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Journey to a Lost World by Laurence Coombes

Authors's note

As a kind of foreword; the nature of the story is based upon two simple ideas: I really wanted a story involving a Daedalus class starship and I really wanted a story that completely subverted the Startrek cliches. I contend that Star Trek has got itself into a rut with each series always falling into essentially the same routines: A first class crew with a stirling, well together Captain on board the flagship of the Federation (or near enough dammit.)

The action takes place in a safe Federation ruled by the ‘do nothing’ Prime Directive of Soap Opera origins in which everyone is always lovvy dovey to one another…

The technology is so advanced the crew always escape via inverse tachyon metroside cliche beams which, Lo and behold, a major character just happened to get a grade ‘A’ (never a ‘C’) in at ‘Treknobbable class’ at Starfleet Academy.

Besides, in Star Trek, rationality always over comes emotion, the greater good always covers over the smaller wants and Religion, in accordance with Roddenbury’s principles religion of any form was consigned to the dustbin. Oh, and finally, in accordance with the US screenplay Secondary Directive all heroes must be Americans and all English citizens bad guys. The Tertiary Directive is that _all_ villains must have English accents but that’s not always enforced. (No offence to Americans intended – I accept that in the USA it’s hard to insult the Irish, the Spanish, the Mexicans, the French, etc., so that kind of only leaves the English but it does get a bit repetitive.)

So, my plan was to have an emotionally overwrought English ‘Captain’ on a tin can of a starship flying in the face of the Federation on a mission set firmly against the greater good with a Catholic on board and a crew holding everything together with sticky tape whilst, somehow, still being Star Trek.

And why not? Whether I succeeded, of course, is another matter.

Oh yes, I am aware that almost certainly Daedalus class starships were not fitted with transporters. But Star Trek isn’t Star Trek without a transporter.

Legal stuff

'Star Trek' is a trademark of Paramount Studios and all copyright and intellectual property rights pertaining to 'Star Trek' remain with Paramount. This story is fan fiction only and not intended for commercial use, selling, re-selling or distribution at any cost to the reader.

This story may be distributed freely but must remained unchanged (others have edited my text in the past!) and the author acknowledged. I slaved over a hot 286 for this so I want a little credit. Thanks in advance. Enjoy.

By the way, I reserve the right to adapt this story if the Birth of the Federation series does fly. I was working on the assumption it wouldn't but it's the remaining rumour at the moment 23/12/2000.

To put things in perspective, this story is set in the year 2224.

 

Ensign Mark Smith Personal log Stardate 2310.8

Made history today. I put the Jefferson into orbit around a planet that does not exist. We've been exploring the edge of the Cirrus system and found a planet previous survey's failed to locate. Captain Lim is quite perturbed. I can understand why, I think. I mean, either we've got whole planets just appearing out of nowhere or our survey missions are hopelessly inept.

Ensign Mark Smith Personal log Stardate 2311.4

Scans of the planet have shown the remains of what looks like an old USEFP starship that has crash landed on the planet. It's clearly a very old ship and there are no signs of survivors, not likely even given the time it's been there. The planet's a dead rock in space. No-one, however, can find a record of a ship passing this way since the Victoria's survey of this sector only six months ago. A survey team is being sent down to the planet led by Lieutenant Anne Walker. I'm worried. Something feels wrong here. I wish I was going down too but I'm navigation, of course.

"Captain, the planet's disappeared!"

"What do you... Good God. Sensors!"

"Nothing Sir. Empty space."

"Mark, did you see anything?"

"No sir. When I looked up she'd just vanished."

"Full sensor sweep. Comms, contact that team, get onto Starfleet. Transmit all sensor logs."

"Aye sir."

Starfleet Operations - Admiral Ononogu Stardate 2311.9 to Captain Lim of the USS Jefferson.

We have reason to believe your ship in grave danger due to a spatial anomaly detected by Deep Space Probes. You are ordered to leave the sector immediately and return to Starbase 5 for debriefing and crew re-assignment. We repeat, you are to leave immediately due to extreme risk to you and your crew. A properly equipped science vessel with experienced officers is already proceeding to your sector to begin a full search for your crew members. In the meantime, you must leave the area immediately.

"Captain, with all due respect, we can't just leave them!"

"We are under orders Ensign. A science vessel is on it's way."

"But we're here! It'll take a week to get here. They don't have the oxygen for that!"

"They don't have the oxygen anyway. We've been here for three hours, they had supplies for two. They're dead unless they've got that ship's life support operational. We are under orders for our own safety. Now set course for Starbase 5."

"Sir, I protest!"

"Noted. Now plot that course, that's an order."

"Captain..."

"Dismissed. Get off my bridge. We are under orders to leave this sector. I'm not having you endanger this ship and it's crew."

Starbase 5. Deck G. Crew Quarters R&R, Room GA12.

