On the Run

Posted on Sat Feb 4th, 2017 @ 11:47pm by
Edited on on Sat Feb 4th, 2017 @ 11:48pm

Mission: Another Day in Paradise
Location: USS Hopper & Arctic
Timeline: After attack

ON:

=====Bridge - USS Hopper=====

The Colonel's fighter exploded in a ball of fire and everyone on the Bridge of the Hopper gasped. On the Communications Console, Ensign Foster made some adjustments to her signals then sighed with relief. "The Zumwalt has him," she announced and the bridge echoed with cheers.

"OK...OK. We're not out of this yet," Cara called out. "Palmer....find us a destination. Engineering....repair our aft shields. Medical....wait....I'm medical. Damn," she muttered, realizing she had no idea who was in charge of the Hopper's sickbay. She tapped the comlink in the arm of the Command Chair and said, "Nichols to Sickbay. Someone down there activate the EMH and start treating the injured. I want a full report as soon as possible." She rubbed the back of her neck...the muscles stiff from tension...and looked at the main viewer. "Chief....what's that smaller ship weaving through the debris?"

Taggert did some quick computing and said, "the signature is that of the USS Arctic. It's a transport ship. They only have 3 phaser banks."

"Hail them," Cara said.

===== Bridge USS Arctic =====

Bran did his best to keep from looking at the forward viewscreen. Never before in his life had his stomach and inner ear partnered together to fervently demand temples built to whatever celestial geniuses that created the inertial dampener fields on starships. He’d seen enough of Lee’s exotically crazy ‘flying’ to know that if not for the ID fields, he’d be dizzy and puking for years to come. How the young pilot could not only watch what he was doing with the ship in order to keep them from the fire from the Borg ships, crashing at full tilt into the ever expanding debris field surrounding the ongoing battle site.

He was sure that the barrel rolls as they climbed up the face plane of a Borg cube were just unnecessary and done only to show off Lee’s familiarity with the Arctic.

“Transporters active,” Bran said as he gripped the sides of the tactical station – again, a huge part of his combined symbiotic brain system dedicate to the idea of spontaneously evolving working and fully functional foot hooks that could dig into the deck and make sure he didn’t go flying around the bridge. Meetok, the puppy in the harness, was blithely oblivious to the danger to stability and sanity as he tried his best to get around the forward facing harness and sink his little needle teeth into whatever came into reach. “Seven escape pods grabbed,” Bran said. “Crews are working to empty them now.”

“Good work,” Hannah said in general as he sat in the captain’s chair, the safety harness fully engaged. He looked as green and ready to vomit as Bran felt.

“We’ve found another group on the other side of this cube,” Lee said, only barely glancing at his display to give out the coordinates.

“Got them,” King said from a backup station now turned into a tactical station with full transporter controls. “Estimate ten seconds until –“

Whatever he was going to say at a sudden and sourceless whine and green energy field. Before the Borg even had time to materialize on the ship, Bran was already ready. The rifle held to his shoulder as he quickly gained sight alignment. Several low ‘thwips’ sounded and the two Borg that materialized on the bridge dropped just as quickly – several of their implants sparking and what remained of skulls – or head casings – splattering the wall behind them.

Bran dropped the rifle on its sling, automatically adjusting it so Meetok wouldn’t have anything to chew on. He was fielding reports from across the ship about the newest Borg attempt to infiltrate the Arctic and begin assimilating the crew. Bran wondered how the Borg were coping with the idea that they were unable to adjust their drone’s energy shields to counter the kinetic weapons.

The ship rocked in a way that suggested it wasn’t caused by Lee’s psychotic piloting skills. “Power loss to the tractor beam, but it’s regenerating. Four of the escape pods are gone, leaving a hole in our aft starboard engine. Transporting replacements…” Bran waited until the four escape pods that they beamed aboard were emptied of the people inside, saving space in the cargo bays and allowing them to pick up more people in danger. “…now.”

“How’s our makeshift shield holding out?” Hannah asked, looking over his shoulder to Bran.

“Steady for the moment, but it’s not going to be able to protect us for long. We need to find a clear disengagement or a spot for all these people.” The Arctic was quickly becoming jammed with rescued Federation personnel and others that were trying to escape from the Borg. Nearly a hundred and sixty-seven people currently not turned into Borg. “So far no…hold on, incoming hail from the Hopper.”

