How To Save a Life - Part II

Posted on Fri 26th Oct, 2012 @ 1:17pm by Colonel Horatio Drake & Commander Paul Graves PsyD

2,502 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: http://sb109.sim-station.net/index.php/sim/missions/id/2
Location: USS Bretagne: Deck 11
Timeline: Boarding + 27 Hours

ON:

REMAINING AIR: 0.0 Hours
Drake's EVA = 30 Minutes
Graves' EVA = 3.5 Hours

The journey from deck three all the way down to deck eleven had been long and arduous - it wasn't until they were nearing the upper shuttlebay that Drake glanced at his wrist display of his remaining oxygen and realised that, even if he wanted to, the shuttlebay would be the last place he visited on this ship before the oxygen was depleted. He could already feel the effects of partial oxygen deprivation - light-headedness; nausea; impaired vision; a tingly feeling in his hands and feet. As part of its standard programme, to prolong the survival of the occupant, the EVA suit computer would start thinning the remaining oxygen supply at the four-hour mark and then even more drastically at the two-hour mark - the theory behind it was that if anyone was running that low on air supply, the hope was that they were stuck and awaiting rescue... at that point, it was all about prolonging life and not about comfort. Regardless of this fact, he started to feel quite claustrophobic.

The call to report to the shuttlebay had come from the computer, directly to Drake. The only possible way this could have happened - what with Drake not being on the manifest - would be for someone to tell it to do so. Following this line of logic, there simply had to be someone else on board.

Upon entering the shuttlebay the two didn't even attempt to follow their ritualistic tactical maneuvers of entering a possible hostile confined space - instead Drake held his rifle in his right had only, with his left by his leg. The bay ahead of them stretched out to encompass three repair bays and about ten launch pads - even for something like a Sovereign Class, this was a large shuttlebay.

"Damn it; no one here," Paul muttered, feeling his shoulders slump not just from tiredness. "I thought possibly someone had answered the distress call you made."

Paul glanced around the enormous room, contemplating the fact that nothing lay between them and the Expanse but the disintegrating hull. He shuddered as fear rippled through him in ever widening waves. What if the Expanse began to disintegrate them, too?

"Let's get out of here," he said in a brusque voice.

Drake gathered every ounce of mental strength that he could muster and actually managed to think a rational thought.

"There must be something here... why else would I have been summoned?" Every word was a mountain to climb in itself.

'You're a failure.' There it was again. Echoing in Graves' mind - playing at his insecurities.

Paul lifted his gloved hands to the sides of his helmet, as if somehow he could block the sound out. "Shut up!" he spat out, his voice little louder than a whisper. "Just... Shut... UP!" He screamed out, banging the sides of his helmet. As he did so his hand phaser slipped from his grasp and crashed to the floor. He froze, looking down at the weapon and then at Drake, who, by now, had turned to face him, his phaser rifle still levelled at his side. "I'm sorry, sir." he said, quietly before very slowly moving to one side and kneeling down to pick up the weapon, all the time keeping his gaze fixed on the Marine.

Suddenly something clicked in Drake... by now every part of his body was on fire, he was in a lot of pain, but regardless of this fact something changed in his mind - the mountain of logic and reasoning had given way to an avalanche of random and chaotic thoughts... and there was nothing he could do to stop it. This situation was very wrong. In one smooth motion he threw his phaser rifle up to his eye and gripped the butt with his left hand. "Leave it, Lieutenant... just leave it on the deck, and take a few steps back."

The few remaining shreds of Paul's self-control stretched violin-tight and snapped. "Will you please stop waving that God-damned thing about like some gangster in a Terran crime film! Like Hell I'm going unarmed, as long as you're bound and determined to blow a hole in the side of the ship!"

That said, he scooped up the dropped phaser and gripped it in a shaking hand but didn't raise it as a thought struck him. "You want to blow a hole in the ship, don't you? That's why we came all the way down here."