Mark awoke. He curled up into a near foetal position. The pain was crippling him. It had been hard enough knowing Anne was not going to marry him, but it was another level of pain to have lost her completely. Life without love was agony but love without life was killing him. Mark closed his eyes wishing he could get back to sleep. These past few nights he had been desperately tired but anxiety made sleep hard. It was an impossible situation. It was not as if the survey team were lost forever. They could survive on board the crashed ship if life support could be activated, a likely possibility. But without food their time was limited. But he could do nothing to help. The Jefferson had been recalled and the crew given shore leave and reassigned to different ships. In three days time he was boarding the Coventry exploring the other side of the Alpha Quadrant. It seemed Starfleet were determined to rip his heart to pieces for him. He opened his eyes. His mind was too active to sleep. He punched the pillow, the anger taking over him. He punched again and again and again, seeing Admiral Ononogu's face again and again and smashing it pieces before collapsing into tears. Again. It was so hopelessly unfair. No-one cared about the survey team, well, one member, more than him but that counted for nothing, even for feedback. Her parents were entitled to information from Starfleet command as was Anne's Earth based fiance, Gary. Rumour had it he was shipped on the ship that had gone to search for the team. But Mark was just an interested party who had no right to know, no right to feel. He was under orders to quash his feelings and report for duty to plot a course literally as far from his beloved as current technology would allow. Mark screamed, yelling at a God he did not believe in at injustice of it all.

There was a beeping from the vidlink on his dresser. Mark gulped in his emotions. Part of him leapt. This might just be news. He wiped his face with the bedsheets and checked the clock.

2:03 GMT Earth time.

Whoever was calling was not communicating via subspace from Earth. He hit the video phone. It was Phil, 'Mr Frosty' from the Jefferson's science deck.

"Mark." The American started. "I've got data on the survey team."

"Phil, you're an angel." Mark responded, realising he looked a total mess. But then, it had been Phil who had called him.

"You won't like it." He was warned.

Mark listened. Computer graphics appeared on the small monitor as Phil spoke and as Mark's eyes widened.

The rest of the night was spent pacing up and down kicking things, smashing thngs, screaming and crying.

And thinking. Through the avalanche of pain, frustration and raw passion that consumed him, there was a cold, ruthlessly logical component thinking the impossible. At 4.00 GMT Mark was on his laptop connecting to the Starfleet database looking up critical data. At 5.30 Mark was dressed in Uniform and on the comm link.

He had a mission.

Starships had a maximum speed of around Warp 5.2, not yet fast enough to just hop back to Earth for a bit of R&R and colonies were still settling in, conditions rather primitive. So the crew of the Jefferson were largely stationed on Starbase 4 for their break before the Coventry picked up it's new crew. That made finding and shifting through potential mutineers easy, the ones who had protested the loudest (in writing) at the abandoning of their comrades. The results were surprising, yet by 4:00PM that same day a very tired Mark had them all in his quarters; Soogen, an Indian Catholic who tried to take their case to the almost completely ignored Vatican, Max, the Australian engineer who had been seen to get angry for possibly the first time in his life, Jennifer, a pretty medical officer who went on strike in protest and been demoted as a result, and Phil who to Mark's surprise was willing to discuss his mad plan.

Mark put down his tea on the 'living room' table.

"You know why I've dragged you down here." He said. "Phil's got news on the survey team, news I know is going to shock you. Phil."

The scienc officer stood. Funny considering that he was all but an inch taller than Mark that Phil always seemed so much taller than he really was. Phil flipped around his laptop showing the X-Planet as it had come to be known.

"There is going to be no rescue of the survey team." He told them. "The Federation has abandoned them." It was a statement of fact. Phil never voiced opinions only what he considered facts. What he said he meant, unless he was being sarcastic.

"You can't be serious." Jennifer cut in. "They promised us a ship was on it's way."

"Oh I'm willing to bet there's a ship all right, a Lancaster class heavy cruiser armed to the teeth, but no science vessel. Look at the stars." Everyone peered at the computer display. "These are images from the Jefferson's scanner logs. Now keep your eyes on the stars." The planet vanished. The stars shifted forming new constellations.

"I don't get it." Jennifer said.

"We're looking at another part of space." Soogen noted. Evidently he got it. Phil nodded.

"Exactly. The reason the Planet vanished is because it was, in one sense, never in Federation space to start with. We have a gravitational warp of some kind folding space over so the planet, in it's orbit, slid over the fold, sliding into our space briefly before slipping back into it's point of origin. The planet is no longer in Federation space. It's physically not at the co-ordinates we found it."

"Wow." Max breathed.

"So can we locate where it is now?" Soogen asked. Phil nodded.

"That's why you need to look at the stars. It takes bit of work with a computer and lot of hunting through history but I was able to trace the constellations we had to those seen by numerous starfleet vessels in the early 22nd Century." He hit a button. The display shifted again to display a distant sun and a small red planet.

"That's Romulus." Jennifer gasped.

"And that's why there's going to be no rescue mission." Phil assured them. "No ship is going to risk another war with the Romulans by crossing the borders right beside Romulus. That's why we were called back. Smarter computers than ours spotted what had happened and we were dragged away before we crossed the threshold. We've all been reassigned, split up so we can't talk about it. The Federation had a back door to the Romulan Empire. They want it guarded, they want it secret. A week or so from now and the telegrams will be sent out saying a survey ship failed to locate the survey team and they are likely dead."

"Which could be true with no oxygen." Max pointed out.

