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Chapter Text

— Stardate - 44184.8—

"Impulse engines are at maximum! But we are still being pulled in!" Wesley informed urgently, "Warp engines are still non-responsive!"

“Engineering, we need warp power now!" Picard ordered harshly.

"We're trying Captain! But the anomaly is siphoning power faster than we can generate it!" Geordi responded.

“Power loss at 45%,” Data confirmed, “Systems failing all over the ship”

"Shields at 75% and dropping, sir," Worf informed.

The Enterprise uttered a violent cry as another wave of energy violently crashed into the shields. The massive galaxy-class starship was struggling to stay together under the pressure, her hull creaking as each successive wave hit its mark. Picard winced at the sound.

The Enterprise hadn’t been built to withstand this kind of strain for long. Even now, he could hear the telltale signs of the beginnings of structural failure. Low groans that reverberated across the bridge as the outer hull was compressed. To make matters even worse, each action they took only seemed to intensify the pulses. Their options were dwindling fast.

It was clear that without warp power, there would be no chances of them overpowering the anomaly; as it was vehemently clear that impulse engines alone were no match for the forces expelled by the anomaly. Escape pods were also not an option, as they would undoubtedly implode under the immense pressure, and separation would also do nothing to increase their odds.

The last option he could think of was ejecting the warp core, as the resulting explosion might be strong enough to push them out of the vortex's reach. While it might work, it wasn't an option to be taken lightly, as the loss of their warp core would be crippling; and if it failed they would be without even the possibility of re-establishing warp power.

“Suggestions!”

Will, thinking along the same lines as he was, immediately replies, “We could eject the warp core; the resulting explosion might be strong enough to push us out of the vortex's reach”

The bridge shakes as yet another wave strikes their dwindling shields. A panel knocks out of place, sending sparks flying as wires are torn.

Data’s hands fly over his console, “Sir, there is the possibility that turning off all of the Enterprise's systems may result in the anomaly losing some of its vitality, allowing the Enterprise to have a chance to escape”

Picard's hands turned white as he tightly clenched his armrests; neither of the options filled him with confidence.

Ejecting the warp core would objectively be the worst of the two options.

The anomaly appeared to grow in strength in response to their actions. Releasing the warp core may just make things worse than they already were. Of the two options, Datas appeared to be their best bet; but his solution still wasn’t much better in Picard's eyes.

At the moment, their shields were the only thing stopping them from being crushed. If Datas prediction was incorrect and turning off the Enterprise's systems didn't weaken the anomaly, they would've dropped their only source of protection for nothing.

The Enterprise trembled underfoot.

He releases his hold, his hands slowly regaining color as blood flows back into his hands. Out of time, he quickly makes a decision, “Shut down the Enterprise's systems Mr Data”

“Shutting down the Enterprise's systems now sir”

Mere moments after the command was given the bridge was plunged into darkness as all of her power was shut off. When finally all of the Enterprise's systems were offline, the trembling slowed down to a gentle purr, but the brief reprieve didn’t last long.

With no warning, it picks back up again, twisting and swirling violently beneath them.

Picard held on tightly as another wave of energy crashed into the shields. The Enterprise's hull creaks as the anomaly's pressure tightly constricts her sides. Underneath his feet, the floor vibrates violently as the ship rides the wave.

“Bring the power back online!” he commands hurriedly.

“The Enterprise's systems are unresponsive,” Data intoned calmly.

Picard's left hand slipped its hold on his chair, and his hands became raw and bloody as his fingernails punctured into the calloused flesh of his palms. He hissed under his breath as he readjusted his hold. Without power, the Enterprise was now fully at the mercy of the anomaly.

His eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as a bright, blinding, light penetrated the bridge. He looks through his half shut eyes and stares comprehendingly towards its source. A giant halo of light loomed ahead of them, signaling their ever-growing closeness to the anomalies event horizon.

The halo was easily thousands of meters long and so bright it could easily be mistaken for a field of stars. A massive range of what appeared to be gargantuan lightning bolts cascaded from its borders like massive tears in space.

Moments later, a bolt of pure energy struck the shields, causing the Enterprise's systems to fluctuate. This portion of the anomaly was almost storm-like in appearance. Its walls were like humongous storm clouds, swirling and churning around like an enormous tornado.

Gigantic arches of energy bounced off the walls like lightning bolts within ominous clouds. Some of the larger bolts were 60 meters long, reaching across the expanse like great spears of light, threatening to pierce the Enterprise's now weakened defenses.

Occasionally, one of the smaller bolts would bounce off the anomaly's walls and slam into the Enterprise. Piercing through the shields as easily as a spearhead would cartilage and bone. Each bolt that hit the Enterprise carved a chunk out of her reserves. Weakening her bit by bit.

All of a sudden it felt like his stomach had fallen straight out of his abdomen. The bridge's lights flickered like embers on a flame before fizzling out entirely. Darkness consumed the bridge as systems were disabled.

“Brace your-”

The Enterprise was pulled suddenly violently toward the center of the anomaly, cutting off his command as he abruptly lost his hold upon his armrests. In a single moment he is flung from where he sat and for a few, short, singular moments he feels completely weightless. Like his body didn’t conform to the laws of gravity.

The sensation lasted only a few seconds before it was replaced by a searing pain as he crashed face-first into the bridge deck. Muffled voices filtered through the pounding in his ears, but the sounds were incomprehensible.

His hands scraped against the cold tritanium floor beneath him but he couldn't find the purchase nor strength to lift himself up. It felt as though his body was trapped beneath a sea of molasses. His struggle to rise stopped as something warm and hot slid into his eyes making his already blurry vision worse.

