The Discovery

Posted on Wed 3rd Oct, 2012 @ 11:12am by Colonel Horatio Drake & Commander Paul Graves PsyD

1,569 words; about a 8 minute read

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

ON:

REMAINING AIR: 15 hours + 8 hours EVA

The loss of Meadows had been a shock to Drake and Graves... but a more immediate concern was the loss of the Coldstream. Without it they had no way of leaving the Bretagne. Action had to be taken.

It had taken the two officers over three hours to get from the Bridge to the Mess Hall - they had had to traverse down the Turbolift shaft to Deck 5, which was where the lift had stopped, and then jeffries tube it the rest of the way.

Drake had begun to feel more tense, the closer they got to the Mess Hall and he could see Graves equally getting more concerned about their situation. It seemed, despite it being a possibility that it was in his head, that the tighter his grip got on his phaser rifle, the closer his.

Entering the room, something hit Drake... it was like a wave of coolness sweeping over his body - was it just the change of pressure? He had experienced that sort of thing countless times before and, for some reason, this felt different.

"Lieutenant, see what you can salvage." The order was simple, but yet it was vexed. Were the two now salvaging things to try and survive? He gestured towards the main kitchen with his rifle.

Paul swept a lock of lank, black hair off of his sweaty forehead. He felt overly warm but couldn't decide whether that was due to exertion or some other cause. "Aye, sir," he said and began walking toward the kitchen storage. He couldn't conceive of food still being edible after two centuries. "Perhaps we should look for MRE's in the Marine deck?" he suggested. MRE's might last a century or two; he couldn't imagine that much in the kitchen would. Chefs used fresh ingredients as much as possible. Still, it wouldn't do to overlook anything. "I'll search in their lounge, too, and Hydroponics."

The ship gave a metallic creak, and a shiver ran through Paul. Microfractures in the hull. This ship is disintegrating, too, just like the runabout, he thought. He fought to push back his memory of Meadows' horror at knowing what was happening to him just before he died. It wouldn't help him find food.

Drake activated the torch on the end of his rifle and, for the fifteenth time since leaving the Bridge, checked the power setting was on a medium stun. Slowly he pulled the rifle up to his shoulder and started shining the light around the rather large room. Eerie was not the word... Seeing a Starfleet ship illuminated only by the emergency blue lighting was strange enough... to see one virtually abandoned like this was even worse. He felt a bead of perspiration on his forehead, which he quickly proceeded to wipe off.

"Have we found anything yet, Lieutenant?" He called to Graves.

"I've found some freeze-dried, packaged food," Paul reported in dubious tones from inside the kitchen's back pantry. "Peas, pasta, and coffee. I'm not sure I'd care to eat any of it."

"Good, food was the main priority. Let's, er... let's head to... er... Sickbay."

As Graves fell in step behind Drake he felt like he was the front line on a tactical retreat - this was becoming absurd. He mentally slapped himself and ordered himself to get a grip. It's just the strange conditions that's making you jumpy, that's all', he told himself over and over again.

===

Before too long, only having to traverse one deck, the two found themselves on Deck 5 of the Excelsior Class vessel. On the climb up Ashton had mentally scolded himself for letting this Away Mission get to him - he reminded himself that he was the Senior Officer, and he needed to act accordingly. He was forcing himself to focus on how much this fact bemused him.

The intrepid explorers found their way without a problem - Meadows had taken the foresight to download schematics of the ship onto each of their tricorders before boarding; it was this that made the task of navigation so academic.

"I remember from the Academy a drug that can slow both one's heart and breathing down; you'd lose consciousness, but if it comes to it, it might be an option. I can't remember what it's called though?" He tried to recall his memories but, despite the Academy not being that long ago for him, simply couldn't - he just couldn't bring his mind to focus.

Paul frowned. "One is called Vera..Verafa...And there's dil--dilta--Bloody hell; I can't remember. Perhaps we can research it?" Graves' suggestion was met with a quick smile from Drake.

