Entering the Tomb

Posted on Sun 16th Jul, 2017 @ 9:38am by Colonel Horatio Drake & Commander Zachary Hunt

1,410 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: For The Uniform
Location: USS Bretagne: Docking Port Four
Timeline: MD-01: 1800 Hours

Drake was in his EVA suit, with systems checked and ready to go. Hunt, on the other hand, was only halfway through the process. Starfleet cadets spend three months of their time at the Academy doing EVA training - it's a compulsory course and everyone must pass with a one hundred percent rating. Naturally, every time one of these suits was worn it usually meant there was some danger or peril afoot. Even if there wasn't, space alone could kill in an instant. That's why everyone had to be drilled to a hilt in the operation of them. However, from the time of passing that training course the average Starfleet officer would probably never get into one of the suits again. For the Marines, in juxtaposition, EVA training was intertwined throughout their entire course, usually linked in zero-g combat training. Which, in and of itself, Drake found highly amusing as he had ever known one Marine who had engaged in zero-g combat training, he remembered his words of wisdom afterwards:

'I was just floating round the fuckin' corner, mindin' me own business when the bastard shot at me! Inches from me face and into the bulkhead behind me! Luckily my rifle was pointing at him so I shot the bastard dead centre in the chest and that was that. If I'd have been facing the other way it would've taken me half an hour to float round and get him!'

Drake smiled as he remembered Winchester regaling him with the story after returning from exploring an abandoned hospital facility in the Kavis Sector. His attention was jolted back to the present by a loud thud - Hunt had dropped him helmet.

"Commander, I know this ship has been adrift for a hundred years but let's not wait another hundred before we enter the bloody thing" Drake surprised himself, was that meant to be a joke? He didn't make jokes anymore? Maybe he was more excited than he thought.

Hunt let out a grimace as he picked the helmet back up, he wasn't sure what to make of this. He had only just got back from his leave and already off Vanguard on an away mission to do with an empty ship. If that wasn't eerie enough for him, it was just going to be Drake and Hunt. "Apologies. I thought another 50 years might be the way to go," He quipped back.

Drake smiled, albeit a small and barely noticeable one. Nevertheless he quickly wiped it from his face. After taking a tricorder, he opened the weapons locker next to the airlock and pulled out a type-2 hand phaser, checking the power cell, powered it on and holstered it. He then pulled a Type-3b phaser compression assault rifle from the racking, followed the same ritual but this time checking sights as well and nestled it in his arms.

Hunt had briefly watched Drake grab the phasers. He watched as the Marine inside Drake enjoyed the feel of the buzz again. Hunt wasn't feeling the same, but grabbed a type-2 hand phaser also and did similar checks to Drake, just not as thoroughly.

"Sergeant, we'll be reporting in every hour. If we're late with any communication by more than five minutes you're to disembark, return to Vanguard and bring the Warspite back with you." Drake knew that Ryan didn't need to be told more than once and wouldn't undertake any potential heroics. In spite of what people thought of Marines they were, for the most part, rational and logical officers who put a lot of thought into their actions. On precisely the five minute mark he would detach himself from the Bretagne and leave.

"Understood, sir" He replied.

Drake nodded, turned and entered the airlock. Tapping a few buttons the small room decompressed and he could feel himself becoming weightless. He tapped a button on his arm panel and his mag-boots engaged themselves, he suddenly felt like he was carrying his own body weight again as the boots anchored him to the floor. The panel next to him indicated that the decompression sequence was complete. He tapped again and power from the shuttle opened the door on the other side, he raised his rifle.

The beam of light from his rifle danced across the bulkhead directly in front of them, they were in a narrow corridor towards the mid-rear part of the primary hull. A fine dust seemed to hang in the air, he could hear Hunt already tapping away on his tricorder.

"Analysis?" Drake asked.

Hunt frowned as he saw the readings, "Nothing really out of the ordinary. Minus the fact the only life signs are us two."

"We should split up - you take Engineering and I'll head to the Bridge. Our primary goal is to get main power back online, if at all possible." Drake lowered his rifle and removed his own tricorder from his belt in an effort to get his bearings.

"Are you sure we should split up?" A slight shiver went down Hunt's back and a quiver in his voice. There was a sense of uneasiness surrounding him.

"Well, I don't see why not?" He realised that Hunt was, perhaps, not quite as comfortable as he was in this situation. "Actually, let's stick together." He nodded and turned left. "Right, let's head off. Engineering is on deck seven so we'll need to descend two decks." Raising his rifle, Drake led the way. The corridor looked like it had come straight from a badly kept museum, he started thinking about his time studying these older ships in the Academy when he realised he was gripping his rifle tighter than he should have been. His subconscious had realised there was something wrong before his conscious mind had a chance to catch up. As they turned the corridor a pair of boots stuck out.

Instinctively he raised his left hand to stop Hunt and started edging round, keeping his profile side on to present himself as less of a target. As he turned the corner and flashed the rifle light down the corridor and then at the person who owned the boots, he indicated for Hunt to join him, happy there was no clear and present threat.

The body was that of a young male officer, dressed in the old scarlet tunic of the longest serving uniform Starfleet had ever seen. First introduced in 2270 to replace the old grey and white body suits, which lasted only a matter of years and were very unpopular amongst personnel. It was the first time Starfleet moved away from using individual insignia to signify particular missions or starships. From this point on all Starfleet personnel wore the famous arrowhead on their tunics, previously only worn by crews of the USS Franklin, USS Kelvin and USS Enterprise. The uniforms of this period bore the new Starfleet insignia on a brass-coloured pin worn on the breast; officers wore the insignia with a round-ended rectangular shield backing it. New rank insignia, with individual symbols for each rank, were also introduced, and were worn on the clasp and left wrist of the tunics.

Apart from an odd decolourisation of the skin on his face and hands and a drooping of the skin on his face - Drake would have guessed this poor individual had only died moments ago. He knew better than that, the vacuum like atmosphere inside the ship must have near enough perfectly preserved the bodies of anyone left on board.

"Cause of death?" Drake saw Hunt still had his tricorder out.

Hunt took a minute with his tricorder and frowned, "This doesn't make sense. It's telling me the only life signs are us two, but then it's saying this officer is alive and well," He paused. "These scorch marks to his upper chest, it looks like he was hit by some sort of weapon." He stood up, the colour half draining away from his own face.

You're right and they're consistent with a Starfleet phaser, Drake thought to himself. He could see Hunt's discomfort and didn't want to add to it anymore than he had to.

"Well, I think it's safe to say we can't fully rely on the tricorders any longer. Let's push on" Drake frowned as he took one last glance at the preserved corpse lying in front of him. What had happened on this ship?

 

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