Stardate 2379.12.22 (Federation reckoning)

The Pirate Ship Qa'bortaS 

Bridge - 1722hrs

Captain Wor'mog admitted to being the son of no man. House Valkor, of which he was the sole surviving member, would not be mentioned whilst sober (though when drunk he would rail against the idiotic Empire who dared remove all traces of his once-proud lineage). He eschewed most forms of Klingon formalities, except in martial cases such as burying his d'k tahg into the gut of someone who deserved to die.

He looked around angrily for such a person now.

The B'rel-class Qa'bortaS had just finished disabling a Klingon shipping vessel, much to the disgrace of her captain and crew, and were preparing to board her and relieve her of her cargo. Everything was going according to plan. And then...and then...

And then, what? Wor'mog had no idea. A flash of light, a shower of sparks. Now one bridge console was on fire, the crewman who'd been manning it a lifeless but still smoldering corpse on the deck. The helm fought to stabilize the ship and stop her spinning. Wor'mog's own ears were ringing, drowing out all shouts and hails from the crew reporting in. Something was blocking the vision in his right eye; he wiped the palm of his hand across it angrily, then saw it was his own blood. He would need to do something about that at some point. But first, he needed to ensure his ship was still intact, and then decide who was going to pay.

Captain's Personal Log

This is my first entry in a week.

I never wanted to be a starship captain. I signed on as chief medical officer, for ONE mission, purely as a favor to my friend, Captain Azik O'Shea, but she and the rest of the bridge crew died when the Rod of Asclepius was yanked from our erand of mercy near Betazed, and deposited here, wherever here is. (Astrometrics is just one of the many systems still undergoing repairs.)

It's been a week since we appeared here, in what seems to be some cosmic junkyard. There are husks and pieces of ships all around us. Some seem to show signs of life, but sensors and comms are also still down. All we know, we know from looking out the damned windows.

We've got life support and environmental controls back on line, but not much else. The hospital decks, mercifully, were spared some of the damage. Having their own independent power systems helped a lot, but it's manpower that will be the ongoing problem. As CMO, I know my med staff is among the best Starfleet has to offer, but several of them were also lost a week ago, and urgency of repairs has left the rest of us little time to grieve. As ranking officer, command has now fallen to me. I've still got 227 crewmen to worry about, five of whom are still listed as 'critical.' I can't just stop being a doctor, now that I am captain.

I'll do what I must do, but the minute I can get Starfleet to fill the Big Chair, I'm catching the first shuttle to Risa.

PlusCommander Savok of the DFC V'Nos to Vulcan High Command

*Record for Transmission*   21-1-2155

It has been 6.4 solar days since we restored emergency power. We have been spacially displaced, possibly by a wormhole or similar subspacial anomoly. Vector, telemerty, and velocity data from the incident make no logical sense, the senior students from the Science Academy and Science Officer T'Pril have to build new geometric models to attempt comprehension. This is the only aspect where having a student crew is preferrable to an experienced staff.

Our true position cannot be ascertained until we reboot the main computer and run full diagnostics on our navigation system. A cursory sensor sweep of our position reveals other starships in our immediate vicinity. While these ships seem to be damaged as well, life readings indicate that most have living occupants. Logically restoring warp power has become the prioriy as these survivors may be aggressive.

As engineering must focus on repairs, I have the students making visual observation and anlysis of the derelics around us for salavge if necessary. Our closest neighbor appears to be a Romulan Bird of Prey. I must say "appears" as the markings and technology seem to be incongruent with what we have on record. Unusual tachyon radition in the area may mean this ship could be experimental or a previously unseen variant. Unlike the V'Nos it seems to have suffered a warp core breach. Multiple decks are flooded with lethal radiation. Lifeform readings are faint. We will endeavor to make contact with the Romulans as with our compatible technology it is only logical we pool resources for the common good, one functional starship is worth more than two broken ones.

As our communications will be restored shortly, I will hail them and offer our assistance.