Mark shook his head. "The ship that crashed was probably a Pioneer class starship, damaged during the Romulan war. Oxygen regeneration would not be hard to start up along with water recycling. Assuming a section of the ship is air tight they could last for months.

"But not without food." Jennifer pointed out. Mark nodded.

"So someone's got to rescue them." He said, matter of fact. Now all eyes were on him.

"You've got plan." Soogen noted.

"I have an idea." Mark replied. "Trouble is, it means going AWOL, it means stealing, it means effective mutiny and court martial. I'm not asking any of you to do this and this is probably a stupid idea anyway but it's all I can think of. Phil's done a feasibility study and it could just work. But, before I even start to tell you, if we could get them back, alive, without starting a war, would you do it, even at the cost given?"

"You know that answer already or you wouldn't have called us here." Jennifer said. "Look, you've been probing us all day. Assume we're in for the moment."

"You won't shop me even if you disagree?" Mark asked. "I'm serious. Because I'm going even if no-one else is."

Silence. There was nothing to say. Mark knew he'd raised the stakes too high too early. He had to let them to keep them with him.

"All right." He breathed. "We can get to the planet via the space fold or whatever it is. Phil is certain that if a Planet can transverse the fold a starship can. The only thing is that we can't use impulse engines or we bend the fold and shoot out in the middle of nowhere, probably in a giant black hole. All we need is a ship that can sustain us at a minimum of Warp 3.5 and get there within four weeks, just enough time before starvation causes permanent damage."

"Yes, but where do we get a ship from?" Jennifer cut in. "The only vessels that fast are Starfleet and they're not going to hand one over."

Mark nodded. "So we borrow one."

That caused Pandemonium. The court martial already mentioned now became real.

"Er, Mark." Max cut in, over the protests. "Starfleet doesn't have that many ships. You've got security codes, a crew to deal with, not the mention the fact that you need more than five people to run a starship."

Again, Mark nodded. "All true. For current starships. Phil." Another button was pressed. A ship appeared on screen. Eyes widened in disbelief.

"A Daedalus class?" Max blinked.

"Er, I don't know my starfleet history but weren't those things discontinued fifty years ago?" Jennifer asked.

"Thirty five actually." Mark replied. "And that's the USS Galahad, one of the last built so it's the most up to date of it's kind."

"But there aren't any of it's kind." Jennifer retorted. "They're discontinued."

"But not destroyed." Soogen noted. "I get it. You're thinking about the Mutara scrap yard."

"Where old decommisioned ships are stripped and shut down ready for salvage for spares as required. I've been careful about the ship I've chosen. She's old, she's primitive. The weapons and commodities will have been stripped out but we can cold start the MAM reactor via the buzzard scoops, Phil is certain he can boot up the computer, it's technology was out of date before it was decommisioned so nothing fundamental has been ripped out and the nuclear core is still active so impulse will fire almost immediately."

"Yeh, but those old ships had a reputation for unstable reactors. She could blow when we fire her up." Max interjected.

"I've checked. It's a risk, but then this whole crazy plan is a massive risk. However, all Daedalus class vessels were recalled for reactor checks in the 2170's. Any faults would have been fixed them."

"Those ships were small." Jennifer said. "There won't be much room."

"The reactors take up half the ship space." Max confirmed. "But there'll be only five of us."

"So you're inviting us to meet our creator?" Soogen suggested.

"Probably." Mark accepted. "But if we don't try five others will. It's mad, bad and dangerous, literally. Who's with me?"

Mutara Nebula ship yards, four days later.

Mark blinked, the last sedative Jennifer had sprayed in was wearing off. The only ship they could get to ship them to the scrap yard was a stolen warp shuttle. It was designed to carry two people and a fair cargo. Currently it was filled with five people in space suits, for sanitary reasons more than anything else, a ton of tinned food shipped over in the very shuttle at their combined purchase, along with hammocks and basic utensils. Mark had insisted they contribute a very large tip to the suppliers for the inconvenient in hastily produced wills along with a copy of the code Phil used to hack through security for their records. If they survived he wanted their court martial to have as much evidence pleading for mercy as they could. In the cramped space, however, they needed sedatives just to keep from killing one another. For most of the voyage autopilot was firmly engaged and they were drugged out to oblivion. Mark had not asked each of his 'crew' why they had agreed to join him on the suicide mission. Doubtless they had their motives, but there was no time to talk before committing mutiny. He would have liked to have talked during the voyage to find out just why they were risking their necks like this, but common sense and drugs prevailed. Asking questions might make them reconsider and, however much he had to pretend otherwise, he needed them. Better to ask when they were warping out and conscious.

Time passed and Mark was able to run simulations through the computer to check his reaction time was up. He had to pilot the overloaded machine through several miles of debris yet. He reflected just how had ended up in Starfleet. He had always intended to be an actor. His emotional, artistic temperament was not geared towards command, not being cool in a crisis, but he had excellent eye to hand co-ordination and, with shuttle journeys and pilots ever more in demand, and with the arts refusing to pay as always, poverty had forced him to develop skills he always thought secondary. It was strange where fate led you. Now, here he was a starship pilot on a life or death mission to save the woman he loved. He was scared pantless but there was a strange sense that this was genuinely what his life had led up to.

