How To Save a Life - Part I

Posted on Thu 11th Oct, 2012 @ 12:05pm by Colonel Horatio Drake & Commander Paul Graves PsyD

1,761 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: http://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/missions/id/2
Location: USS Bretagne: Decks 2 & 3
Timeline: Boarding + 25 Hours

ON:

REMAINING AIR: 0.0 Hours + 8 Graves EVA Suit + 4 Drakes EVA Suit

As Drake grabbed his helmet to complete his EVA suit he registered a light on his wrist monitor - his air supply had been activated some hours ago... he was down to just over three hours now.

"Lieutenant... have you touched my suit?" He asked, with genuine bewilderment.

Paul shook his head from where he sat in the Science station chair. Sweat poured from his face and had turned his hair into a lank, oily mess of black locks. "No," he said in a tone of utter indifference. "That would require me to get up and walk over there. I don't even want to deal with my own suit; the bloody thing is so stupidly heavy. Why?"

"Well... I'm missing nearly five hours of oxygen? It's like the supply's been left on?" He was now utterly confused.

"What?!" Paul jerked straighter in his chair and then levered himself up to stood on legs that felt like wet spaghetti. "How is that even possible?"

The question sounded to him as if he were asking it while half-drunk. Even as he stood and gripped the back of the chair, the bridge seemed to sway and dip wildly all around him.

As the two officers arrived at the turbolift shaft, Graves deactivated the force field that had been holding the atmosphere in. Pushing themselves into the vacant shaft, they caught hold of the protrusions in the shaft to steady themselves. Drake nodded to Graves to reactivate the forcefield - although both knew that the atmosphere on the Bridge would shortly be too thin for them to return to.

"Where are we going?" Graves asked.

"That's a good question." Drake's helmet, which he now felt a little more comfortable in, hid his frown of frustration. "I suppose we'll start on deck 2."

As he landed on the carpet of the deck and remagnetised his boots, a wave of fear suddenly came over him, he felt as if something horrific had taken place virtually where he was standing. He half expected more mutilated bodies to jump out at him. As Graves landed beside him, he swung his phaser rifle round and confirmed it was set on its highest stun level.

Turning the torch on, he raised it to eye level and started walking side on, so as to show as little as possible to a would-be aggressor.

"Senior Officers quarters," Drake said as he turned on his external speakers. "Hello? Hello!? Is there anyone down here!?"

He sighed loudly - "Surely the cries for help must have been coming from this deck?"

"They would have to have been," Paul said in a strained murmur.

Something was beginning to feel very wrong with the situation he found himself in... logic was screaming at him, telling him that what he thought was happening couldn't possibly be taking place. But the other half of him wanted to turn that logic around and start using it to justify his irrational thinking.

Graves continued to look at Drake, who hadn't moved. He also hadn't acknowledged his last sentence, or given any indication that he had actually heard him. "Sir," Graves asked slightly concerned, "Sir, are you all right?" He moved around so that he was now standing just off his right shoulder, but still the look on his face was as if he wasn't even there.

From Drake's point of view it was as if one minute Graves was behind him and the next, he was standing right next to him. He jumped slightly, perturbed by the fact that he had been so deep in thought that he had not heard him. "Yes, I'm fine Paul... what did you say?" He asked, with trepidation, as he continued to stare out in front of him.

Graves took two steps backward, deliberately giving Drake a little more personal space--the man did still have his phaser rifle, and Paul could clearly see its wetting. "I simply suggested that we might want to try Sickbay." he said, guardedly.

"Erm... I think we should probably go deck-to-deck for the time being; the voice I heard was close... let's finish this deck first, though."

Graves nodded, "Aye, sir," he replied with all the conviction of a Ferengi agreeing to sell his assets for a loss. As Drake moved off, he fell into step behind him and, for some unknown reason, he found his eye-line drawn to the hand phaser, holstered at Drake's side. They continued walking down the corridor when all of a sudden Paul thought he heard someone whispering in his ear.

He doesn't trust you...

Paul turned around sharply, but there was no one there. "I'm sorry, sir?" he asked presuming that Ashton must have been the one he had heard. He quickened her pace to catch up to him slightly. "I'm sorry, sir," he repeated. "Did you say something?"

