....something was happening, all according to plan...
my eyes opened, silvery green stared out..... my head turned looking at the door of the Ticonderoga's battle bridge still sealed tight. i turned to face down the hall towards the new life signs 75 meters bearing 54 mark 98 ... all is according to plan...
the face of the down federation officer still a pale green began to pulse as nanites repaired the damage. the damage was caused by a bio-neural shock that was delivered earlier by the device attached to my arm and hand.
alcove after alcove Drones began to awake at the presence of Admiral P'Rett's boarding party, a small army now stood in front of the battle bridges door
No sooner had he signaled Shackelford than Two and Bitoer both vocalized they had indications of Borg activity - where there had previously been none.
Uttering a spacefarer's oath, Bor'annus asked, "Is there any way around them? Jeffries tubes, parallel corridors?"
"None, sir," replied Two in her usual cool, efficient tone.
"Sword, this is Shield, we've got a lot of Borg activity between us and the bridge. We'll try and draw them off - you get in there." He managed a tight grin. "That's an order, by the way."
Glancing to the officers on his left and right, he motioned them forward with a slight head motion. In a wary combat stance, they advanced towards the lethal cyborgs.
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Shackelford studied the screen while seemingly ignoring it at the same time. Data was imposed over a live view of the ship's 'eye's,' a forward facing arc that showed the nebula wall fast approaching.
Amidst the data stream, a tight beam communication from Admiral P'rett caught his attention. Back up was on the way. Captain Shackelford welcomed the idea that he and his crew weren't going to face this alone.
"Receiving a report from the Walking Dead, sir," his First Officer spoke without looking up from her sensor display.
As his mind assimilated this new information, a bloom of light appeared in the distance, rapidly growing into an expansive ball of energy - right where the Borg shipyard was located. Shackelford turned and looked at his First Officer, who was staring directly back at him. She simply raised a single eyebrow in that all too vulcan fashion, indicating surprise without acknowledging emotion.
"They've managed to hit the shipyard. The shock wave from that blast will hit us in ... 32.1 seconds."
Shackelford hit a button on his armrest panel, opening a shipwide comm channel. "All decks brace for impact."
There was no visual indication on the screens that the Forge had broken through the plane of the nebula, but she slipped into the gas cloud moments before the dissipated shock wave rumbled across the hull. Lights on the battle bridge momentarily blinked out, but came back to life seconds later.
Minutes passed as the ship made it's run straight for the Tico. Travelling in a straight course for the objective was risky, but time was of the essence. Every second meant saving lives of his Fleetmates embroiled in combat on the primary battle line. As soon as the Admiral was located, the Fleet could disengage.
Shackelford rose from his chair. "Number One, the deck is yours." He made his way to the tactical transporter rooms, suiting up alongside several other officers as soon as he arrived. The transporter chief worked furiously over his console, trying to determine the safest place to put the team, while still being within relative striking distance of the Tico's bridge. Scans, simulations, and his First Officers analysis had indicated this was the most likely place any non-Borg survivors would be holed up.
"Captain, this is Commander Karma. We've got the Phalanx on scan, looks like she arrived just ahead of us."
Shackelford toggled his communicator. "Thank you, Number One."
Shackelfords helmet then rang with a communication from Admiral P'rett. "Sword, this is Shield, we've got a lot of Borg activity between us and the bridge. We'll try and draw them off - you get in there. That's an order, by the way."
Shackelford couldn't help but manage a sideways grin. "Orders my ass," he mumbled under his breath. He stepped off the pad, motioning to the transporter chief to step aside. Taking command of the console, he began issuing new orders to his teams...
in a unified echo all the borg between Admiral P'Rett said with out emotion " we are the borg your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own, resistance is futile."
'Skye of borg' and the 25 or so tactical borg advanced on P'Rett's team
As p'Rett and his officers advanced slowly towards the activated Borg, they heard the eerie, disembodied Borg "voice" ring out around them.
"We are the Borg. Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own, resistance is futile."
Taking aim at a lead figure, he placed a concentrated phaser bolt right through its cranium.
"I am beyond tired of hearing that."
His officers joined him in placing carefully aimed shots amongst the spray of weapons fire. Borg dropped, they re-modulated their weapons as needed, and they drained their power packs. Two made sure their personal shields stayed replenished, and called in portable shield generators and phaser turrets as quickly and often as needed. Bitoer was impressive in splitting her attention between placing shots of her own, scanning for weak spots with her tricorder and treating any wounds they received.
The tide of battle ebbed and flowed, and even with all of his close quarters combat training and experience, coupled with his Andorian physique, he felt fatigue creeping in.
"Cover Shield, Two!"
Even as she set up the field cover shield apparatus, Two responded, "You do know this won't last very long, even with their reduced numbers."
"Quite aware; we just need a breather." His breathing was a bit harder than he'd rather admit to; pride wasn't considered a personality flaw to most Andorians.
"Sword, this is Shield, sitrep?"
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No sooner had the words left Admiral P'rett's mouth when he saw several transporter signatures appear in the middle of the borg formation. In their wake, a half a dozen small devices lay quietly on the floor of the hallway. As he stared blankly at them, they suddenly lit up in a bright blue flash, jumping a couple of meters off the floor - and then, apparently did nothing. The results of the nothing they seemed to have done, however, was rather impressive. The power to the entire section of the ship died, plunging the hallway into complete darkness. He caught a brief glimpse of the remaining Borg collapsing to the ground just before the lights - and the power to his suit - died.
*******
"Sword to Anvil. Give me some good news."