“We don’t have time for chit chat,” Hannah stated, “we need to concentrate all our efforts on saving lives and getting out of here before we’re blown out of space or assimilated.”

“Captain,” Bran said, frowning. “We have no shields left, power is maxing out and we're about to lose our third phaser bank. We're nearly overcrowded as it is and will need the cargo space for people, not transporting in more escape pods. We need to get some of these people off the ship if we're going to continue.”

The sigh was barely audible as Hannah stood and quickly fixed his uniform. “Put it through, Mister Bran.”

“On main viewer,” Bran said as he opened the channel.

===== Bridge - USS Hopper =====

"USS Arctic....this is Doctor Nichols," Cara said, "of the USS Hopper. How many souls do you have?" she asked.

Taggert had already contacted the Hopper's transporter operator to prepare to beam more survivors into the cargo bay.

"Captain," Hannah said, "I'm Lieutenant junior grade Hannah of the Arctic. We've got three hundred and thirty seven currently on board, but in about ten seconds will be adding another twenty six to that count."

Cara looked back at Taggert and quirked an eyebrow.

Taggert nodded and said, softly, "we have room."

"Lt. Hannah," Cara said, turning back to the main viewer. "Do you have injured?"

"That we do, Captain. We've done what we can with our limited resources but if we can get a load off so we can..." Hannah paused as the Arctic shook violently.

"Direct hit to aft starboard. They penetrated the makeshift armor. Structural fields are holding but we've lost the aft cargo transporter and twenty six percent of power output until Engineering can lock down the matter flow," Bran said as he returned fire to the Borg ship, attempting to disable the weapons port that just struck them. "We managed to get the new survivors onboard and I'm going to attempt to replace the armor shield."

"Adjusting flight pattern," Lee said from the helm, "got a little too far away from the side of the Cube, won't let that happen again."

Hannah nodded at the reports, "If we could get these people off the ship while we still can, that'd be appreciated and will allow us to try to rescue others since we're getting a might full over here." He hoped Lieutenant Nichols had the capability to take at least some of them. He always knew, from the moment the Gate shut behind them, this was a suicide run.

"Prepare for transport," Cara said and pointed to Taggert who, immediately, sent the order to the two transporter rooms. "Medical to Auxiliary Cargo Bay," Cara ordered over the comlink on the arm of her chair. Within seconds the Auxiliary Cargo Bay was filled with the Arctic crew.

"Transport complete," Taggert reported.

"Helm...get us out of here," Cara ordered. Tapping the comlink again she said, "Nichols to ACB...send Lt. Hannah to the Bridge."

===== Auxiliary Cargo Bay - USS Hopper =====

The surprise to Bran was that, as he was preparing to fire another volley of phaser fire the tactical station at which he was standing was suddenly gone. As was the bridge of the Arctic. He found himself packed into a crowded cargo bay, his hands still in position as if the tactical station were still beneath them. Even Meetok seemed startled and surprised by the sudden shift of location, as evidenced by the pained yelp he gave followed by the low whining and squirming to be free of his harness. "Damn it," Bran muttered to himself before turning.

"Jetzi!" he called, seeing the tall, muscular Betazoid that was the nominal second in command of his team. Aide turned to him, dark eyes finding him and a slight head shake at seeing the puppy harness combined with the rifle slung over Bran's chest. "Steinman and Warren are on corpsman duty, see what additional supplies they can get from wherever we are. You're on patrol duty for this ship, make sure no Borg have a chance to assimilate any of the crew, or continue functioning. Chorsokov's team needs to begin sorting and catalogueing who's here - we need to make a report of survivors to Starfleet!"

"Aye!" Jetzi said as Bran was already turning to find Hannah.

"Captain, what the hell?" Bran asked, his hands resting on the rifle, finding some form of comfort in that simple action.

"I'm not captain anymore," Hannah startd before the commbadge chirped. "Nichols to ACB...send Lt. Hannah to the Bridge."

"Acknowledged," Hannah replied then turned until he found the cargo bay door. As he walked, he found himself shadowed by the large Trill security warrant.

"I'm not sure they-"

"We're in a hostile engagement with an overwhelming enemy that is able to transport through shields and assimilates others into itself. I'm not taking chances the captain of the ship that saved our hides is going to get repaid by surviving the rest of his existence stating "resistance is futile"," Bran said. "And if Nichols doesn't like it, she can space me."

