole responds with a gentle smile. "You're doing great so far... just keep an eye on Medes, if you would."

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Personal Equipment (Environmental Suit) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

"All right. Teams of two. Make it quick. We're running out of time." Medes clips herself to the line, doublechecks Expendable Ensign #6's tether to said line, and glides easily across, holding #6's arm as she crosses the blow-out. Her feet reattach to the metal with a thunkthunk, and she slides her tether as she walks toward the helmsman, getting herself out of the way.

Lieutenant Poole gets something of a dispassionate look from the Andorian, but he nods. Back to the telemetry panels, then, and his slowlight icons.

The divide is crossed efficiently by twos. By the time they're at the hatchway, the mission clock reads an alrming nine minutes remaining until they reach the no-fly zone. Children and then sharesmen begin filling the belly of the Thomas Paine, none of them excited by the prospect. (Except for the children, who make it a point to remind everyone that they're children. In cute but distracting and annoying ways. There are shortly Starfleet personnel chasing more than one child around the decks, in fact.)

The Helmsman nods aside to Medes and begins cycling the first door, stepping inside. The rest of the team follows along, and with a few punches of the controls, she begins to cycle the doors again. As air is pushed into the bulkhead, the Centauran eyes Medes appraisingly. "You know what you're doing, right?"

Poole nods, shifting between tactical duty and command duty again. She checks on the status of the evacuation.

"I do," replies Medes, noting aside, "But the controls are likely not to be the ones I'm used to, so I want you beside me. Once we lock down the plasma and eject the anti-matter, we won't have a lot of time to bring her impulse drives online," and her she turns her eyes to the rest of her little crew, then. "#8 and #3," who have names, honest, but her player can't think up anything interesting, "I want you immediately looking for the wounded and relaying their positions to Ops so that we can get them beamed into sickbay. None of us are the least bit qualified to judge how wounded someone is, so you send 'em if they're even bruised." Last thing she needs is someone hemhorraging on her unexpectedly 'cause some Ensign Expendable can't use a tricorder and figure out if someone's seriously injured or not.

At Operations, Ensign Hrisvalar oversees the efforts of Ensign Medes and her team; the Andorian has grown silent, bent over the console like a statue reared in the name of some bent-angle god. Just...waiting.

"Aye, Sir." Replies #8. "Understood." Replies #6. Efficiency is good. The doors to Enginering finally slide open, and judging from the smoke in the room it's not a good place to be at present. Emergency lights cast a dirty red glow across the interior of the hold, which itself has been shaken by several explosions from key terminals and structural collapses from the roof sending deckplates down at odd angles and the occasional beam down like a broken and jutting rib. There are survivors here, some even at their posts despite their wounds. The ones unable to move on their own have been eased off to the side, though one woman lies with her arm pinned beneath a gerter that's pushed straight through to the deck below. Despite the lack of gravity, she's held fast. She is, remarkably, issuing orders in her native tongue.

Keryke pushes into the room, drifting her way towards the impulse drive station. "About time you got here," the pinned woman complains, "though I didn't expect the company. Pardon me if I don't get up." Keryke cuts her off short, "Stowe it, Erisa. Medes, it's here. Right here. Hurry. The warp drive controls are..." Keryke glances at blasted and ruined terminal against the wall. "...going to need manual override."

GAME: Medes spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Systems Engineering (Engineering) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

"Away Team Medical to Mission Ops," the remaining Medical officer calls from his position over the pinned woman, "we've got six wounded here. Two of them are at their stations. But I've got two critical wounds here. Severe arm trauma. And another... looks like a skull fracture. We're getting pattern enhancers on the ones we're sending out. How do you find us?"