Blindly, he reached towards his face. Whilst fighting his own body the entire way. His arm felt as though it was on fire, over-exerted and heavy; but finally, his fingers reached their mark.

He was met with the same hot substance that had entered his eyes. It coated his hands and made his fingers slippery. With each second that he had his hand laid over his face, more and more of the liquid would pulse over his palm.

With horror, he realized what he was feeling. It was his own blood. Gushing from the gash that no doubt enveloped his face.

He felt heavy all over like someone had laid a weighted blanket across his chest. An overwhelming sense of tiredness overcame all of his senses. His hand fell limp to the ground as his strength left him.

—— Eight hours ago ——

“Tea, Earl Grey, hot”

The replicator let out a soft whirl as it materialized his drink. Picard's hands instinctively curl around the cup. The hot pottery was a soothing, pleasant distraction from the mundanity of his work. The hot tea slides smoothly down his throat, heating him from the inside, the sensation helping to ebb his growing headache.

Picard's chair creaks as he sits back down. The old desk chair was reaching the end of its lifespan, and it was really about time that he got a replacement for it, but even though it made quite the racket whenever he chose to sit down. He just couldn’t bring himself to replace it.

His coaster lets out a soft clunk as he sets down his cup of Earl Grey. A lukewarm palm runs across his temple as he gives himself a fitful massage. Unfortunately, the motion didn’t ease the pressure; if anything, it only emphasized the pulsing pain that now seemed to beat in time with his heart. He could already feel his low-grade headache developing into a full-on migraine.

Picard pulls open his desk drawer and riffles through its contents, eventually pulling out a small hypospray. It was a compact version of the usual model, its cartridge barely half full. With practiced ease, Picard injected himself with the clear fluid, then reclined in his chair, giving the drugs a moment to set in.

Almost immediately, he could feel the hypospray's effects. He’d have to thank the Doctor the next time he sees her. While his migraines had been weakening in their strength over the past month, their frequency has remained unchanged, and he was quickly coming to terms with the fact that, for him, the problem was likely permanent.

The implants had been attached directly to his nervous system, and their removal had its consequences both good and bad. Without the implants, the Borg had no way to control him, he was once again a singular being. However, the implants had been so deeply rooted within his nervous system that their removal had left a permanent scar upon him.

The hypospray clinks as he puts it back in his drawer. He then picks up his forgotten datapad that he had left on his desk.

This past month has been filled with one emergency after another. Ever since the battle of Wolf 359, a devastating battle that had resulted in immense casualties for Starfleet. Thirty-nine ships had been lost, thousands dead instantly. Starfleet's diminished fleet encouraged her enemies to act, and act they did.

The Romulans had already started increasing their patrols along their side of the Neutral Zone. Each day, the fear of them launching an assault grew. The Cardassians have been attempting to expand their influence in the Bajor system for a while now. Only ever being dissuaded by Starfleet's presence in the area; but due to the Romulans increased patrols, many of Starfleet's ships in the Bajor system have been reassigned to the neutral zone.

Unsurprisingly, the Cardassians were happily taking advantage of the situation. Placing ever increasing pressure on both DS9 and the Bajoran government at large. Both powers were smelling blood in the water, but neither seemed to see the shark looming behind them.

The battle of Wolf 359 had served as proof that the Borg were the greatest threat the Federation faced. While the Cardassians and the Romulans fought for more power in their respective regions, the Borg would lay in wait, waiting for the fighting and the wars to drain the strength of their victims. Picard knew, better than anyone else ever could, that this was just the start.

His data-pad groaned as his hand clenched tightly around the delicate device. It falls to the ground with a clatter as he abruptly lets it go.

Months, years, decades could pass but one fact remained the same, one day the Borg would return and they wouldn't stop until everyone was assimilated. He can only hope that by then they will have discovered a way to permanently stop them.

It wasn't just the Romulans and the Cardassians that were becoming audacious. The Ferengi Alliance was becoming bolder and bolder by the day. The usually ‘reserved’ group was attempting to spread their influence throughout the alpha quadrant. Most of their focus was currently on the Maxia system. The closest bordering area of Federation space to the Ferengi Alliance.

The Ferengi care more for profits than the rights of their workers. Which was exactly why the Federation had imposed strict regulations on the Ferengis activities within Federation space; but the regulations did little to nothing if there was no one there to enforce them.

Enforcing those restrictions was the exact reason for the Enterprises presence in the Maxia system. Under normal circumstances a job such as this would be overtaken by smaller patrol vessels, but command had wanted to send a message. By sending the fleet's capital ship on a lower priority patrol Starfleet would show that the Federation would not take lightly to any incursions, small or large.

But Picard had doubts that that was the sole reason for placing the Enterprise on a lower priority case. The events of stardate 44085 had left a sour taste in the mouths of Command, and he would not be surprised if this mission was a backhanded way for Command to keep an eye on his second officer.

Data’s hijacking of the Enterprise had been unintentional on his part. The android had been completely overridden by his own creator. According to Data's report, he had been completely unaware of his own actions until Doctor Soong had unlocked the memories for him. Nevertheless, these events have led to Starfleet's increased scrutiny. Scrutiny that Picard found to be unwarranted.

Data had already been intensely screened after the ordeal, and no additional weaknesses or trojan horses had been found in his code. Even still, Command continued to treat Data with heavy suspicion.