Hannah merely nodded his head, not sure it was going to be that simple but saying little more. He couldn't. His billet was gone now, their ship most likely already destroyed, Bran wasn't in his chain and all he had to fall back on was his simple rank and - well - he didn't think that was going to matter much at this time either. "Computer, directions to the bridge." The commpanels lit up with arrows giving directions.

It only took a few minutes for the turbolift transporting the two to get to the bridge. But those minutes were fraught with not knowing what was going on - other than at any moment the borg vessels could overpower this ship and destroy it as well. But the doors opened and Hannah strode out, somehow having his own bodyguard emboldening him as he entered.

"Lieutenant junior grade Hannah reporting as ordered," he said as he came around to face Nichols. Bran stayed behind, just paces away from the door and taking up a position that gave him a clear sight line to everything on the bridge, his hands still on the rifle in low ready.

Ensign Palmer cleared his throat to interrupt then said, "Excuse me ma'am. We have a problem. We are locked out of navigation."

Cara looked around Hannah at Palmer and said, "We're what?"

Not trusting the rookie ensign, Rafferty checked for himself. Frowning he said, "Tactical, too. The systems are under Sanctuary Protocol."

"Sanctuary what?" Cara asked trying to remember having learned that but, if she had, that brain cell had rewritten the memory a long time ago. Dammit, she thought to herself. I'm a doctor. Not a captain. I belong in Sickbay not in this damn chair.

"If I may, Lieutenant?" Bran said from his position. "I am not familiar with navigational reasons, but there are very few reasons why a tactical or security system would be locked out. All of them initiated by shipboard security. If this ship's chief security officer is unable to get into the systems and override the lockout, then it could only come from Starfleet Command. Such as if the ship is known to have mutinied or acted in offenses that could be considered capital crimes. Absent such actions, then the lockout must still come from Starfleet Command. Do we have a reading on the heading and do we have a complete lockout? Meaning, have we lost access to shields and weapons?" Bran shifted as he spoke, trying to make himself more comfortable as he scanned the bridge, wondering - were they just saved by a bunch of criminals or was Starfleet hijacking their own ships for their own purposes and why would that be?

Chief Gunner's Mate Taggart spoke up. "Excuse me, sir...the Hopper is usually a Marine ship and has been out of service for several months and personnel reassigned. It was thrown back into service during the evacuation and not all of the original personnel are here. Myself, Lance Corporal Kellerman on Communications and our Marine pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Scott, are the only original crew members. Once evacuations started Ensign Palmer," he pointed to the ensign, "assumed command until the Doctor arrived and, since she is the ranking officer..." he left the thought unfinished as it was obvious where he was going with it. "According to my console the only systems locked out are Nav and Tactical. Sanctuary Protocol means that they cannot be unlocked to reveal our destination without the proper security codes."

Cara stood up and turned to face the two men. "I would assume that Colonel Mitchell has those codes," she said, turning to look at the rest of the Bridge crew. "Unless he gave them to one of you...I suggest we follow the Zumwalt since that is now SB900's flagship and pray he knows where we're going." She turned back to Taggert. "We already know we have weapons and shields, so do your best to keep an eye on our friends out there." She looked at Bran. "Security or Engineering?" she asked, taking in his gold shirt.

Bran's thoughts that he might be home being on a Marine ship were soon dissipated by the speaking of the nominal captain. But the revelation they had weapons and shields told him it wasn't a criminal lockout in order to retake the ship under proper authority. It meant that the ship was destined to be sent somewhere else. Then she dared to mock that he might be engineering? He squinted his eyes at such a question, considering his ease with weapons and natural ability to take charge of a situation. He wasn't a damned 'squint' - except, as a doctoral candidate, he guessed, in a way, he was. "Security, Captain," he said, "Chief Warrant Curither Bran, destined to be security chief on a ship deployed to the Delta Quadrant."

"Give Gunny a hand and organize what security we have. I don't want our two overcrowded cargo bays to get out of control. People tend to get rowdy when they are in these kind of condition. Feel free to assign quarters to whomever you can," Cara said, nodding to Taggert. She turned back to Hannah then motioned to Palmer. "Ensign Palmer....you are no longer first officer. I want you on the Ops console. Lt. Hannah...have a seat," she said, pointing to the first officer's chair. "Welcome aboard the Hopper. It looks like this will be home for awhile."