Within a matter of minutes they had reached the doors and attached mag-locks.

"Ready?" Ashton asked.

Graves nodded in response as the two started tugging... the doors jammed halfway and didn't seem to want to budge anymore. With a roll of his eyes, Ashton retrieved the rifle that he had previously shouldered, once again flicked his torch on and took point.

The smell was probably the first sign he got that something wasn't right... although the time between his brain identifying the smell and identifying what he was seeing was a matter of nano-seconds. The sight before him made his body involuntarily hit the bulkhead behind him and nearly let off a round from his rifle.

"Fucking hell" was all he could get out.

Before them, what was once the Main Sickbay of a Ship of the Line, lay in ruins. Biobeds were overturned, hypo-sprays and tricorders littered the floors along with countless other objects. The glass to the CMO's office on the far side of the facility was smashed and his desk had been overturned. None of this detracted from the main attraction though - almost precisely in the middle of the room hung the partially decomposed body of a teal-attired Starfleet Officer. He was held up by what looked like wire, that had clearly started cutting through his uniform and into his skin.

"What the hell..." Ashton glanced at Graves, who had now joined him in the room.

Paul flitted a glance through the Sickbay. His eyes widened in shock, and he recoiled a step. "We should close the doors and get away from here now."

"That much," Drake said quietly, "is certain. But we can't close the doors, so we might as well stay in."

Paul stared at Drake, his face grim. "It's been an honor serving with you, Colonel," he muttered under his breath in a wry tone.

Drake fell in next to the Chief Counsellor and concentrated his beam onto the man's face - most of it was indistinguishable, it looked stretched and disfigured, as if something brutal had taken place before his death.

"He was a Commander..." Drake observed out loud as the torch focused on the man's collar "Like I was." His voice trailed off to barely a whisper.

"Sir," Graves said carefully, "I would like to at least cut him down."

Drake registered what was being asked, "Of course, Lieutenant."

Paul wiped sweat off his face with his sleeve. He'd learned during a forensics course at the Academy that the best way to stop smelling the scent of death was to breathe it in deeply, to deaden the nose's sensitivity to it. It was something, the instructor had said, that medical examiners commonly did when handling human remains. Paul doubted that his instructor had ever conceived of finding a kill-scene like this.

He found a stool and took a pair of wire-cutters from the toolkit he'd brought with him. Ironic that he'd brought it. "I'll sever the wire on three," he told Drake. "One, two, three!"

He snipped the wire and grunted as the weight of the officer's body shifted to where he held it by the uniform collar. It was light, as he'd expected, but awkward to handle and alarmingly delicate.

As they lay the body on the floor, instead of remorse, Drake's first thought was of pulling his duty jacket off - the man's hand had touched it. Once again he found himself having to re-focus on the task at hand.

"I've had enough of seeing dead Starfleet Officers... I'm going to read the rest of those logs. Stay here, collect what supplies you can find, and meet me back on the Bridge." Drake ordered without a quiver in his voice, despite something inside him screaming for him to stick with Graves.

"It's rather obvious what happened, sir," Paul said through gritted teeth, letting a flare of temper show in his voice. "They became ill with some pathogen that affected their minds, and we are both exposed up to our eyebrows! I really don't see much point in you making a useless climb up to the Bridge, just to confirm that."

Drake didn't reply; either he ignored the remark or simply didn't hear it at all.

He glanced back down once more at the rotting body before him... 'He was a Commander...'. He feebly touched his own rank pips, once indistinguishable from those attached to the dead mans tunic.

"Check-in every half an hour, Lieutenant." Drake's quotation of regulation gave him that little bit of strength he needed.

Paul snorted. "Aye, sir. For all the good it'll do."

OFF:

Lt. (JG) Paul Graves
Chief Counselor
SB Protector

Lt. Colonel Ashton Drake
Commanding Officer
SB Protector

 

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