It honestly wasn't too surprising. Starfleet's treatment of Data has always left room for improvement. His second officer had spent the first twenty nine years of his life without the legal right to choose, even now he has yet to legally be considered a living being or even a full citizen of the Federation.

It was needless to say that the Federation's treatment of these matters left much to be improved.

“Message from Starfleet Captain”

Speak of the devil, he thought.

“Patch it through to my office Mr Data” he replies.

“Yes sir, patching it through now”

On the floor his pads screen flashed. Picard bent over and swiftly picked it up. The Federations symbol enveloped the small screen. Its stars twinkled as the symbol slowly rotated.

“Verification required,” The computer prompts a few seconds later.

Picard's eyebrows scrunched together. This must be quite serious if they were requiring his command code.

“Picard, 47 Alpha Tango”

“Confirmed”

The federation's logo fades away and is quickly replaced with the face of someone he was immediately able to recognize.

“Admiral Pressman” he acknowledges.

Admiral Erik Pressman was a stern, stone faced man, who was still desperately hanging on to the last shreds of a receding hairline. While Picard had never met the admiral in person, only knowing of him vicariously through word of mouth, he was fully aware of the man's connections to his first officer.

Six Years ago his first officer had been assigned to the USS Pegasus. It had been Will's first assignment. One that had not been destined to last long. The Pegasus experienced a failure in her warp core and had been destroyed as a result. The explosion had almost killed everyone aboard, with only one shuttle escaping the doomed vessel.

When news of the Pegasus' fate had first reached him it had not been the warp core failure that had stuck out to him the most, but rather the tale of a young freshly christened ensign saving his captain that had stuck out to him.

When the Pegasus Warp core began to fail, her crew had begun to panic. In the resulting chaos, many left their posts in a panicked frenzy, but Will had remained firm and had assisted his captain admirably. Will's actions on the Pegasus had placed Will on his radar and had been one of the key reasons behind his choice to make him his first officer.

“Captain Picard,” The admiral stoutly acknowledges, “You have been reassigned, have the Enterprise proceed to Starbase Nine where you will transfer command of the Enterprise directly to me”

Picard's heart freezes in his chest, the rhythmic beat halted as his reality crashes around him. He couldn’t have heard the Admiral correctly, what possible reason would command have to reassign him?

“Reassigned?” he questions, disbelieving.

The admiral appeared almost sympathetic, “In light of the events of Stardate 44002.3, Command has reached an executive decision that your prior… association with the Borg could pose as a potential source of unrest within both the Federation and Starfleet should you remain as the Captain of the flagship. As such, you will no longer serve as captain of the Enterprise. Instead, you are being reassigned to command the USS Endurance-B, where you will remain until the Borg threat has been neutralized.”

Picard leans back sharply in his chair, the impact muffled by the plush upholstery, “Admiral, Stardate 44002.3 was well over a month ago, and every evaluation I’ve received in that time has proven that the Borg's control over my body and mind had been severed once the implants had been removed”

“The thoroughness of the evaluation is not in question Picard,” the admiral states calmly, his shoulders straightening at his side, “This isn’t about what I or others think. It's about doing what's right for the future of starfleet”

“I fail to see how the future of Starfleet could possibly be put in jeopardy simply by-”

“The people of the federation are afraid,” The admiral interrupts, his tone harsh, “and fear is a dangerous thing. People still remember your time with the Borg, it still sits fresh in their minds, weather you like it or not”

Picard's jaw tightens, his chair creaking beneath him as his grip on his armrests tightens to an almost painful degree. The admiral's words felt like a knife directly to his chest, each one cutting further and further into him. He has spent the last month attempting to distance himself from Locutus and to see his efforts be so carelessly ignored hurt more than he would wish to admit.

“Admiral, I must protest,” Picard finally says, his voice treading on the edge of tremulous, “My actions while a part of the collective were not my own”

Pressman folds his hands in front of him, the fingers only barely visible on the screen, “The decision is final Picard, you will have the Enterprise report immediately to Starbase Nine. If you want to challenge the orders, you will need to wait until after the transfer has commenced.”

The Admiral suddenly swivels to the left, staring at something off screen. Quiet whispers sounded in the background as someone off camera spoke to Pressman.

The admiral face turns a pale white before turning hastily back the the screen, his panic now masked behind a thin facade, “Picard, we have just received a distress signal from the USS Remington, the Remington had been tasked to deliver the cure to Itularian Plague to DS3, your orders are to divert the Enterprise to Sector 48.5 and assist the Remington's crew. Once you've completed that, proceed to Starbase Nine”

“Itularian Plague?” Picard questions, “there hasn't been any case of it in over a hundred years”

The Itularian plague also colloquially referred to as Living Rot. Was a terrible disease known for causing its victims to rot from the inside out; but the disease had been eradicated over a hundred years ago.

“I’m well aware of the plagues history,” the admiral comments, “Unfortunately there is no time for a proper explanation, your new orders are to proceed to sector 48.5 effective immediately”

Picard, his mind still reeling from the shocking news of his reassignment, took a couple short seconds to readjust.

“I will set course for sector 48.5 immediately” Picard replies, his voice steady and calm despite his inner turmoil

The admiral nods sharply, “Good, and Picard… once this mission is completed, I expect you and the Enterprise to proceed to Starbase Nine without further delay”

“Understood admiral, Picard out”

The screen turns black as the transmission cuts out. Picard stares silently at his own reflection on the now blackened screen before his hand reaches down and harshly flips the pad over.

He grabs his head, his fingers jabbing painfully into his skull; for the past month he has been running himself ragged trying to prove that his assimilation into the collective had not permanently affected him in any meaningful way; and now just when he had been beginning to think that command had finally gotten over their paranoia. This happens.