"Okay, Gunny, you're with me, I guess. Computer, who is the ranking security officer on this ship?" Bran asked as he turned back to the turbolift.

After a moment's pause the computer chimed and the matrician's voice came back: "The senior rank in security aboard the Hopper is Lieutenant McDowell."

Bran nodded as he took a deep breath. It was time to get some semblance of normalcy going again. "Where is McDowell located?" he asked, preparing to go report in and find out what McDowell was already ordering so Bran didn't get too much into the Lieutenant's way.

"Lieutenant McDowell is currently in Medical."

"That's where we'll be heading then," Bran said to the Chief Gunner's Mate, a man whose name he'd already forgotten. "I've got sixteen in my group, another three, presuming they were all beamed aboard from the Arctic. How many were aboard before our arrival?" He turned around the turbolift, ordering it back to Medical and presuming the chief gunner's mate followed along with him.

Meanwhile, Hannah was taking the seat Nichols indicated. "Status report," he ordered from the bridge. And taking a cue from Bran, "have all departments report an established CoC." Then, taking a breath, he asked the question he dreaded asking. "What's the status of the Arctic?"

"Aft view," Cara ordered and the horrific site of Borg tractoring SB900 escape pods into the cubes filled the main viewing screen. As if on cue, the Arctic sustained a blast from one of the spheres and exploded into a brilliant light show that once it dissipated left only debris in its wake.

Cara placed her hand on Hannah's arm, consolingly and said, softly, "I'm sorry."

Hannah was quiet for a moment as he stared at the debris field that used to be his ship. "It's okay, she served her purpose one last time. We'll memorialize her later. Right now we need to concentrate on the problems at hand - mainly the large volume of people on this ship and the logistical nightmare that's going to cause."

"Palmer....how many can we find quarters for?" Cara called over her shoulder.

Ensign Palmer cleared his throat, nervously. "If we double...even triple up we can provide quarters for 739, Ma'am," he said.

"That'll help," Cara said. "I want someone from security to run IDs on everyone in our cargo bays and sickbay. We need to put families together if we can." She got a sad look in her eyes, knowing of one child that had no family on board. "Those children without families need to be seen by our counselor...if she made it on board. Billet them together if possible. Then assign quarters to families, civilians and senior officers in that order. The rest will have to make do with replicated cots in the cargo bays." She turned to Communications and said, "try hailing the Zumwalt. We need to know where the hell we're going and we need to unlock our tactical so we can do more than just fire phasers at those sonsobitches out there if they chase us."

"Aye, Ma'am," both Palmer and Kellerman said in unison.

Cara got up and headed for the door to the captain's ready room. "Hannah you have the con," she said and disappeared inside. Her head was throbbing and her stomach was tied in knots. At least in an OR you had a plan....a map to go by....this was way out of her comfort zone. She was in over her head and felt like she was drowning. She plopped down in the desk chair and placed her elbows on the desk...leaning on them as she rubbed her temples.

"Aye, Captain," Hannah said as he began working to relay and carry out Nichols's orders. He sensed the mood and tension on the ship so tried his best to project calm and confidence, that this was just another day at the office. Though never in his career had he experienced anything like this, so it was taking a lot for him to fake it.


===== Medical Bay =====

"Where's Lieutenant McDowell?" Bran asked as he grabbed a passing nurse, immediately upon entry he noticed that just by waiting around he'd never be helped. "The computer states he's here."

"McDowell?" the nurse asked as she brought up a PaDD. "He's in triage, being seen by a corpsman."

"What's his condition?" Bran asked the nurse, looking around at the madhouse that Medical was at the moment. He was sure there would be more flooding in now that the more than three hundred from the Arctic was there.

"Red," the nurse stated before turning to walk away.

Bran sighed. Red. Not expected to survive. "Computer," he stated, not willing to run around trying to determine who was supposed to be in charge here. Starfleet sent him out to fill a chief of security billet, then that's what he damned well will do. "At this time I'm assuming command of security on the Hopper, please acknowledge status update."

"Acknowledged, Chief of Security assumed by Chief Warrant Officer Curither Bran at this time. Access codes and security codes transferred."