Commander M'ril's voice boomed over Shackelford's headset to the point where he had to turn down the volume. M'rils voice was calm, otherwise. "We have been unsuccessful in bypassing the lockouts to the battle bridge. We're a deck directly above it now, and the cutting team is making progress, but it's slow going."
"Keep at it."
Shackelford shuffled through the mass of collapsed Borg, his flashlight piercing through the darkness as he and the rest of his unit delivered killing blows to the injured drones during their search for P'rett's team. He knew they didn't have much time to find them. Raising his head, he could make out the vague colorings of Starfleet armor on a figure further down the hallway.
"There. 20 meters up. Double time it," he directed his squad.
As he took another step forward, a drone grasped his ankle. He whipped his rifle about, pointing it directly at the drone's face. It was only when he heard the word "Shackelford" that he eased off the trigger. He knelt down, peering at the drone, swinging his light over to reveal .. Captain Runaz.
"Bloody Hell."
He reached into his kit and grabbed a hypo, shoving into Runaz's neck. "Sword to Forge, I need one to beam over, directly to a secure med station in sick bay." His communique was rewarded as Runaz's now unconscious body slipped away with the hum of a transporter beam.
Turning his attention back to his team, he could see them hovering over P'rett's team, ripping modules out of their armor and replacing them with new ones his squad had brought along with them. A few of P'rett's men were starting to stand, life breathing back into their suits.
He rose and strode towards one that looked most familiar. As he approached, the figure turned, revealing itself to be P'rett. "You bastard," P'rett said.
"Don't you mean, Shield to Sword - you bastard?" Shackelford grinned, reaching behind his back and unclipping an extra slung rifle. He handed it to P'rett. "Figured you'd want this, seeing as how the one you brought doesn't work."
"No thanks to you. You know, my suit and weapon were fine until you decided to help me out."
"Well, at least I planned ahead," Shackelford replied. He gestured in a sweeping motion to the other end of the hall. "Shall we?"
as i grabbed onto Shackelford's leg the only thought in my mind was the hope that he would end my nightmare and put a shot in my head, quick clean and efficient. but he didn't instead i found myself dreaming i almost forgot what it was like.
Captain Shackelford woke with a start at the beeping coming from the door to his ready room. Once again, he had that strange sensation of things not quite being right, and it took him a few seconds to realize things weren't right because he wasn't on the Valley Forge.
"Enter!" he begrudgingly barked at the door.
The panel slid open, revealing Admiral P'Rett. He stepped inside, looking up from his data pad and doing a double take, followed by a quick smirk.
"Were you... sleeping at your desk?"
"How dare you, Admiral. Of course not."
"Because the left half of your face is covered in abnormal wrinkles. And it's bright red. And, there's a slight imprint of your uniform collar," P'Rett stated.
"Well, both halves of your face are... stupendous models of aqualine grace and nobility, sir," Shackelford retorted.
Admiral P'Rett shrugged off the obviously sarcastic remark as a true compliment. "Thank you, Captain. I thought you would like to know that the Fleet Admiral has made some changes to the duty roster." He handed Shackelford the datapad.
*******
"Shield to Phalanx. Send over the package."
The darkened hallway was lit brightly for a split second as a transporter beam appeared. In its wake, an oddly door shaped device was left halfway in the near bulkhead.
Shackelford looked at P'Rett in utter confusion. "That's the package?"
"That's half of it. Watch and learn, Captain."
P'Rett motioned one of his science officers over. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a sleek, crystalline box, setting it on the floor. Entering a security code on a keypad, the top half of the box began to slide open, revealing an eerie blue glow.
"I've had some of the best science officers in the Fleet working on this since we got clearance to search for the Ticonderoga. Just getting authorization to remove this artifact from the Fleet archives was a bureaucratic nightmare."
He heard Shackelford whistle in amazement as the lid completely opened, revealing an Ophidian Cane.
"I didn't think we would be able to cut through using normal techniques. The Ticonderoga's bridge is incredibly secure. If anyone was still alive, I knew this is where they would be - and if the Borg were having trouble getting in, we would too."
Reaching in and gently taking the cane from its case, he fit it snugly into a slot on the door shaped portal he had had the Phalanx beam into the bulkhead.
He turned to face Shackelford. "The doorway we've created utilizes some of the cane's phase variance and inherent energy conversion to, well ... do this."
He activated the cane, and the entire hallway was filled with same blue glow the cane gave off. The bulkhead matter in the portal itself was still there, translucent blue, shimmering, allowing P'rett and Shackelford to actually see onto the embattled bridge of the Tico. They could make out some humanoid shapes huddling behind various consoles in the dim red emergency lights of the bridge.
P'Rett stepped through the portal, onto the bridge of the Ticonderoga.
********
Shackelford looked at the data pad, looked at P'rett, and looked back at the datapad.
"Why do you hate me," he said.
P'Rett stifled a laugh. "I've been asked to spend some time at the Academy analyzing the recent attacks, going over the battle data and combat reports with a fine tooth comb. I won't have time to administer the Fleet Staff."
Shackelford turned his attention back to the datapad. "I see Captain Runaz is recovering from his liberation. The rest of the Fleet ships are in rough shape, though." He thumbed through a few more reports showing the repair state of various vessels. "Good lord. Captain Huckabee goes through starships like a teenage girl goes through boyfriends."
"I'll leave you to it then, Admiral," P'Rett said.
Shackelford barely noticed P'Rett leaving as he buried himself in a sea of Fleet status reports.
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