"We're nearly there." Mark let them now, dropping into manual as the shuttle dropped out of warp. The gently orbiting ring of junk was clearly visible. He rotated the shuttle so they had the spread of dead ships laid out flat before them.

"That's great." Max said. "I could use a real toilet."

"Tell me again, the washrooms are going to work on this crate." Jennifer asked Max. Mark shook his head. What a crew.

It took forty five minutes of careful piloting to approach the heap and mix in with the rubbish. Patrol ships were rare, this was junk after all, but they did come and had to be watched for. The shuttle sensors were minimal so they needed eyeballing. It was disheartening to wade through the junk. Most ships had been stripped more than the end line Daedalus so Mark was conscious of the mass of derelicts missing engines, large sections of hull or even complete command modules. Other vessels were clearly pioneering technology, so primitive it cast doubt on the capabilities of the Galahad. Mark knew the truth of the matter but seeing dead hulks, black masses lit only by a distant sun and the proximity of the Mutara nebula made Mark's stomach sink. It took four hours locate the Galahad with many sharp words and shifts of navigation. The absence of sedatives was making everyone very tense. Then, finally, the ships before them span as Soogen, the only other pilot among them, rotated the shuttle to match the bearing of something seen.

"There she is." He nodded. Mark squinted. Being used to seeing ships from one bearing he was surprised to see the ship apparently upside down, forgetting, as all gravity based humans did, that in space locations are relative. They moved in slowly and carefully, the ship coming into view.

"It looks awfully small." Jennifer noted.

"It's bigger than this tin." Phil pointed out. "That'll do me."

"Hull looks ok, engines untouched." Max noted. "There's some ionisation and dents from rubbish hitting it, that's to be expected but she looks ok."

"You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that." Mark breathed. Soogen spun the ship around again to match the lay of the Galahad.

Boarding the Galahad was done simply through air dock. For safety purposes docking had changed little in thirty years. Operation of the docking system was tricky, using umbilical cords and space walking to open the hatch, but they made it in.

Negotiation through the Galahad was far from easy. Without power it became one long grope in the dark, moving inch by inch by hand hold. Fortunately the Galahad was designed before sliding doors became standard, so at least they did not have to negotiate through the ship via the potential maze of Jefferies tubes. Instead it became a case of manually pushing against wheels set in hatches and hoping you didn't fly off. It took a good half an hour to make it to the bridge, floating through gloomy, empty corridors. Too many times Mark wondered if he'd made a mistake, that he had gambled everything away for a derelict. Swallowing he tried to imagine the ship with lights and power. It wasn't easy. He felt better when Phil opened up the hatch to the bridge and he could see controls laid out. The sight, be it only by torchlight, of a command chair, panels and computer keyboards gave Mark a sense that, through this, there was a genuine chance of getting control. He pushed himself away towards life support, knowing Phil would head for engineering, to the central computer. He grabbed the command chair on route to stabilise. It was odd seeing a bridge so much the same as the Jefferson's and yet so different. It was much smaller than the Jefferson with a bridge crew of six, maximum, and that was a squeeze, but the helm still stood out in front, the command chair still prominent at the front, and familiar stations, although misplaced. There were lots of switches, monitors and keyboards, with none of the light sensitive displays of the 23rd century. Earth had suffered much at the hands of the third world war and further woars with belligerent races such as the Romulans and the Gorm. Attrition had occurred with constant repairs to starship with dwindling resources and functionality outstripping interfaces. As such large segments of the bridge looked like they had been built across the mid to the late twentieth century with knobs and dials mixing in with keyboards and green monitors. When you were spending all your resources on travelling faster than faster than light, and hitting Romulans and the Gorm harder and harder, there wasn't time to build high resolution monitors. The Galahad was a ship from a bygone age in more ways than one. Somehow that struck a romantic chord in Mark. He pushed himself away towards the life support station, hitting the panel harder than he intended and struggled to strap himself into the seat. He checked his air supply. One hundred and nine minutes left. Not bad but…

"Max. We're on the bridge. How's it going down there?"

"Slowly. We're working by candlelight just about but Jennifer's found the battery supply. We're charging now. You should have minimal life support in about twenty minutes but you won't get gravity until the warp drive's up."

"Understood."

They could only wait.

"You've picked a fine ship." Phil radioed. Mark was unsettled. He couldn't quite tell if his science officer was being sarcastic or not. He knew he needed the faith of his crew, far more than any other Captain.

"It's not bad for the money." He replied. "Can you start her up?"

Mark could almost hear the shrug. "It depends on what's left in the core. These old machines use hard disks and bubble memory. There's a fair chance a lot of data can be retrieved via diagnostic tools. The main problem's going to be booting the operating system. These things use the DESMOND OS which is hard to find these days."

"Desmond?"

"A computing joke. When Warp ships first became viable they had to produce a reliable, stable computer Operating system for use onboard starships. The white coats at the time came up with the Deep Space Network System, which was a name so dull they called it Desmond instead."

"But can you get her started?"

"With power, I think so."