Where that idea had come from Paul couldn't say, but it made perfect sense, just as dreams did while being dreamt.

With a second smooth motion, with his left hand, he changed the setting on his rifle to kill. "Lieutenant, I will not tell you again... put the phaser down and take a few steps back."

"Or what--you'll kill me? You might as well!" Paul retorted with a glance at the phaser rifle's setting. "We're both going to be dead soon, anyway; we should just get it over with!"

But his hand still shook badly with the effort needed merely to grip the type 2 phaser, much less to raise it and aim. Suddenly, that effort made the rest of his body feel drained of energy. Paul breathed out a few panting breaths and finally did as Drake had ordered. "Fine. Have it your way," he muttered as he stepped backward.

"Shut... shut the fuck up...". Drake stumbled to the side for a second, but quickly regained his balance. "So tell me... Lieutenant... how long have you been working for Starfleet Intelligence? Been planning this little stunt long? Was it when I returned to Starfleet... or perhaps before? Was it when I was XO on the Ronnau? Or perhaps Chief Tactical on the Sovereign? I'll bet it was since the Sovereign...?" Drake was almost talking to himself... sweat was forming at a rapid rate on his face and was starting to sting his eyes.

"I never met you before...er, before..." Before when? Paul wondered. He gave Drake a confused look. "Did I know you on Betazed? I don't know if I was in Intelligence or not. I don't feel very intelligent, right now. Besides, if I were in Intelligence, would they tell me?"

"I must say" Drake interrupted, disregarding what was said "the 'abandoned' Excelsior was a nice touch... although how did you pull off the dead bodies?"

"Pull them off of what?" Paul asked. Sweat dripped down his nose in a greasy rivulet, and he couldn't reach it to wipe it off. His own perspiration was a liquid slowly, slowly dissolving away his body as rivers carved out canyons into land. Paul shuddered at the thought, and a sudden chill worked its way though him. "If we didn't have the ship, we'd just be floating about in empty space. But you want that, don't you?"

"I'm not the one who set this whole thing up. It's all so clear now... you let the air out of my EVA suit and as soon as I'm gone, no doubt a shuttle will come and pick you up. But why did Meadows have to die? Surely it's all about me?" Drake's body temperature was reaching critical levels... he didn't know if it was making the oxygen deprivation symptoms worse or whether it was just an added bonus.

"Answer me just one question, 'Lieutenant'... if that is even your real rank... knowing now, that you're probably going to die, do you still not regret holding your obligations to Starfleet Intelligence above your obligations to me, as your Commanding Officer?"

"I don't give a flying fart about Starfleet Intelligence!" Paul snapped. "Its primary attraction for me is that Chief Fin works in that department. And frankly, I'm just thankful she isn't here."

"Sometimes, Paul, sacrifices are needed - Starfleet's history is full of people who have sacrificed themselves for the betterment of the Federation. I always used to think I was one of those people... I sacrificed more than you can believe for Starfleet and I got nothing in return, not even a pat on the back and a well done." Drake stumbled, but still remained standing - he would be dead in a matter of minutes, his extremities were on fire and his breathing was more than difficult.

"You know the test of a person is their ability to command and lead others... their ability to assess a situation and act on it. My very first command was on the Ronnau, I was transferred there as XO after exemplary performance in tactical on the Sovereign - the Captain was on a diplomatic conference on Risa so I had the ship. We were responding to a distress call in the Banarian System, a freighter was under attack by a marauder vessel - a typically run-of-the-mill situation in the locale, so everyone was too relaxed."

He breathed heavily - every breath felt more labored than the last. He could see fear in Graves' eyes. "Upon entering the system, I didn't order a Red Alert... I thought that no under-powered little pirate ship would dare to fire on a Starfleet Nebula class! By the time their weapons came to bear it was too late - they got a shot in before our shields went up. The funny thing was that, at the time, we thought it was only minor damage - more cosmetic than anything else".