His lungs expand outwards as he takes a deep, calming, breath. The reality of the situation was quickly dawning on him. Command was going to take the Enterprise away from him, they were going to take the Enterprise away and quietly send him to the Endurance.

They might as well have been retiring him.

The Endurance was a small Nova class starship with a maximum complement of fifty, nowhere near the size of a galaxy class or a constellation class starship. The difference in size wasn’t the only major distinction between his current position and the one they were currently trying to hand him off too.

Nova class starships were not responsible for any crucial diplomatic or defencive endeavors. The Endurance was a policing vessel that remained in charted territories; she was never sent out on exploratory missions. Being transferred to the Endurance was a sure fire way for command to keep him well and away from any important happenings.

Picard rises from his seat and, with slightly shaking hands, he straightens his uniform.

Starfleet has been his entire life and now it felt as though it was crumbling all around him.

_________

“I have just received urgent orders from Starfleet,” Picard began once his officers were settled into their respective places around the table, “We are to divert our course to sector 48.5 and render immediate assistance to the USS Remington, They had been on route to deliver the cure for the Itularian plague to Deep Space 3 when their distress beacon went off in the area”

After much thought Picard chooses to leave out any mention of his reassignment not wanting his officers in any way distracted. He’d inform them after this final mission.

Geordi who had been listening intently, his brows furrowed, was the first to speak up, “Sector 48.5? That would be well within the Pinchot Expanse”

“Yes Mr La Forge, unfortunately the Remingtons distress beacon has been detected within the expanse” Picard regretfully replies.

The mention of the Pinchot Expense had sent a ripple of unease throughout the room. The Pinchot Expense was almost as infamous as it was dangerous. It was an area of space that was plagued with mysterious disappearances, puzzling occurrences, and perplexing anomalies. Travel inside of the Pinch had been banned after two science vessels went missing inside its borders and it had remained banned for the past seventy years .

It was needless to say that the area was well known. In fact the academy had an entire course focused on the Expenses' strange occurrences. He knew because forty or so years ago he had taken that course himself.

“The pinch is extremely dangerous. Why would the Remington enter it?” Deanna asks, confused.

“It's definitely strange,” agrees Geordi, “The Pinch is a well known hotspot for spatial anomalies, anyone with common sense would have steered clear”

“Well, maybe the Remingtons systems were being impaired by one of the Pinches anomalies,” said Commander Riker, his expression darkening, “If their systems were malfunctioning or compromised in some way, they might not have even realized they’d veered off course.

Geordi shakes his head in disbelief, “That shouldn’t be possible, the anomalies on the outer edge of the expanse are heavily monitored for that exact reason, any anomaly that could affect a ship is flagged and any ships in the area are given directions on how to avoid it”

Data nods agreeing, “DS3 runs a scan on the Pinches outer edges once every twenty-four hours, the probability of any anomalies growing during the in-between period is low, however… if one of the anomalies did sneak past the DS3 scans it is possible that the Remington had no idea that they were ‘running’ into danger”

Picard hums, “What are the chances of DS3 missing the anomaly, Mr Data?”

“There is only a 23.34% chance of any changes going undetected”

“That's still pretty high,” Will remarks, “Something could have easily gotten through the scan”

“It is certainly a possibility sir”

“We also can’t overlook the possibility that there might not be enough uninfected crew members left to run the regular scans” Beverly speaks up, “The Itularian Plague spreads fast and we don't know how long the infection has been aboard the station”

It was a disturbing thought; if the crew of DS3 was in such a state of disarray that they couldn't even complete their regular scans. There would be no telling what condition they would be in by the time help could arrive.

“Captain, the Pinch is a volatile region of space, going inside it will pose a substantial risk to the Enterprise,” Worf grumbles as their conversation dies down. The klingon did not appear happy with the current state of events. His head of security never appreciated a lack of information, especially when it could impact the safety of the ship.

“We will take all of the necessary precautions Mr Worf” he replies diligently.

“Mr Laforge, I want you to run a level one diagnostic on the Enterprises systems, make sure everything is working properly” he orders. If they were going to enter the pinch then it was imperative that all of their systems were in solid working condition.

His chief engineer nods adamantly, “Yes sir, a full system scan should only take a couple of hours to complete”

He stands up, taking advantage of the moment in order to straighten up his shirt, “Make it so”

___________

“Captain, we are now entering sector 48.5” Wesley informs, cutting through the oppressive silence that had fallen over the bridge like a dense fog.

“Take us out of warp ensign”

“Yes sir” Wesley responds as his fingers move deftly over his console's controls. The silence deepens as the stars outside the viewport change from white streaks of light to little speckles as the Enterprise dropped out of warp. The space around them was dark and empty, more so than usual. The Remington and whatever might have affected it were nowhere to be seen.

“Commence a sweep of the area, standard search pattern” he orders.

“Yes sir commencing standard search pattern”

The Enterprise moves slowly and methodically through the inky void of space, as its crew scans for any trace of the missing vessel.

“Sir sensor scans have just picked up an object that matches the Remingtons description at mark 38.2” Data pipes up after several minutes of silent waiting.

“Approach the coordinates at half impulse” Picard orders, his voice steady and focused.

“Yes sir, entering half impulse and changing current heading to mark 38.2” Wesley replies immediately.

The Enterprise turns to starboard as she dutifully responds.

“We are entering visual range” Worf informs a couple minutes later.