They waited. There was nothing else to do. As it was they had power after forty minutes. One of the batteries had rotted away, a fact that made Mark sweat for a while. But Max seemed confident the main components of engineering were sound. Then, suddenly, panels lit up giving off soft blue and green hues. It wasn't much light but they had a start. Mark fired up basic life support, oxygen filtering from emergency tanks that were too much bother to remove on decommissioning. It would take another half an hour before they could breath on the bridge, which was cutting it fine, but it looked like they would be all right. Twenty minutes later and the computer in front of Mark flashed up it's text display. They had basic computer functions.

"It'll take a while before I get command functions." Phil reported. "I'm going to have physically solder past the security circuitry."

"Just so long as we can fly." Mark informed him.

One by one displays came on line. Half an hour and they could take their helmets off, although the heating only just made habitation possible. They shivered as they worked. Another hour, and the dim emergency lights came on. The fusion reactors were powered. A thrill ran through Mark. They had life. They were going to do it! After that things accelerated. Reports came through that impulse engines were intact and that emergency anti-gravity production was in process. Four hungry hours passed with command functions finally accessed and Mark was able to run a basic ship's manifest. He was pleased to note that Galahad was fitted with an early transporter, God knew how out of calibration it was. Subspace communications were conspicuous by their absence but, since they weren't planning on contacting the Federation anyway, that wasn't a problem. Unless they needed to send a distress signal, of course. All in all, the ship was old and relatively primitive, but she had the basic tools. Heating now made the bridge bearable, although no-one was in a hurry to explore the rest of the Galahad, permafrost taking time to melt and evaporate. Sensors were slowly activated and the view screen bleeped into life, showing the derelicts ahead. Finally Max brought the warp engines gently on line., "Just ticking over" providing a low gravity, sufficient to load up the food supplies from the shuttle. A cursory check of the galley revealed a functioning magnetic hot plate but, as expected, no pots or plates.

"It'll be eating out of cans for the duration." Jennifer warned. Their first meal was cereal bars on the bridge, the rest of the ship still too cold and thin on air.

"Status everyone?" Mark asked.

Phil started. "The computers seem fine, but they are solid state so we should be all right. But no-one is to try and do anything clever until I show them how to use Desmond properly."

"What about automation?" Phil asked.

"Tricky. Until we have system functionality it's hard to automate. I'll have to work on it as we travel. Until then everyone is going to have to be careful. Autopilot should operate, however, so we can take shifts."

Mark nodded then looked to Jennifer. "We've got basic life support, oxygen converters are working flat out, although for the moment I wouldn't explore the rest of the ship for another twelve hours. Cooking facilities are nothing more than adequate but we can do it. Sleeping's going to be the main problem. The beds will have been stripped out. We've brought a couple of hammocks and sheets and ripped the chairs off the shuttle, but it's going to be improvisation all the way."

"Really. I'd never have guessed." Phil remarked dryly.

Then it was Max. This was the critical moment. Without Max and Soogen giving the all clear they were sunk. Max's expression did not inspire confidence at first.

"I can get you warp speed." He promised.

"Yes!" Jennifer cheered. Max held up his hand.

"It's not that simple." He warned. "The warp core has a minimal load. We can only make a short hop before we have to restart the fuelling process. It will take a week to grow enough anti-matter to leap to Cirrus. Also, nothing on this ship has been calibrated. It will take me some time to check over systems and a lot of the time settings will be best guess. I dare not take this ship above warp 1 until I've checked her over."

"Where it will take about eight years to arrive at Cirrus." Phil noted.

"We can get faster when we're more certain the warp fields will respond." Soogen added. "We just can't be certain it's safe right now."

"Noted." Mark said. "You can only do your best. But if it takes a week to load up we've got to get there in three."

"And you?" Phil added.

"Me?"

"I assume you can actually pilot this hunk of junk."

Mark resisted the urge to swallow nervously. "I'm pretty certain." He replied. "It's going to depend on the data in the computer as to whether we can pilot a constantly moving Universe, but the actual controls look much of a likeness to your average ship just a bit clunkier."

So it was set. They could do it, just. The rest of the day (or night it hardly mattered in space) was spent in the Engine room helping Max and Soogen power up the vessel. Cold starts took hours to complete. Mark had to admit to himself, however, he was almost useless in engineering. If the bridge had been reassuringly contemporary, Engineering was archaic. Pipes, tubes and coverings were everywhere, ladders taking engineers down into cramped holes nudging up against good old fashioned wires. Mark had once seen the 20th Century file 'Metropolis' showing the early twentieth century's vision of the 21st, a world where light bulbs were still high tech. The Galahad's engine room reminded him of the film.

"She's old." Max reassured him. "But it gives use room to improvise. It might look messy to you but to me everything's in plain view and everything can be patched up. It'd be worried if it didn't look like this." He grinned. "I wouldn't want to run a ship like this unless I was stealing it. But since I am, it's a first class choice."

With that reassurance Mark was able to yawn. After eight hours on board Mark was getting tired, the adrenalin rush dying away. Now it looked like the Galahad would fly her 'Captain' was tiring.

"Another hour." Max concluded. "We'll have a full warp field in another hour."