"Antimatter containment first." Moving slowly but surely toward another terminal, she hijacks it with a few button presses, figuratively hotwiring the thing like an old car, pressing it into service and sealing the antimatter containment. Maneuvering as quickly as she can thereafter toward the manual override, Medes studies it for a second. It is a series of old-fashioned, heavy switches and buttons -- not the most up-to-date tech, this. Good thing Thea likes antique machinery. Ahem. After that second's study, she nods, muttering to herself, "Right. I remember this. Just like Academy." This switch here, and then that one, and this button, and another switch, and then the satisfying whine of a warp drive slowly losing power. "Ops, the warp drive is powering down. Plasma sealed." Biiiig silver lever. Kaaaaaaa-CHUNK. "Antimatter contained and ejected. Time check, Ops? We've still got to get her impulse drives up and running. Captain, are you standing by to take control of this thing once I've got her drives back online?"

"Acknowledged, Away Team," comes Ensign Hrisvalar's reply. "I am reading the signals clearly. Prepare for immediate transport." Quickly the ever-efficient Andorian locks down each signal, translates them into matter patterns, and pipes them through to tactical attached to a schematic overlay. "We have the wounded ready for transport, sir," he calls to Poole. Then, back to Medes: "Just under ten minutes, Ensign. You're making excellent time."

Park exits the turbolift onto the bridge and reports to Poole, "Patient is stable, sir. Request permission to beam back to the freighter to assist with the wounded."

<CONTEST> Hrisvalar (claiming advantage) contests his Shipboard Systems skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

Quietly, the feed from the Away Team is patched with that from the bridge of the Hernes - another of Hrisvalar's many comms services. Hooray for him.

There is no response from Captain Barsil at first. Either he's busy, or there's simply no signal to the bridge from here. Which would make sense, given the condition of things. Finally, with the patch through from the Thomas Paine, Barsil replies, "Negative. We've lost helm up here. My crew are on it, but we've got more work than time." Keryke speaks up from the drive terminal, however. "That's why Barsil sent me. If you can get her engines running, I can get them into full reverse. I think." She steps away from the terminal to make room for Das Wunder Medes. "Make this work. Please." The woman is obviously frantic, but hiding it well. The other Engineers begin stabilizing other systems. One of them even manages to get primary power back on-line. Life support to this section, however, remains minimal.

The Medical Officer calls back again, "Mission Ops, we need to get these people out of here. I'm reading toxic levels of gasses and ... some ugly radiation. We'll be okay for the short term, but these people have been exposed for nearly a half hour."

"From the types of injuries, I'm assuming they'll need attention in our medical bay, Aaron... Your staff is ready, I hope," Poole says, then flicks a glance and a nod to Hrisvalar. Over the channel, she addresses the medical officer. "I'm beginning beam out now... starting with the most badly injured."

Park nods and turns toward the lift. "Aye, sir."

<CONTEST> Poole (claiming advantage) contests her Shipboard Systems (Transporters) skill vs a difficulty of Routine and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Medes (claiming advantage) contests her Systems Engineering (Engineering) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

One at a time, bodies begin to disappear from the Engineering Section. Starting with the pinned woman, then the unconscious man at her side. Then, slowly but surely, even the working wounded due to the radiation exposure. Finally, the Medical Officer disappears, leaving only Medes and her pair of Engineers and the lone Centauran shaking in her EVA suit.

"If you can't, we'll do it together," Medes assures Keryke, her fingers -- though made more stubby by their EVA suit gloves -- flying efficiently over the hijacked terminal. She's an Engineer completely in her element, and her mouth works silent words. 'Let me be more useful. Let me be more useful. I asked to be more useful.' Another series of satisfying whines, these from the impulse drives as they come back online, and the Littlest Engineer takes a step back from the terminal. This really redefines 'be careful what you ask the Prophets for.' Her mouth silently forms a 'Thank you,' before she gestures to Keryke. "Fire her up, Helmsman." She is, however, close enough to help out should the Centauran's nerves get in the way.

Das WunderMedes indeed. Ensign Hrisvalar oversees it all, flicking eyes from telemetry to biostatus to the incoming scroll of tricorder readings. Indeed, the clock is on the side of the engineer and her team - and entirely to the credit of her talent. The Andorian is impressed, however masked the sentiment is by his outwardly placid exterior.