“On screen”

The shattered remains of the Remington faded into view, shocking Picard to his core. Debris littered space where portions of the Remington's crushed hull lay forgotten. Fortunately, it looked like the majority of the ship was still together, but there was still substantial damage done to the Miranda-class vessel. Her nacelles were torn off, drifting freely in space; and the saucer had a large chunk taken out of it, with several decks exposed to space.

“Life signs?” Will asks.

Datas hands drift over his console, “Nothing Commander”

“Damage report Mr Data” Picard commands.

“The Remington has been heavily damaged, both outer and inner hulls have been breached, decks 4, 5, 7, 8, and 10 have been exposed to space”

Riker walks up to Data’s console, and stands beside the android, his gaze never leaving the image of the damaged ship.

“Can you link us up with the Remingtons central computer?” he inquires.

“No sir, the ship is completely without power”

Picard stands up and walks over to his first and second officers, “Are you able to get a lock on the cure's cryogenic container?”

Data’s expression and tone do not change as he replies, “The transporter can not get a lock, the Remington's sickbay is locked behind an emergency bulkhead”

Picard hums thoughtfully at the implications, “Is the ship stable enough for an away team?”

“At the moment sir, but the ships life support systems are down and the risk of structural collapse is high”

Picard looks to his first officer, “Have transporter room one keep a constant lock on your away team-”

“Captain! Chroniton Radiation in the area has just increased by 35% and is climbing at a rate of 5% every second”

Before Picard can respond, he stumbles forward as the Enterprise trembles underfoot, as a blast of energy slammed into the shields.

“An energy vortex has formed below the Enterprise!” yells Wesley, “It's drawing both ships inside!”

“Red alert!” his first officer ordered promptly.

“On screen!” Picard commands.

Swirling energy twisted and turned outside the main viewer like thousands of snakes fighting for dominance. It was like a gigantic funnel was forming underneath both the Enterprise and the Remington, threatening to swallow both ships whole.

The Enterprise shook violently as gravitational forces pounded on the vessel.

“Set course for DS3, warp 10!” Picard yelled over the klaxons.

The Enterprise's engines screamed as she desperately tried to escape the anomalies' grasp. Outside the view screen, a gigantic burst of light blasted out from the mouth of the vortex; as the Remington collided with the walls of the anomaly and was instantly destroyed.

Debris flew from the Remington's corpse but in a twisted sense of luck the wreckage never reached the Enterprise. Instead it was all dragged into oblivion as the anomaly pulled everything within it.

“Sir the anomaly is siphoning power from the Warp core! We won't be able to go above warp 2!” Geordis voice broke across the comms.

The bridge's lights flickered ominously.

“We've lost warp sir! Going to maximum impulse!” Wesley yells over the klaxons.

“Divert remaining power to the shields, and send a distress signal out on all frequencies, priority one!”

“Communication systems are down Captain” Data replies, “The Enterprise will be running solely off of emergency power within thirty seconds”

The Enterprise groaned as another wave hit her shields.

"Impulse engines are at maximum! But we are still being pulled in!" Wesley informed urgently, "Warp engines are still non-responsive!"

“Engineering, we need warp power now!" Picard ordered harshly.

"We're trying captain! But the anomaly is siphoning power faster than we can generate it!" Geordi responded.

Chapter Text

— Stardate - 44184.80695 —

The Enterprise rockets violently out from the vortex. The stars outside the bridge's view screen swirl in chaotic streaks as the ship spun uncontrollably through space. The harsh movements force Data to cling to his console in an effort not to go flying. Warnings flash across the console's screen, but with his current position, awkwardly hunched over the operations console, he was unable to check their cause.

With some effort, he straightens in his seat, holding himself steady by clasping both of his hands on the sides of his console. Data combs over the readings that flash across his screen, most simply confirm what he already knows.

The journey through the anomaly had put tremendous strain on both the ship and her crew. Rendering everyone, besides himself, unconscious. Which meant he alone would be responsible for ensuring the Enterprises safety.

“Computer,” he called out, but there was only silence. The voice interaction system must be offline, making his already daunting task that much harder.

He begins to lift up his left hand, in an attempt to use his console, but halts as his body tilts to the side ever so slightly. The Enterprise's movements were making it difficult for him to move. If he tried to use just one hand to hold himself in place, it was highly likely he would end up being dislodged from opps.

Thinking fast, Data grasps the side of his console hard with his right hand. The duranium buckled under his strength with a loud crunch that echoed loudly through the dimly lit room. Now that he was more stable, he was able to free up his left hand. It flittered its way across the controls, pulling up several hundred readings that he read in seconds.

The majority of the ship's systems were not online. Including both the Warp core and the Impulse engines. Without at least one of those systems he would be unable to stabilize the Enterprise's movements. He refocuses, as another, more important reading pops up.

Life support was down.

Everyone aboard the Enterprise, besides himself, was completely reliant on oxygen in order to survive. Stabilizing the ship's movements could wait. Reestablishing life support would have to be his top priority.

His hands flew over the controls, bringing up several more readings. Fortunately, based on the current readings, the Enterprise still had enough oxygen to last the crew a total of 15 minutes. Plenty of time for him to reinitiate life support.

He brings up the needed functions and pauses. His hands freezing over the initialization sequence. It appears he had another issue he had to resolve first.

The emergency power was down to 34% and auxiliary power was completely depleted.

The emergency power system was designed to provide power to the ships vital systems during times of emergency. It provided enough power to sustain the ship for a total of five days. Enough time for a rescue team to reach them or for engineering to fix the problem themselves.