It was then things went wrong.

"Mark, Jennifer, report to the bridge." Phil ordered, cutting through on their spacesuit's comm. "We have company."

It was hard to race to the bridge in low gravity. You couldn't run in the same fashion. Still, they did their best and Mark checked the viewscreen. All was quiet.

"Where?" He asked.

"On Radar. We've got something moving."

"Radar?"

"The sensors are way out of alignment. This is all I can trust at the moment."

Mark checked the signal. Bit by bit it was moving through the debris.

"What are the odds they're seeking us out or it's just a ship on patrol?"

"Either way we're in trouble. They detect power and it's phasers on kill."

Mark swallowed. There was no doubt that he was sweating hard. He had instigated this wild plan, it was he who had dragged his friends in with him. He was, be default, their Captain, it was his responsibility to get them out of this. That did not make him feel the slightest bit more capable of handling this. He fought the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Mark was not a natural born leader, he knew that. He was not calm in a crisis. But now he had to draw on underdeveloped reserves, shore up his confidence and fight on. He punched his suits comm. "Max, we've got company. I need warp speed now."

"I need another hour." Came back the predictable reply.

"We haven't got one. You've got to give warp drive now."

There was a pause. "I can lock in the fusion reaction. It'll kill our reserves but that's all I can do. It'll give us a few minutes of warp."

"That's all we need. How long?"

"Four minutes, tops. You'll need to start the warp count down anyway."

Of course. This was an old ship. You didn't just fire up the warp drive, you had to crank it up first. Max struggled to the navigation console. Jennifer took ops.

"Jen, shut off light support."

"Pardon?"

"We'll be all right for a good quarter of an hour. We have to shut off as much power as possible, give them less to find. I'll start the Warp countdown."

Starting up their first warp run was not easy on the Galahad. On early warp craft it took time for the warp field to take.' When starting up from cold, it took even longer, a full three minutes to the Warp engines to warm up before the jump.

"They'll pick up the warp signature without trying." Phil warned.

"Not for a minute or two they won't. Are they in tractor beam range yet?"

"They're still a fair distance."

Mark punched up the co-ordinates on the helm, miskeying several times. He blinked and breathed slowly. Don't panic. Stay calm. He re-entered the navigation plan.

"They'll be able to trace our warp signature." Phil warned. "It's certainly distinctive."

"Yes, but they won't able to find us."

"Where are we going?" Jennifer asked.

They were interrupted. "They've found us." Phil warned. "They're on their way."

"Is it a starship?" Jennifer asked. "It's not a freighter?"

Phil shook his head. "All I can give you at the moment is size and distance but, yes, I think it's a light cruiser."

"Damn!" Mark breathed. He checked the warp coil register. Only half powered. He hit the intercom, hoping it still operated. "Hold on everyone." He warned. "I'm engaging Impulse." He gave them five seconds then fired the impulse drive. The bridge wobbled and ground but they were not thrown back. Inertia compensators where hardly on pinpoint accurate configuration but it was proof they'd survive warp jump. Probably. Keeping impulse speeds low mark weaved the ship through the junk, trying to keep the larger starships between the Galahad and her pursuers whilst heading out to a safe warp environment. It wasn't easy. The Galahad was not built for close range manuovering and it was all Mark could do to avoid hitting San Fransisco class starships. As it was there were numerous clangs as the Galahad crashed into the rubbish surrounding them.

"I think they're trying to head us off." Phil warned. "As much as I can see anything.

"Put life support back on." Mark ordered. The needle was just touching the red mark. He pushed the ship's impulse engines up. They shot forward, escaping the debris when lights flashed on the helm. The computer, needing a clear path to Warp, had taken over. The stars span as the ship automatically manoeuvred herself to face the right direction. Mark punched the intercom.

"All hands! Hold onnnnn!"

The warp engines fired. Mark was shoved back into his seat as the ship leapt into flight, sudden G forces threatening to crush his bones in on themselves. The roar of long disused engines were matched the creaks and groans of a hull unused to such thrashing. Jennifer's console exploded sparking in small flames and sparks. Then, slowly, the pressure eased as the acceleration slowed.

"We have got to get the Inertia compensators aligned." Jennifer gasped.

"Are they on our trail?" Mark asked.

"Can't tell, I think we surprised them."

"But we can't assume anything." He hit the intercom. "Max. Max?"

"Aye?" Came back the bruised sounding Max.

"Max, I've got to have warp 2. Tell me we can do it."

"I don't know. I'd advise against it because I don't know how she'll take it. If you want to risk it, well, you're the Captain."

Wasn't he just.

"We're being hailed." Jennifer reported.

"Well, while they're talking they ain't firing. Put them on."

The message was distorted and disjointed, radio transceivers hardly tuned, especially at warp, but they got the message all right.

"Crew of the …had, this …… of the ...ship Pegusus, drop out of warp and….rneder. You're no Con.ition to maintain Warp…"

Did they detect something in the warp field they couldn't or was it a bluff? It wasn't really a question worth answering Mark decided. If they dropped out of warp they lost the battle anyway. They'd never get another chance.

If there is a God, he thought, see us through this. We do this for love of others.