Poole finishes up with her beamouts and asks over the com system, "Are we ready, Medes?..." Before she gets the answer she begins handing out orders again, looking to the helmsman, "Make sure everyone is out of the docking arm and then disengage... pull us slowly away and out of the Hernes' way." --direct to Medes--

Keryke Wulffson steps in front of the controls and waits for the word from the Thomas Paine that they're clear enough for the Hernes to begin to Maneuver. She punches a few controls and the yaw of the ship evens out. A few more and its alignment becomes straightened enough for a full reverse burn. "Hold on, everyone." She punches a few more controls until the red lights read green and then grabs an old fashioned control handle with a trigger lock. She pulls the trigger, murmurs a quick wish for Fortune, and tugs back on the handle with a series of ratcheting clicks.

From the Thomas Paine, the guidance thrusters of the enormous freighter begin to burn first yellow and the blue. Loose debris drifting along with the craft begins to slowly outpace the ship towards the Anomaly. The distance meter continues to click backwards, but at slower increments.

12,500km...

11,000km...

10,500km...

Finally, the ships drift is arrested at 10,123km from the Anomaly, even as pieces of her aft section break away and continue on in essentially harmless amounts. Just the same, the fireworks from the Anomaly pay a fitting celebration to the efforts of the unlikely crew.

Medes braces herself against the bulkhead and gives the good word to Poole in time for the Paine to get clear. "We're ready, Lieutenant." She watches the distance meter in silence, chewing on her lip between whispered prayers. Please. Please. Please. Yes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. "Good work, Helmsman. Keep it up."

"I have their signals," reports Ensign Hrisvalar from his console. "We are ready to transport the away team when it is time." Good work, indeed.

Poole breathes out, and says loudly over the com, Brit-accent coming out, "That did it! You did it. /Nice/ /job/ everyone." She looks to Hrisvalar and nods, smiling brightly at him, "Excellent." Opening a frequency down to medical, she asks, sobering her voice a bit, "Aaron... how are our guests doing?..."

GAME: Park spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Park (claiming advantage) contests his Medical Sciences (Sugery) skill vs a difficulty of Challenging and Succeeds!

"Ops, do /not/ transport until we're certain that the Hernes is clear. I'll give the word. We're not ready to come back yet." Medes keeps her hand on the bulkhead, watching the helmsman do her work. "Excellent. Excellent. Thank you, Kerykes. You're a credit to your captain and your ship. We couldn't have done this without you."

"Acknowledged, Ensign Medes," comes the Andorian's smooth rumble, and is content to wait.

Park comes on the comm. "Everyone's doing well, Gwen. I manages to save Ms. Arnan's arm and the crewman with the head trauma is out of his coma.", he reports.

Poole blinks a few times, and prompts over the com, "Ms... Arnan?... You said, Arnan?"

"Erisa Arnan.", Park says. "Unless I'm developing a hearing problem that I wasn't aware of."

"The Centauran we beamed aboard during the initial depressurization incident, sir," reminds Ensign Hrisvalar from his station.

"No... Sorry... relation to Isole Arnan, the Dream Factory's owner?" Poole asks, nodding over to Hrisvalar.

Barsil returns to the screen, agape with disbelief. "Skipper...? We're... Thomas Paine, this is the Hernes. We're getting our helm control back online. We'll clear back to 50,000 kilometers and stall there for our repairs. I do not suggest pulling us to port for this one. With your permission, I'll have those receiving cargo come aboard once life support and atmosphere is restored and we'll unload that way. Via shuttle." Noting the conversation aboard, the Centauran grows silent for a moment, eyes shifting back and forth. He stays out of it. "Skipper? That right by you?"

Down in Engineering, the crew restore life support to the hold and the gasses evacuate. Kerykes continues guiding the ship back away from the Anomaly, plotting in a course and distance and then turning about to slide down the wall to curl her hands over the back of her helmet and quietly but decisively break down.