For now we are in survival mode. Once fully functional we will begin asking the important questions.


Live Long and Prosper. Savok out.

Captain's Log, Stardate 8200.3

After completing our 6 month research and development assignment at Utopia Planitia, the Midway has received its next long-term commission. The fine-tuned tractor beams and energy-transfer system in our upper pod has made us something of a hot commodity in the engineering corps, and I'm quite pleased to see we will now be stationed back home. We'll be engaged in refitting ships of the line at the San Francisco Shipyards as our standard work, but most importantly, we'll be testing new propulsion systems for the next generation of vessels. On arrvial at Earth Spacedock, we were greeted warmly by senior staff, and my crew has gotten some much deserved shore leave planetside. I had hoped we would be given the prestigious assignment of repairing and refitting the Enterprise after it was badly damaged in the [REDACTED] Incident, but to the dismay of many of us, the word is that NCC-1701 won't be repaired; it will be decommissioned. It would have been an honor to bring the old girl back to top shape, but it is not to be. Instead, our chief duty will be to develop and test the new transwarp technology for the USS Excelsior, under Captain Styles. Rumors that Captain Montgomery Scott will be on the project have the team ready and eager to begin.

Captain's Log, Stardate 8210.3

The crew has been performing admirably in both our refitting duty and work on the transwarp system, but I have begun to have my misgivings. Transwarp drive would seem to be the perfect propulsion system on paper, but my chief engineer and I are increasingly convinced that it cannot be practically implemented at the current state of Starfleet technology- if ever. Any attempt to bring this point up to Captain Styles has been rebuffed. Indeed, the man insists on trial runs immediately. The Midway will contribute its best, as usual, but I've decided to file a formal engineering report with Starfleet Command.

Captain's Log, Emergency Supplemental

Something has happened that's beyond our ability to understand at the moment. During the late shift, our third line bridge team reported down that the Enterprise was, apparently, being stolen from spacedock. As I made my way to the bridge, the turbolift was jolted from some kind of impact or disturbance. When I finally made it onto the bridge, it was chaos. We were no longer in Earth Spacedock, and I didn't even recognize the stars. We've managed to restore emergency power, but nothing can be discerned until the computers, navigation, and comms are fully back on line. The Midway engineering crew is the best in Starfleet, and no matter what's happened, I'm fully confident we'll have this under control soon.

The Klingon Pirate Ship Qa'bortaS

"Sensors are picking up energy pulses," said Pev from the Ops console, his four arms dancing across the controls in an effort to fine-tune the readings. "Intermittant, seemingly firing at random. They are coming from the station array, eight hundred point four killicams starboard."

Wor'Mog stroked his beard. "Do we have enough power to get us over there, Mr. Pev?"

"Aye, sir. Impulse engines were undamaged in the..." he didn't want to use the word attack yet, since they didn't know where they were or what had happened, so instead said "incident."

"Bring us about, Mr. Ay'tog."

"Aye Cap'n," answered the helm officer with a nod. "At least we have the basics: impulse, life support..."

"Minimal shields, no photon torpedos, eighteen dead, another seven injured," said K'mtoq from his station.

"That'll do, Mr. K'mtoq," said Wor'Mog. "Take us to the station, Ay'Tog." The pirate captain rubbed his hands together. "Mr. Pev, scan for life signs, then confirm transporters are online, or redistribute enough power to make them so." The captain walked back to his command chair and opened a channel without sitting. "Shaulin, acknowledge."

The pause was brief before a female voice replied, "Shaulin here."

"Report to the bridge. I have a job for you."

Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 2379.12.28

Many systems have been restored in the past six days. What's left of my crew is doing a damn fine job, I must say. They know I have no real command experience and have all gone above and beyond to put the Rod back together.

Pax'ia is a terrific first officer. She and her broodbrothers have been acting as department heads and coordinating repairs, and we've learned a lot. Our newly-fixed viewscreen is pointed directly at a familiar-looking structure: a Nacene array. We've been Caretaker'ed to the Delta Quadrant. Hashtag: FML.