"Hold on." He warned. He pushed the ship forward into Warp 2, close to half the speed the Galahad could handle. Again the G forces hit as the ship bucked and rattled wildly, inertia compensators struggling to divert forces that little but too slowly. The whine of the engines drowned out speech for a good minute as the aged ship thrust forward faster and faster. Particles illuminated by the light now stretched to four times normal length to view flashed past the screen as a dull red cloud approached. The G forces dropped back as the cloud grew nearer.

"The Mutara nebula." Phil noted. "Clever."

"They won't be able to find us there." Mark confirmed. "And there's ample amounts of hydrogen, helium and basic elements to draw from." Mark couldn't look behind him, not now, but he could just see Phil nodding approvingly. "How close are they?"

"No idea. Radar hasn't a chance of working at this range. I'll try and see what I can get out of sensors but I'm promising nothing." There were clicks and bleeps as Phil operated long disused cameras and sensors, many of which were almost certainly no locked solid from disuse and particle invasion. Jennifer turned to Mark, not yet daring to move from her seat.

"There's no way we're going to outrun them." She said.

"Agreed, but I'm hoping we've surprised them and I'm guessing they don't want to fire on us. It's going to look bad the Federation killing five renegade officers on an unarmed pile of junk. What we've got to do…" There was a bang and a lurch. Mark hit the intercom.

"Max, what the hell was that?"

The answer came from Phil. "A Phaser shot, port bow. I think it's a warning shot."

"My God, they really do want us to stop." He glanced up at the nebula, now filling the screen but Mark knew it was long way off.

"We're not going to make it." Jennifer breathed.

There was no time. They had no time to think. There was no power for shields, no weapons to fire, no time to … unless…

"Jennifer, hail them. Tell them we're going to surrender but we need to decelerate slowly. They'll know our inertia compensators are frazzled."

"We're going to…?"

"Just do it!" Mark checked the instruments. There was very little in reserve but… "What's their answer?"

"Agreed but we're to turn away from the nebula while they come alongside."

"Confirm, then hold on very tight."

The message was sent then Mark gave the final warning to all decks and forced the Galahad forward, to warp 3, nearing the maximum speed of the vessel. The G forces were unbelievable and Mark gasped for breath as the ship lunged forward, bucking insanely. Surely the ship was going to lose control? The nebula lunged forward as Mark's head pounded, the blood flooding up through his head, as he gasped on last time…

"Mark, wake up." Mark blinked felling very very tired. He wanted to sleep. "Mark." Jennifer was standing over him, looking concerned.

"Is he all right?" A voice asked. It sounded like Phil.

"I think so. Mark?" Memory flooded back.

"I'm fine. I… I blacked out? How are we?"

Jennifer breathed a visible sigh of relief. "Alive thanks. You did it, we're in the nebula." Mark glanced at the viewscreen. It was blank. "It's all right, Max has taken everything off line to conserve power. Your leap took everything the Galahad had left. We're refuelling now from the nebula. Max has put a strict ban on your touching anything that uses power now. He seems to think you're a black hole for some reason."

Mark nodded gently, then wished he hadn't. The headache that emerged was almost overpowering. "The ship?" Phil moved into sight.

"Survived. I think you're insane but we survived."

Mark closed his eyes.

God, I still don't think you exist. But thank you.

Captain's log, Stardate 2319.4

They departed after three days, fully fuelled with sensors as aligned as possible via space walks. Testing was impossible within the nebula but there was no time for more. They had to make their arrival within two weeks, Any longer and the survey team would suffer irreparable damaged from starvation. Any further repairs had to be done on route. Thus, with the aid of Phil who provided a working computer system, (steam driven from Mark's point of view) and up to date star maps via his laptop, they had all brought up to date information on their portables, Mark set the warp count-down and they leapt towards the Jefferson encounter. After that Jennifer insisted the crew, within shift rotation requirement, got a good rest. Mark did not complain and promptly went down with flu symptoms for the next two days, rending him incapable. Stress could really take it out of him sometimes.

It was true.

He was not command material.

Once the ship was on it's way, however, there was little more to worry about. Given the long journey times of interstellar space, particularly on older starships, much was automated. Phil worked tirelessly reprogramming the computers giving the bridge further controls over command functions ensuring less work for all. There was little conversation with Phil but he seemed to prefer it that way. The only real problem was speed. It was dangerous running the ship at it's maximum speed for Warp 4.1, but they had to reduce a cruising speed journey of months to weeks. Max and Soogen together were able to bring the engines slowly to full potential and varied the speed of the ship between 3.6 and 4.0 to reduce journey time. It made their ETA indistinct but it looked like they would be on time. Remaining issues were internal ship repairs - a lot of systems, though far from the majority, failed on activation after the long sleep - recreational, they were sleeping in hammocks, eating out of tins with few chairs and no tables and no recreational activities. The laptops helped along with opening the few bottles rationed out by Jennifer. That, in turn left one major problem.

They conveened the meeting on the bridge. The conference room had been stripped bare.

"The only item on the agenda," Mark began, "is what do we do when we get there?"

"I thought we slipped through space and got them back." Jennifer said.