He started laughing as he recalled the event and the feelings at the time. "It wasn't until we went to warp a day later that we discovered the true extent of the damage. We had not long ago received a complete overhaul and were now working with gel packs - three of these in a sub-junction had ruptured and caused two of the four main drive regulators to fuse... in essence, too much power was being pushed into the coils... from warp four, the only possible way to stop an overheat was to keep increasing speed exponentially."

"We had literally minutes until we were looking at an overload - my Chief Engineer advised me that the only way of stopping it was to shut down and reinitialize the warp core... the engine would then automatically revert back to the two working regulators. Doing this at warp was incredibly risky as we would be, essentially, using our warp bubble to keep carrying us forward... if we were torn from sub-space the ship would have been ripped apart. If we kept going we would have exploded. It was our only choice. Lieutenant Commander Rivers was going to perform a manual shut down and restart of the warp core in less than two minutes - it was virtually impossible, I was certain that we were going to die at this point. The only problem I faced was that there was a work crew on the catwalks of the starboard nacelle - they were deep in one of the coil assemblies and communication with them was impossible... a manual shut-down at warp meant those coil assemblies would be blown sky high - it was certain death for them."

Most of what Drake had just said was Greek to Paul, but he could at least comprehend the important bit. "That's a horrible choice to have to make," he said quietly. "But I think you made the right decision. Your ship could not have kept traveling at ever-increasing warp speeds for much longer." He paused. "That's why they make us go through the Kobayashi Maru test--to show our superior officers and to show us what we'll do in that kind of situation."

He exhaled loudly, not knowing whether that might be his last breath. "I gave the order to go ahead with the restart without hesitation... I did so, not because it was a logical decision or that I was a good CO - I did it because I truly believed we were all going to die... the deaths of five crewmen minutes before the others didn't seem of any consequence."

"The laughable thing is... the bastard, Rivers, did the impossible and got the core restarted in time - we all survived... except the fateful work crew."

"Life is sometimes...tragically ironic," Paul said. "The credit to you is that it didn't destroy you, which it might have done had you had less strength of character, and it probably gave you a better appreciation of what your decisions can cost. I suspect it made you a better commanding officer."

"Anyway... the point is, Lieutenant, that the event taught me how to make difficult decisions - I may not have made the right one through character or training, but I did make the right one. Your decision to help Starfleet Intelligence in this... elaborate ploy... was ill-advised."

Drake's line of thinking meant something, Paul thought, but damned if he could recall what. "Why shouldn't I assist Starfleet Intelligence?" he asked. "It's part of Starfleet, is it not, as are we?"

"Starfleet Intelligence is not there to setup and murder other Starfleet Officers!" Drake screamed at Graves... he was down to a minute, perhaps less of air now.

He placed his finger on the firing button. "In the end, Paul, you can trust no one but yourself...". He pushed the button and the end of the phaser rifle exploded in a brilliant light display as the shrill sound gave way to a ball of burning blue energy which shot its way to the Chief Counsellor's chest plate in half a second.

As the shot decimated Grave's EVA suit chest plate and went into him, the depressurization was all too familiar - if the shot didn't kill him then he would be dead in seconds. Drake dropped the phaser rifle and fell to his knees... he felt like his lungs were made from iron and his vision was rapidly disappearing - the last thing he saw was Paul drop to the floor as Ashton did the same thing.

He now lay only a few feet away from his fallen comrade and started experiencing a strange sensation - all logical and reasonable thought processes were no longer possible, instead it seemed like his sub-conscious was battling to take over and make his impending death as pleasant as possible. He gave up trying to decide whether what was happening was wrong, he didn't care about Starfleet or Protector... all he thought about was Patrick. All he could think about was how ironic it was that the organisation that he sacrificed time with Patrick for and put first in his life, would now betray him.

He exhaled his last breath as slowly as he could, knowing that he couldn't inhale another. As he started to close his eyes and things slowly went black a smile came across his face... I'll with with you soon Patrick, I'll be with you soon.

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