The Enterprise has only been on emergency power for thirty minutes. Based on normal power usage, they should have still been above 98% of their reserves; but it appears the anomaly drained them more than he had originally predicted.

In order to reactivate the warp core, emergency power would need to be at a minimum of thirty percent. If he runs the life support now there will not be enough energy left over to reactivate the warp core. Leaving them stranded.

He will need to reinitialize the warp core first. Then with the power reestablished he can run life support. Unfortunately, this was not a task that could be done at his operations console. The engineering station was the only place on the bridge that could be used to complete such a delicate and important procedure. Which meant he would need to make the difficult journey across the bridge.

Tritanium groaned as his hand loosened its grip and pulled slowly out of the fist sized dent in the steel. Data rose carefully and mentally prepared himself to make the journey across the bridge.

The fastest route would be to go around the right side of the tactical station. If he keeps to the left of the ramp he should be able to use the oxbow railing to his advantage. It was going to be slow going, as one miscalculated movement could send him tumbling to the ground.

It also did not help that the bridge was filled with the unconscious bodies of the crew. Which were strewn about the bridge and were acting as unintended obstacles. Fortunately most remained in the positions they had been in at the moment of their fall, but others had slid across the bridge following the motions of the uncontrolled ship.

Those that had moved were going to be the most difficult to navigate around. He has to be extra careful not to hit any of them. If he does it will run the risk of dislodging them from their current positions, sending them into further harm.

Finally, Data’s eyes lock onto the captain's injured form. He lay nearly motionless, with his only movements being his shallow, labored breaths. Something Data could see only because of his enhanced senses.

Blood oozed from a wound on the captain's forehead, it dripped down onto the floor where it pooled around him in a dark, half-dried mess. Data ignored the prompts flashing in his vision, focused entirely on the task ahead.

The crew must come first.

With his route fully planned, Data acts. He steps away from his console bracing himself for the forces he was sure to encounter. G-forces strike his body, almost causing him to fall over, if he had been human he most certainly would have. Each of his steps afterwards were carefully choreographed. As one misstep could potentially set him back minutes. Minutes that he could not afford to lose.

He side steps the Captain's limp body. Avoiding the trail of blood on the floor. He then makes his way slowly up the ramp. Keeping careful track of each of his movements along the way. It takes him 40 seconds but finally he makes it to the halfway point and reaches the hardest part of this trip.

Ensign Cole's body was acting as an unintentional barricade, completely blocking the rest of his path.

Getting around the ensign was going to be difficult. He was laid out in such a way that his body blocked nearly the entirety of the top of the ramp. Leaving only a small gap between him and the far right wall. While that gap would be the best way for him to get past the ensign. Physically getting over to that side of the bridge would be difficult.

In actuality it would be easier to go over the ensign. Saving him the time it would take to slowly move around his body. However, doing so would put him in great danger.

Data mulls over his options before settling on the most logical answer. He lifts his left leg and ever so carefully hefts it over the ensigns body. Placing the ensign momentarily between his legs. Then he pauses, placing a steadying hand on the oxbow railing to support himself. In one fluent motion he swings the rest of his body over the ensign, clearing the obstacle completely.

He finally reaches the station only a few seconds after. Data firmly grasps the console's walls in an effort to keep himself steady. The entire trip had only taken 1.45 minutes to complete, giving him 13.15 minutes to complete the reinitialization procedure.

The console lights up as he activates it. Glowing dimly in contrast to its usually vibrant display. His fingers flew over the controls as he brought up the necessary systems and protocols associated with reinitialization, but paused as he checked how much power was left

The power had dropped below 30%.

Twenty eight percent would not be enough to reactivate the anti/matter reactor.

Data’s eyes twitched as hundreds of options and their probabilities of success streamed through his processor, as he tried to find a solution to this predicament.

He could divert all of the Enterprises remaining power to the reinitialization procedure, but that would require diverting power from all of the bridge's consoles. He needed to be able to oversee the procedure making that option impossible. Unless… a new idea occurs to him, one that should solve both problems entirely.

He kneels down and removes an access panel from beneath the console, revealing the internal wiring. With swift precision, he disconnected one of the console’s cables and, carefully, rolled up the sleeve of his right arm until it starts to bunch up just above his elbow.

He runs a finger down his bare forearm, feeling for the invisible seam in the bioplastic. The port opens easily under his hand. Tubes and wires flashed and pulsed within his arm. He reaches two of his fingers inside the narrow chamber and grips his hand's main power cable. With a somewhat forceful tug Data disconnects the cable.

His right wrist falls limp as its power supply is cut off completely. With his left hand Data carefully wiggles the end of his power line out of his service hatch. He contorts his body into an awkward crouch as he tries to position his left arm as close to the service hatch as possible.

He curls his fingers around the cable from the console and pulls it out as far as he could; but even taut as it was, the console's line was too short to reach his own power line.

Releasing the cable, Data's mind buzzed with activity as he thought up a solution.

He drops the console's cable and grasps his right forearm in his hand. He grabs at the base of the access hatch and pulls. The bioplast screams as he effortlessly pulls the sheeting off. Several warnings popped up and with a small amount of struggle he dismissed each one.

Wet biofluid leaked out of a small tear in one of his redundant coolant lines, running down his forearm in a steady trail of gold. His right arm sparked and spasmed as an errant electrical current flowed through it.

He reaches his fingers inside the widened gash. Grasping his arms power line between two fingers. He pulled the line up and out as far as he could, stopping as it grew taut in his hand. His body contorts back into the awkward crouch as he moves his arm as close to the console's panel as possible.