"I didn't say anything, Paul... did you hear the calls of help too?" Ashton was no longer worried if he did or not, he was virtually certain of what he heard and intended to locate whereabouts they were coming from. As they proceeded down the corridor he could feel his hands covered in sweat... despite the internal environmental controls working perfectly inside his suit, he felt like he was in a sauna.

===

Within an hour they had covered the entire deck, they decided against searching room-to-room - a person in need of help was hardly likely to lock themselves into some living quarters.

The descent to deck three was hard for both officers, not least for Drake, who was ever aware of his remaining oxygen supply - at the current rate of depletion, versus their current rate of searching, he might be able to get to deck 4 - after that.... well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Summoning his phaser rifle from his shoulder, he once again activated the mounted torch. The first door they reached was half-open, already a sign that something, or someone, might be inside. The sign on the door educated them to the fact that this room was the 'Officers' Mess.' As the light from his torch bounced around the tables and chairs, two things crossed his mind.

The first was how traditional Excelsior class ships were and had remained. Back in the day, it was common for officers and crew to sleep and eat apart from one another - in fact they hardly ever mixed. As time went on, things started changing - despite this the Excelsior class seemingly refused to go with the times... on no refit schematic that he had ever seen did he come across a proposed change for merging the two mess halls. The secondary thought that hit him was one of overwhelming fear - regardless of the lack of bodies in the mess hall itself, every instinct was telling him not to enter.

He had all but forgotten about the Chief Counselor, who was standing behind him. "I... I'm not going in there."

"Well," Graves ventured, still very uncertain about the situation, "Perhaps we don't have to." It had got to the point where he was running out of ideas. Drake seemed determined to chase ghosts around the ship, all the while becoming more and more intense. He knew life-support was running out - more quickly for him. Sooner or later, Drake would run out of oxygen... and he would only be able to keep both of them alive for a short time after that.

As the two stood in the doorway of a pitch-black mess hall, a single voice echoed through the darkness - enough to terrify most people. The most frightening aspect of it was the initial shock - for the voice wasn't one of theirs.

"Computer to Colonel Drake, please respond" the monotone voice sounded through the hallways.

Drake shot a look at Graves, his gaze fixed on him for ten... twenty seconds. He dared not open his mouth; he was absolutely sure someone else was here, watching them.

Finally, he took a deep breath and plucked up the courage. "Drake here."

"Colonel Drake, please report to Upper Secondary Shuttlebay, Deck Eleven."

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the voice to go away, to not ask what it was asking.

"Explain" he asked.

"Colonel Drake, please report to Upper Secondary Shuttlebay, Deck Eleven," it repeated.

Graves looked at Drake with ever increasing concern. Not only was he hearing voices, now he was beginning to answer them too. "Explain what?" he asked gently, trying to keep him calm, but suddenly feeling very conscious that his own heart rate had increased. He didn't respond. "Sir," he pressed again, "Explain what? What's going on?"

He won't tell you, the 'voice' said again in Paul's ear. 'He won't tell you because he doesn't trust you.

Graves shook his head inside his helmet, as if trying to use the momentum to expel the voice from his mind.

He hates you, because it's your fault, the nagging voice continued.

Graves was suddenly aware that his breathing had increased. "No." he said out loud. "This isn't real." Heavy breathing would only decrease his oxygen supply quicker, so he closed his eyes and tried to steady himself.

It's your fault, the 'voice' repeated. It's always your fault...

Graves opened his eyes, suddenly recognizing the voice in his mind... it was Keris.

"You're dead," he answered it sharply. "I'm hearing things, and you're dead. You've been dead for over twenty years."

Then he squeezed his eyes shut. Apparently, Drake wasn't the only one of them speaking to non-existent people.

"What do we do now, sir?" he asked, sounding as composed as he could.

Despite only hearing the chilling voice of the, apparently deactivated, computer a few seconds ago he was unsure as to whether it came from inside his helmet or through the ship's comm system - either way, he was confused as to why Graves was asking what he was. "Well, I don't see we have an option... we head to deck 11."

Paul thought of all the ladders and Jeffries tubes they would have to climb down, to reach deck 11 and considered giving up right there. But Drake had that determined look on his face, and Paul could not bring himself to let the man climb all that way alone. "Very well, Colonel. Let's go."

OFF:

Lieutenant (JG) Paul Graves
Chief Counsellor
SB Protector

Lt. Colonel Ashton Drake
Commanding Officer
SB Protector

 

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