Voyager's only been home for about a year, and now another Federation ship has been zapped 70,000 light years from home. It took them seven years to get home. If we don't find similar help and shortcuts, it'll take us seventy.

And not just us. The array is still sending out pulses, and several other ships have appeared in the past few days. Federation, Klingon, others we don't recognize—some even appear to be from different time periods. 

We have an advantage over some of these ships. We have access to Captain Janeway's records. We know about the Caretaker and his mate. What we don't know is why this particular Nacene has brought us here.

Ship's comm systems and transporters are still offline. I'm sending a shuttlecraft to the array, in an attempt to contact the Nacene. If I can negotiate with it or them, maybe I won't grow old and die on this ship.

"Lieutenant Clev."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Are you ready to depart?"

"Yes, ma'am. As soon as Baast and Nurse B'Eq arrive."

"Excellent," replied Pax'ia. 

Captain Kinravip asked Pax'ia to lead the away team. Her orders were to attempt contact with the alien being who had brought their ship across the galaxy. She ordinarily wouldn't have a problem with this, but she hated shuttle missions for the simple reason that she was constantly bumping her cranium on the bulkhead. Most humanoids' small craft were not built for the comfort of Julosians, who averaged 2.25 meters tall. She kept her complaints to herself, of course. She was far too professional to do otherwise. 

"Sister."

"Yes, Lux'io?"

"Here is your phaser."

Pax'ia took the weapon from her broodbrother. "I certainly hope we won't need these."

"I agree," he replied, "but I hope you won't argue with me about carrying one."

"No. Of course not."

The door to the shuttlebay entrance whooshed open and the last two members of the team arrived: Lt. Baast, a Caitian member of Lux'io's security department, and Lt. B'Eq, a formidable Klingon who served as head nurse aboard the U.S.S. Rod of Asclepius. Captain Kinravip selected this team to represent a wide spectrum of talents and specialties, hoping that one or more of them could successfully negotiate their release and return to the Alpha Quadrant.

"What's ourrr ETA, Commanderrr?" Baast purred.

Pax'ia turned to the Bolian at the helm. "Clev?"

"Not long. Maybe half an hour, forty-five minutes. Zigzagging through all this debris will slow us down. Plus, there's a Klingon ship out there that really looks more unfriendly than your run-of-the-mill Bird of Prey. I'd rather avoid them, if possible."

"Agreed," nodded Pax'ia. She addressed the team. "All aboard, people. I haven't even seen much of the Alpha Quadrant yet. I'd rather the Delta Quadrant wait its turn."

The five team members entered the shuttlecraft Panacea, and were soon flying toward the Nacene array.

"Mr. Berensh, open a hailing frequency, all channels."

"Ready sir."

"This is Roy Dane, Captain of the USS Midway, United Federation of Planets. My ship and crew are members of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers and can offer assistance in restoring vital systems if your ships are unable to do so. We're detecting multiple familiar and unfamiliar energy signatures, but cooperation between us is the best chance we have at surviving whatever this event is. Midway out."

"Keep the channel open Mr. Berensh. Commander Hayes, a moment in my ready room."

Captain Dane and his XO Valerie Hayes step off the bridge to confer in the captain's cramped office.

'What have the scans told us about the other ships adrift here?"
"It's strange, Captain. We've identified several vessels that are clearly of Starfleet make and registry, but they don't match anything in our databanks. The same goes for the Klingon vessel, and several others down the line... but it's the Vulcan ship that has me the most intrigued."
"Why?"
"I recognized the design from shipbuilding history at the academy. It's either a reproduction, a museum piece... or it's somehow here from more than a century ago."

"Dear God. Where are we?"

The Klingon Pirate Ship Qa'bortaS

"Scanners are still not cooperating Captain," said Pev from his console. "I do pick up some life signs out there, but I am unable to pinpoint if they are eminating from a ship, EVA, or other. Currently running a complete reboot of our systems, which will take approximately twenty three minutes."