"Okay, Gunny, we need to get some people here to stand by, Medical's going to be a hotspot, especially for tense and traumatized who believe their injuries are far worse then others being helped."

"I have no idea how many security people we have on board, sir," Taggert replied. "But I would assume there are a few in the evacuees down in the main cargo bay."

The EMH walked over to the two men and said, "State the nature of the medical emergency."

"Sorry," a nurse said, rushing. "It seems we are having an issue with this thing. The number of injured evacuees has overwhelmed it, I think," she said as she escorted the holographic doctor over to an injured patient.

Taggert looked at Bran and said, "We weren't prepared for this."

"Being assaulted by a malfunctioning nightlight?" Bran asked, glaring at the EMH as it was led away from them. "Or a sudden attack on Federation by the Borg space in prelude to an invasion of the Alpha quadrant? That's something we should have been prepared for." He shook his head as he kept walking. Then he slapped his commbadge: "Bran to Jetzi, secure the industrial replicators, nobody uses them but medical for supplies until we're finished. Begin arming anybody with even a passing weapons qual with the gauss rifles. I don't want to presume we're done with the Borg, yet."

"Aye, sir," came the voice over the comm system. Bran knew that would cause problems, but Nichols would have to deal with that headache, his methods were a bit more straightforward.

Taggert followed as Bran led the way to the auxiliary cargo bay.

=====Auxiliary Cargo Bay=====

"We need to find out how many security or tactical trained people we have at the moment. You said this was a Marine ship previous? If so, gather up the Marines, pair them with Fleeter security and get patrols going," Bran said.

"I'll go check in the Main Cargo Bay," Taggert said and headed in the opposite direction, practically jogging to the nearest turbolift.

Bran was about to speak when the doors to the auxiliary cargo bay opened and the din of loud, raucous voices flooded out, almost physical in their assault.

Bran saw his men, and the remaining three security officers from the Arctic in two double lines, facing away from him. As he watched several of those beamed over from the Arctic attempted to shove their way past the lines and to the door. "Everybody stand down!" Chorsokov was yelling, trying to make himself heard over the general noise. "When we know more-" he stopped as something flew across the small pocket of fighting and struck his shoulder.

Bran's own irritation that one of his officers was struck by the beginnings of a mob of Starfleet and Federation personnel grew white hot inside him.

"ENOUGH!" he yelled, trying to get attention brought to him. Still, he wasn't sure that anyone really heard him considering the noise level. It also seemed that the longer this went on, the more peopel were being drawn into it. The panic that was causing this had to be stopped and stopped now. "Computer, vocal amplification, this area affect" Bran ordered then waiting a few breaths for it to happen he began speaking again, his voice booming across the cargo bay and at a level that was painful to the less sensitive races. "ENOUGH! YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO STAND DOWN!"

It was working, somewhat, as people began looking around and then focusing on him. He was hearing individual voices now, mostly concerns about their situation, not having any information, rumors that were floating around they were heading to the heart of Borg space and even just general anxiety based on the recent attacks and unknown variables. While Bran hoped that training and professionalism could overcome and override that panic, in this instance he was wrong. And not completely unexpectedly so. Even with his greater knowledge of their situation he too found himself facing dread and fear regarding the future. The ship they were on were headed on an unknown course and they weren't even capable of discovering where that course led, or had the means to find out until they were there. Until then, a heightened level of alert had to be maintained. But, with so many aboard the ship - many of whom would now be idle and without purpose, left to drift on just their own thoughts and what little they could get from each other. That was a priority to fix. Those capable of working needed to be given something to do, even if it was just general busy work.

Taggert's words came back to him that this used to be a Marine ship. That gave him a few ideas. But first, he had to get the situation under control.

"I'm Chief Warrant Officer Curither Bran, I've assumed the role as chief of security aboard this vessel until such time as greater authority relieves me. Until that time," he spoke, his voice still being amplified across the section, "I'm declaring that this riot is at an end and will disperse into professionalism. You will order yourselves by department and report to the most senior officer of your departments who will begin establishing a command."

He dodged as another object was thrown at him. He began adjusting the settings on his rifle, still ignoring Meetok's yipping while he still remained in the harness. "As of now you are subject to security. Chorsokov if this mob and riot does not die out and disperse into my orders within thirty seconds, you and the remainder of the security officers will begin taking violators into custody. Force is authorized."