Park can't be heard for a moment and then comes back onto the comm. "According to her, Isole is her daughter.", he says.

And, once again, Medes tries to run a hand through her hair, but runs her hand over the back of her helmet, instead. "Keryke... " she starts, and ends up crouching next to the Centauran. "Do you want to get back up front before we go? I think it'd probably be safer if we beamed you back up there... " Like /hell/ she's leaving this woman back here crying by herself with a gulf between herself and the rest of her crew.

"Acknowledged, Doctor, thanks..." Turning her attention to the Captain of the Hernes, Poole nods and says, "That is acceptable. I'll have my operations officer double check and verify with operations on four one nine and they'll contact anyone receiving cargo. As well, they'll no doubt be happy to lend an engineering team or two to help you in your repairs." Working her fingers on her console afterwards, she types out a quick message and sends it, communicating with the station.

Not to mention FOUR DEAD BODIES.

That indeed gets a slight reaction from Ensign Hrisvalar, who arches a snowy brow at the revelation of the wounded Centauran's identity. Small galaxy after all.

Barsil lets out a sigh, leaning heavily onto his command console. "Thanks, Starfleet. All of you. Thank you. Permission to evacuate the last of my crew and abandon ship. If you can put us up on your Station for the time being, we'd be in your debt. My communications are down and I need to notify the Consortium. A common hold will suit us just fine. Do that, and the drinks are on us."

Down in Engineering, the Centauran nods her head slowly in agreement, though she doesn't move from the floor at first. She pulls herself back up with Medes' help and stares at the ruin of the Hernes' Engineering Hold. "Take me back to your ship."

"Pleased to have been of service to you, Captain... stand by for beam out," Poole answers the captain, looking to the helm officer, "Bring us alongside the Hernes... slow from quarter impulse, manuevering thrusters only." And then she stands, letting the Expendable Tactical Officer have her seat back. "Begin beaming out the remainder of the crew. It's a short trip, I think we can make it to the station a bit heavy."

Bracing the other Engineer with an arm around her waist, Medes says, "Ops, I have three Engineers and a Helmsman here. Three Starfleet and the aforementioned Kerykes Wulffson. Lock on and bring us aboard at the earliest possibility." She doesn't bother with asking permission for the familiarity. It's more important that the Centauran no longer fall over.

Once they're back aboard, and Keryke has been turned over to Medical for a look-over, Medes steps away from the other Engineers, opens her EVA suit's faceplate...

... and is very suddenly sick all over the deck. Twice. Apparently sometimes the fresh air just doesn't do you good. Time to go home now, please.

Well. Though not sure why he was at all assigned to the Operations seat this sortie, it would appear that Ensign Hrisvalar has had no difficulty keeping things clearly in rhythm. As the situation finally begins to wind itself out he muses on the situation - indeed, an unexpected surprise his success this mission has been.

"Acknowledged, Ensign. Cordinating now; prepare for transport." Pursing his lips as the last of his charges are prepared for transport back to the Thomas Paine, he ponders the new horizon that has suddenly come to stretch before him.

Park signs off the comm and moves back into Sickbay. Tossing off the surgical gown and hat, he glances at the bio-signs of all his patients with a satisfied smile. "Not bad for a day's work.", Aaron comments under his breath as he moves into the office to file the paperwork on the day's events.

Conclusion: The Thomas Paine gently pulls away from the stationary and darkened husk of the CTC Hernes, the pulse of her impulse drives casting shadows and hilights over the broken freighter than the Anomaly only deepens. As the ship executes a lazy turn around the Anomaly and pushes on to the distant fortress of Station 419, the last of the debris escaping the wreck continues on towards the anomaly.

A severed and frozen arm bearing a single golden band and holding a PADD that's still active. The display is a personal log showing Keryke Wulffson standing beside a nervous Terran. "So we're off now... my wife, here, assures me all will go well once we arrive. Only time will tell."

And as the debris disappears into the Anomaly, those words ring deadly true.

-- Cut --