This time he is able to connect his power line with the console's systems. His systems fluctuate as some of his own power diverts from his body. While the position he was in might have been difficult to manage, he was still able to reach the consoles controls with his left hand, making the position worthwhile.

His fingers run over the controls as he diverts all of the enterprises remaining power towards the reinitialization procedure, by doing so he will be able to scrounge up enough power to start up the sequence. The bridge plunges into darkness as the emergency power is diverted. The console remains dimly lit, as he uses his own system's power to keep the console running.

Eventually, the bridge's lights flickered back online as the Enterprise's warp core reinitialized. Data’s hand hastily moved over the console's controls as he reactivated the Enterprises key systems.

“Computer, release compound ADTH into the airflow system at 6 parts per million and activate starboard thrusters at 2.5% power for 3 seconds”

“Acknowledged, initiating compound release and activating starboard thrusters at 2.5%”

The sound of ADTH and purified oxygen being released filled his ears and the readings from his lungs swiftly began to level out. He spent a few seconds checking the console's readouts before deciding it was safe for him to disconnect from the Enterprise.

Exiting the awkward, hunched over position he had taken, he lowered himself to the ground. His left hand began the delicate process of disconnecting himself from the console. His right arm involuntarily twitches as the connection severs.

Data stands up, swaying slightly as his equilibrium destabilizes, a side effect of his systems being drained of power. Eventually his power would recuperate on its own. Until then he would have to be mindful of his movements.

His arm sparks causing the limb to twitch and spasm in response. The limb was too damaged to repair here on the bridge. He will have to fix it down in engineering but that could wait until later. For now he reroutes his power and coolant out of the arm. It falls completely limp to his side, slapping the side of his abdomen with a wet smack and soiling his uniform with the oily substance.

Data slowly trekked across the bridge towards the captain's prone body. He kneels down beside the captain's body. Raising his still working arm he tentatively places a couple fingers on the Captains neck, feeling for his pulse.

Soft footsteps pad up beside him. Data looks up, meeting the concerned gaze of commander Riker. The commander placed a gentle hand on his left shoulder. The commander's eyes looked pained as he gazed down at the captain's injured form. Rikers eyes strayed momentarily to Data pausing as he notices the android's damaged arm.

The commander's mouth opened questioningly, obviously wondering why he was injured in such a way. Rikers mouth closed as his question was aborted.

“Is he alive?” Riker askes, concerned.

“The Captain is alive but requires immediate medical attention” Data replies whilst pulling his hand away from the Captains pulse point, his fingers came away stained red.

The Commander kneels down beside him and places two of his own fingers on the Captain's neck.

“I’ll take over here,” The Commander says, “Go get yourself patched up”

Data straightened ever so slightly.

“I am functioning within acceptable parameters and capable of continuing my work on the bridge” he assures.

“Data,” The commander replies, his tone leaving no room for argument, “I won’t have you working with half your arm exposed”

He could not understand why the commander was so insistent upon him receiving repairs immediately. While he may not be nearly as efficient as he usually was with only one arm available to him. He would still be able to complete his job. With the Enterprises current state of affairs, they needed all of the able bodied crewmen working overtime.

He slowly hefts himself off the ground; having no choice but to follow the commander's orders. His boots hit the ground with soft clunks as he makes the short trip to the turbolift.

___________

Riker quickly pulls his hand away from the Captains pulse point as Beverly and her triage team come rushing towards them. She kneels down beside the Captain reaching for her tricorder as she goes.

“Will, I need you to move, I can’t work with you blocking my way” Beverly says forcefully, her tricorder beeping as she runs it over Picard's body.

Will stood up immediately and moved well out of the way. The last thing he wanted to do was inadvertently cause the Captain any further harm. Beverly's tricorder slams shut as she abruptly ends her scans, “We need to get him to medical, Nurse Ogawa help me load him onto a stretcher”

Picard was carefully, hastily, loaded onto a stretcher. Rikers heart twitches in his chest as he watches the usually proud Captain be taken away. He looked frail and lifeless aboard the stretcher, it was so unlike his usual appearance.

The captain usually appeared to be so infallible that Riker sometimes almost believed the man to be invulnerable, but now it appears that perception would now be broken twice in a month's time.

He looks away, affording the Captain some additional privacy. His wet fingers brush against his red uniform shirt as he wipes the blood away. Riker looks around the bridge, taking in the flurry of activity all around him. The triage team was hard at work accessing everyone's condition. From where he was standing it looked like about half of the bridge crew was injured, but the Captain had certainly been the worst of the lot.

One medic approaches him, running a simple scan over his body with a tricorder.

“You don’t have any major injuries sir, just some mild bruising on your shoulder that should go away in a couple days” The medic… Ensign Tuvok? Says after he finishes his scans.

That explained the persistent ache in his upper back. Fortunately the pain was manageable and he would be able to work just fine. Riker walks around the pool of blood on the floor, and comes up beside ensign Cole who had returned to opps. The Ensign was relatively unhurt, with only one visible bruise on his left arm.

“What are our coordinates?”

It was really unlikely that they were still in the Pinchot Expanse. The anomaly they had traveled through appears to have worked along the same lines of a wormhole and most wormholes only transport ships a short distance.

Usually somewhere between ten to twenty parsecs away from where you enter was the usual distance. While sometimes wormholes would transport ships a few systems or even quadrants away, it wasn’t nearly as common as some would like to believe. He hoped this one wasn’t an exception.