"You can't do that!" someone in a red collar called out. He stepped forward, swaggering like he was used to being in charge and obeyed. "Starfleet Regulations clearly call for -" Whatever his statement was going to be died out as the phaser beam hit him square in the chest. He dropped to the deck like a rag doll, those around him stepping away and making no effort to catch his fall.

"We'll start with stunning," Bran said, but kept the rifle at his shoulder as he stared down the crowd. "Then move up to-"

"You're in violation of Starfleet Security protocols!" another woman called out, her hair coming loose of her duty bun but her gold trim indicating she was probably security. Bran wished she'd seen the need to obtain order before trying to maintain it. She dropped just as quickly. The grumbling of the crowd was changing but they were also backing away. Those few that tried to move forward found themselves staring down the end of a phaser rifle. "End amplification," Bran ordered.

He waited a full two minutes before he judged the volume was dying down and those in the room were rethinking their previous actions. "Now," Bran said as he began staging his men for greater tactical response in case they decided to try to mob them once again. Meanwhile other security officers were coming forward to join their ranks, at Bran's order. As were any Marines in the crowd.

"Pretty ballsy," a staff sergeant said as he came to stand by Bran. "You're gonna face some hell for it."

"I know," Bran said, shrugging. Wouldn't be the first time, he knew. "Do me a favor, Staff Sergeant? Begin organizing medical details. Corpsmen, doctors, nurses, anybody with advanced first aid training. We have a lot of wounded and we need to see to them."

"Yes, Chief Warrant," the SSgt said as he moved away, calling out to several other Marines. His wrist PaDD beeped, indicating an incoming message. Orders from the bridge regarding organizations. Bran frowned at the use of security but - problems with that would come later. It's what happened when you let a doctor play captain while a transport ship captain was first officer. Aside from the department used, it was a good idea and actually worked into his thoughts.

"Bran to security..." he began issuing orders on his own while also tapping out messages to check on the other areas of the ship. He was going to busy getting himself around in the next few hours. But at least the doctor playing captain had capabilities and knew priorities. Children - that would work to distract. Families, that would help calm anxieties and give the fortunate opportunity to begin comforting and consoling the less fortunate. Quarters, food, basic needs solved the primal urges allowing people to focus on higher thought processes. Maybe he shouldn't have been quick to judge the one slip up he saw in her orders.

=====Main Cargo Bay=====

Taggert walked through the doors and looked at the crowd. Some had broken off in groups and huddled together, scared and confused. Others had taken up refuge in out of the way corners...behind cargo containers and palette stacks and others perched on whatever they could as they awaited some kind of news. Once Taggert was spotted, many rushed around him, battering him with questions. He held up his hands and looked for something to stand on so he could be seen. "Alright....alright. Calm down, everyone," he called out. "I need everyone's attention. Please. I need all SB900 Marines and security people to come up here to the front. If you are a civilian with any kind of secuirty or law enforecment training...please...we need all of the help we can get. If you have any medical training...please report to Sickbay. They are overwhelmed with injured evacuees and can use your help. Anyone with engineering, Strat Ops, Navigation or helm experience....this may be a long trip and our bridge officers are going to need to get some rest at some point."

The cargo bay echoed with a myriad of conversations as a group of twenty formed to Taggert's right. Two men stepped up to Taggert and one said, "I'm LtJG Hays. I was a security officer on SB900 and this is CPO Riley. He was a brig guard." He pointed to another man who stepped forward. "This is Staff Sergeant O'Niel. He and his buddies," he indicates several muscularly built men, "are Marines."

"We were on leave from the November," O'Niel spoke up. "It was in one of the outer most docking canopies and one of the first to be destroyed."

"Yeah. We watched her go," one of the other Marines added.

A young man in a tattered black shirt with gold trim limped up to Taggert. "I'm an Engineer. Matter/Energy Specialist," he said. "How can I help?"

Slowly, the area in front of Taggert filled with volunteers from all specialties and Taggert did his best to send them where they could be of most use.

The last one was an older woman who said, "I'm Sister Abina. My companion," she crossed herself, "and I were on sabbatical from the Themis Colony school on Apreunus. I can help with the children."

TBC

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