Chapter Text
"WARNING. HULL BREACH ON DECKS 3 TO 5, 30 to 36 AND 42! CRITICAL DAMAGE TO ALL SURROUNDING DECKS ALONG TURBO SHAFT 14.”
Captain Chris Larabee didn't need the Maverick's main computer to tell him his ship was being impaled by a thousand knives. He felt each stab every time the Maverick shuddered with yet another collision against the hull. Ahead of him, the viewscreen displayed the extent of the damage with clinical efficiency as clouds of debris swirled briefly into view before the Maverick's maneuvering jets swept them away. Still, the flotsam lingered long enough for Chris to glimpse amongst pieces of shredded hull plating, torn girders, and glass fragments, the bodies expelled from the Maverick by explosive decompression.
The bodies of his crew.
"Erect emergency force fields!"
Buck Wilmington's booming order managed to rise above the scream of condition red klaxons warning the crew of the Maverick's perilous state. The entire bridge was bathed in crimson, a stark reminder the ship was hemorrhaging from its many wounds.
"We are Entropy."
The words still echoed in his ears as Chris surveyed the bridge to take stock of what needed to be done. Vin clung steadfastly to the Conn, wrestling with the helm as he tried to evade the enemy ships surrounding them like an angry swarm of hornets. The Vulcan's face was a mask of concentration. At that moment, Chris could very well believe he was as disciplined as anyone born and raised on that planet. He doubted there was a pilot anywhere in the fleet capable of giving the Maverick the fighting chance she so desperately needed.
"Main power is offline. I am unable to erect the emergency force fields."
Ezra Standish, Chief of Security, made this declaration as casually as one who was announcing his intention to take a stroll through the tulips. His poker face held in place with supreme control showed no fear, but his closest friends could see through the facade. He was scared, and he had every right to be. This may very well be their last day.
"Captain, I still can't raise anyone," JD Dunne stated unhappily from his seat at navigation, trying hard to be heard over the klaxons. "Ship-to-ship communication is still down..."
His words were silenced by another tremendous shudder, the most violent yet, throwing them all off their feet. Alex and Ezra gripped their stations to avoid being thrown over. Buck slammed against the floor on his hands and knees, his face a grimace of pain. Meanwhile, JD's grip against his console was so tight, Chris wouldn't be surprised if the kid left permanent imprints on the glass. Christ only knew how Vin managed to stay put, but the Officer of the Conn remained in his seat, determined not to be distracted for any reason.
"What the hell was that?" Chris barked and decided instantly. It was a stupid question. What else could it be but the bastards tearing his ship apart?
"Oh my God," Alex Styles, the Maverick's Science Officer, raised her eyes to her captain. The glow of her flashing console made her grim expression appear positively spectral. "Our shields are gone. Captain, one of those damn ships sheared our deflector array right off the hull!"
"Christ," Buck swore, knowing the implications of that as well as Chris. If it was simply damaged, Engineering could repair it when they finally managed to raise Julia and her team. However, if the hardware was gone entirely, those were repairs that could only be carried out at a starbase.
Right now, the chances of the Maverick reaching one were slim.
"Can we polarize the hull?" Buck asked, trying to think of any solution to their problem. With the shields down, the ship would be torn apart in a matter of minutes.
"We can try," Alex glanced at Ezra, a silent agreement they would have to work together on this. Without the Chief Engineer, whose fate remained unknown since communications throughout the ship were disabled, it would take time. However, the worry on her face allowed Chris to read her unspoken thoughts. Time was a commodity they didn't have.
Another powerful impact against the hull seemed to confirm this, and Buck looked at Chris directly. "Chris, we need to think about separating the ship."
"I'm afraid we do not have that option," Ezra, who was helping Alex with the task of polarizing the hull, spoke up, not wishing for them to expend time debating something impossible. "The docking clamps have been damaged. We have to engage them manually, and right now, that part of the ship has suffered catastrophic breaches."
Chris closed his eyes, forcing away the sensation of being sucked down into an abyss of hopelessness. He inhaled deeply, trying to retreat to the place of zen-level calm that often aided him when things were at their worst. No easy feat when everything was going to hell around him. His ship was being pulverized by an enemy who made it clear he did not intend to take prisoners, even if Chris accepted defeat and surrendered. He thought of Mary Travis, his protocol officer and lover was presently making her way to Deck 14 because her son was in his classroom when the attack started.
Where was Adam?
There was no way Adam would remain in their quarters. If there was one thing Chris learned about the boy, he knew how to handle adverse situations. In that alternate reality where Adam was born, life was a constant struggle. His transition from child to man came far too soon, and it marked him, even now that he settled into life on board the Maverick. Ironically, this survey mission to the Necron Nebula was his last trip on the starship. After they returned to Lysia, the Titan, Will Riker's ship would take Adam to Earth. The kid was starting his first semester at Starfleet Academy.
As proud as Chris was of the idea his son would be following him into the service, he still wanted to wrap the boy up in a suit of armor and keep him safe from all the dangers in the universe. He'd failed to protect one child and was determined not to make the same mistake again. In the millisecond, the thought took to cross his mind; something exploded behind his eyes like a sun going nova.
Armour.
However, his elation was short-lived because when Chris Larabee looked up, he saw a dark shape, like a splinter of black obsidian, hurtling towards the glass dome above the bridge a second before it shattered.