"There is the small matter of a heavy armed starship at this end." Mark reminded her.

"Oh."

"After all," Max said, "If there wasn't one before there will be one now after the stunt we pulled at Mutara."

"So the question is, how do we get past it?" Mark asked. "We're unarmed and don't want to fire to anyone anyway. They will probably have been given orders to order our unconditional surrender followed by immediate photon torpedo volley."

"What's a photon torpedo?" Jennifer asked. "I'm medical, not munitions, but I didn't think the Jefferson had them."

"We didn't." Soogen assured her. "They're new and complicated. Suffice to say that they generate a nice anti-matter explosion which penetrate shields far better than nuclear explosions. They'd rip through this ship in no time."

"I had to ask." Jennifer swallowed.

"Can we raise shield strength?" Mark asked.

Max answered. "Mark, this is a Daedalus class starship. You've got shields on or off, re-modulation or power enhancement are right out even for me."

"We can disable the ship." Phil interjected. All eyes were on him.

"Well, speak." Mark ordered.

"Security systems are easily by-passed if you have insider knowledge. I got us a shuttle through hacking, I can disable the ship."

"You'd need to know the exact system configuration of the vessel you're going to meet!" Max countered. "It's not that easy."

Phil frosted him with a stare. "I do wish people would think before opening their mouths. All you need to know is the probability of the class of vessel we'll meet. Based on risk assessment I have narrowed down the vessels likely to meet us to three and the odds of Lancaster class intercepting us are better than seventy five percent. I've already written code to transmit a virus that will disable their weaponry."

"How will you send it?" Max asked. "The Galahad doesn't really handle subspace."

"We'll have to use radio." Phil retorted.

"But that takes time, and needs a receptor. They're not going to listen in just to have us send them a virus capable of circumnavigating security."

"Agreed." Phil responded. "It'll have to be a clever virus but I can send a smaller carrier via radio when we reply to their hail for surrender that will force their comms open."

"But radio's just sound isn't it?" Jennfier asked.

"Which carries digital signals which must be decoded for potential video data. I can get the processor's attention." Phil assured them. "I just have to be clever. Leave me alone to do the job and I'll shut that ship down."

"You won't damage it?" Mark asked. He noted what looked like a sigh from his science officer.

"I'll keep it benign. The virus will shut the ship's defences down for a few minutes then destroy itself. We can surrender on our return. The only problem is time. Even a small virus of this complexity is going to require several hundred kilobytes If I could transmit via subspace we'd be all right but we've only got radio and a slow baud rate. I need at least twenty seconds after the initial signal to transmit the code."

"They could massacre us in twenty seconds." Max warned. Mark knew it. Even their impulse engines were behind current technology. Compared to even a small cruiser like the Jefferson the Galahad was a small, under powered snail even at sub light speeds. They could take may be one photon torpedo and then, given the weakness of their shields and the fact that half the ship was given over to the warp drive system they'd blow like the innards escaping a squashed grape.

"Any ideas?" He asked.

"Can we think about it?" Max asked.

"Sure. But hurry. We've only got a few days and the faster we get there the less starved the survey team are going to be."

So the meeting adjurned with little actually concluded. Again Mark was reminded just little of a leader he was. If he had been Captain Lim he'd have managed to draw out a sophisticated, intelligent solution to their problem there and then. Somehow a real leader gave you the impression something was expected from you. Mark was, as many women had told him, just too nice sometimes. To cheer himself up he joined Soogen in the transporter room.

The discovery of the transporter room was very much a bonus. Very few Daedalus class cruisers were equipped with such devices. Mucking around with atomic blueprints and quantum fields took a lot of power and a lot of computing technology along with a greater understanding of physics than was available in the early 22nd Century. But Mark had guessed the Galahad might just have an experimental model fitted. He knew such devices had been fitted on late 22nd century starships and were rarely removed being so tightly integrated to the central Matter/Anti-Matter power system. He had been proven right, again justifying his choice of starship. It had to be said that they had been lucky in many respects with the Galahad. If the transporter could be made operational they could beam weakened crew members on board in minutes rather than the hours needed to send a shuttle down, bring them on board, re-docking and the rest.

However, first glance of the transporter did not inspire confidence. It was clearly a first generation mode with only two pads and great perspex doors that slid across the platform 'in case things went wrong.' Large computer banks lined the walls ready to store data patterns, the blueprints of his body and soul.

"Will it fly?" He asked his Indian engineer.

"Maybe." Soogen said, smiling uncertainly. "It's not in the best of shapes. The system has to be perfectly calibrated. These first generation machines are hard to keep aligned. At the moment there are fluid leaks that would fry you with radiation if I fired her up right now and I know there are faulty boards in the computer banks.

"So if I was to use it I'd get fried?"

Soogen shook his head. "The system's primitive but it's fail safe. Experimental it was but Starfleet wouldn't have fitted it if it was unsafe. She'll just cut out. These old system overheated if used constantly and needed to shut off for half and hour or so while things cooled down. One of the recent break throughs has been coolants that can cope with superheated matter without changing it's nature. If you like, it's unreliable but safe."

Great.

"Give me a screwdriver then and show me what I can do then." Soogen did ju