Wor'Mog grunted, a sound the S'ti'ach had learned meant a grudging acceptance of the current situation. "How about transporters?"

"Still online."

Wor'Mog grinned. "Good. Since you've nothing better to do, you, your wife, and Mr. Bo will accompany me over to this station we're coming up on."

The lift doors opened with a hiss, and the ship's Intelligence specialist stepped onto the deck. "Reporting as ordered, sir."

Wor'Mog jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I was just telling your husband here. Get ready. We're going hunting."

"For?"

"At a minimum, answers. At a maximum, blood."

Shaulin looked over at Pev, who winked with one of his huge black eyes. One corner of her mouth quirked up in a grin in spite of their current dire situation.

Precisely eight minutes later, Wor'Mog, Pev, Shaulin, and the giant simian Slirdarian Jarum Bo stood on transporter platforms. All but Pev carried bat'leths and disruptors; the S'ti'ach wore two d'k tahgs on a bandolier over his uniform and carried four Federation issue Type-1 phasers on his belt, a prize from a violent but lucrative encounter in the Qa'bortaS's past.

"Energize," commanded Captain Wor'Mog.

Clev, the short, stout, Bolian engineer piloted the shutlecraft through the starship graveyard that surrounded the Nacene array. So much of the debris was emitting so many types of radiation that he didn't trust the shuttle's transporters at longer range. Parked adjacent to the array, however, he felt more at ease about letting Pax'ia and the rest of the team beam over.

"Keep a lock on us, Lieutenant. We don't know what to expect," Pax'ia ordered.

"Yes, Commander," he replied.

Pax'ia joined Baast, B'Eq, and her broodbrother, Lux'io, in the rear of the shuttlecraft, turned back toward Clev, and said, "Energize!" Within seconds, they materialized inside the enormous structure.

They barely had time to get their bearings when they all were triggered into instinctive action at the sound of another transporter hum. They drew their weapons and suddenly found themselves face-to-face with another quartet whose weapons were also drawn.

The team's eyes were all first drawn to a huge simianoid and the tiny, furry, blue alien at his side. None of the Federation crew recognized their species, but all four recognized the female in the group as an Orion. Then, all of B'Eq's shipmates looked at her, as they realized she was staring, eyes livid and mouth scowling, into the face of another Klingon.

"War'Mog, you miserable, thieving petaQ!!! Where is she? WHERE IS OUR DAUGHTER???"

Captain Dane and his number one move quickly back onto the bridge to their command chairs.

"Lieutenant, move us closer to this array structure. It's time to get proactive. I want a full scan of the structure and its capabilities."

"Aye, sir. Closing at one quarter impulse."

"Keep an eye out for any starship docking ports. We don't have any shuttles and I'm not keen to fly over there in a worker bee," Commander Hayes ordered.

Some fifteen minutes pass before the Midway completes a scan of the array, although its complexity and advanced design make it all but incomprehensible to the engineering crew.

"Captain, there appears to be a port here that we can line up our docking ring with," Chief Engineer Taz said as he pointed to a dense schematic of the outer array. "We've also picked up a docked shuttlecraft and several transporter signatures not far down from where can board."

"Very good. Commander Hayes, take an away team aboard and try to make contact with the array's crew and any other stranded people. We HAVE to get some answers out of this."

"Aye sir. Helm, move us in to docking position."

The Midway's thrusters spurt periodically as the ship slowly locks into place with a circular airlock ring. 

Commander Hayes turns to her security team. "We have no idea what the disposition of the array's operators or the other stranded crews may be, but we are not, I repeat not, going to intiate hostilities. Phasers at the ready, but set them to stun."

The airlock hisses open as Hayes and her three man team slowly make their way in and down a corridor... only to be met with other groups looking ready for a fight.

"I'm Commander Valerie Hayes, United Federation of Planets. We're here to assist. Please- everyone stand down."