“The Enterprise is at-” The ensigns brow furrowed, “I’m sorry sir but the navigation system appears to be non-functional”

Wonderful. Just what they needed.
Riker mutters under his breath, probably louder than he meant, because a moment later, the ensign answers

“All of the Enterprises systems apart from, navigation, shields, and communication are online” Cole replies, “However, there are reports that many of the online systems do require repairs”

Unease settles in his gut like the anchor of an antique ship. With communications and navigation down they would be unable to request or travel for assistance, for now at least, they would be on their own.

“Extend sensor scans to maximum and search the area for any nearby celestial bodies” he orders.

They needed to find cover, something, anything that would mask their signal. With the Enterprise in such a state Riker didn’t want to take any chances of some dangerous force taking them by surprise.

“The closest celestial body to our current location is a small nebula, it is two parsecs away from our current location” Cole reports.

At least something was going right, if they stayed on the outskirts of that nebula they should be able to mask themselves from any known technologies.

Riker turns to the helm, only to find it empty. Wesley is being attended to by a team of medics; his right hand is at an unnatural angle and would need to be reset. With a deep breath, Riker slides into the vacant seat.

“Geordi, would it be safe to use the warp engines at this time?” he comms hopeful.

“No sir! The core needs time to stabilize after reinitialization,” Geordi’s voice calls through the comm, “I would recommend keeping the Enterprise at or below half impulse for the time being”

“Understood, Riker out”

Maintaining half impulse would slow their progress significantly placing their time of arrival to at least three hours from now. Not ideal but it would have to do.

___________

The turbolift doors open with their characteristic hiss and immediately Data is thrust into chaos. The usually calm halls of the Enterprise were now filled with injured crew members that lay strewn about. Medical staff rushed about in an effort to reach everyone they could. Most of the injured appeared to be minor. Mainly just cuts and bruises.

A few sported more severe injuries in the form of a broken leg or arm. Data pressed himself closer to the wall as two members of the medical staff rushed past him. He slowly made his way towards engineering, all the while mindful of the injured littered about.

He scanned the faces of the wounded crewmen, looking for one person in particular but they were nowhere to be seen. While he may not have been in this particular group, his absence did not exclude him from being injured entirely.

Until now he had not allowed himself to calculate the odds of his best friend being injured, but now with no immediate tasks to complete, Data could not stop himself from thinking of the possible scenarios: Geordi could have been thrown from his post, he could have been killed from an electrical explosion, a coolant leak might have scalded his… he forcibly stops this train of thought before he starts to spiral further.

The doors to main engineering open and he is met with the same chaotic scene as was out in the corridor. With injured crew members scattered about and urgent medical staff running circulating the room in an attempt to reach as many crewmen as possible. Most of the injuries here were also minor. From what he could see the worst injury here was ensign Daniels with a broken hand.

However even as Data fully entered the room he could not see Geordi anywhere. He wanders through engineering, ignoring the mixed stares he receives.

While he would have preferred to handle the repairs on his own, the work that needed to be done was beyond his capability for him alone to finish quickly; and Geordi (as chief engineer), was the only one aboard who was familiar enough with his systems to complete the delicate task in a short amount of time.

Data walks through the main archway, stumbling slightly as he walks past the warp core, biofluid falling onto the floor as his arm is jostled.

“Data,” A comforting hand grasps his shoulder in an effort to steady him, “Are you alright?”

Data faces his friend and carefully adjusts his hold on his arm to prevent any more leakage. While he may be unable to see his friend's eyes it was still quite obvious when his friend noticed the damage. His forehead furrowed and his hold on his shoulder tightened nearly unperceivably.

“I am functioning within acceptable parameters” he answers.

Geordi releases his shoulder, leaving behind a small patch of warmth, “Come on, we better fix that before all of your fluid drains”

“Barclay!” Geordi calls, the nervous engineer looks up from the panel he had been working on, “Focus on getting the shields running properly”

“Yes, Commander! Right away!” Barclay replies.

Geordi steps away and begins the short journey towards his office. Data falls into step beside his friend; and takes the moment to subtly check him for injuries. Fortunately, apart from a few scratches he didn't appear very hurt. The worst wound visible being for all intents and purposes minor, just a small shallow cut along his hand. One that would easily be fixed by a regenerator.

Geordi enters his office, a small offshoot room that was pushed into the back of engineering, and begins gathering his tools. Geordis's office was just slightly larger than Doctor Crusher's but only because his needed to contain several important pieces of equipment.

The majority of the specialized tools and systems used to make repairs to his own systems were contained here. It was a relatively new change, as his repairs used to be completed in the secondary lab.

Geordis' office provided a completely different environment. Where the secondary lab had felt sterile and barren, Geordis office was bright and animated. The space might have been small but it was utilized well. Geordis's desk was pushed into the far right corner, he could see a layer of dust starting to build atop its surface.

In the center was a small table with a couple of benches and on the left wall was a giant shelving unit that stored the delicate equipment used to repair him. In the center of the back wall stood a larger-than-usual replicator, about a third bigger than the standard models scattered throughout the ship.

“Sit down please,” Geordi asks, whilst gesturing towards one of the benches.

Data follows the request without complaint, sitting down calmly at the end of the bench. Using his functioning arm he lifts up his limp one and places it face up on the table in front of him, allowing Geordi the ability to see the damage.

“Data…” he says, “how did this happen?”

The engineer's face wasn't visible but Data could still hear the hesitancy within his tone.

“In order to reactivate the Enterprise's warp core I had to utilize some of my own internal power, it was the only way to ensure the engineering console would remain online as I diverted all of the emergency power,” he answers.

“So it was self-inflicted…” the words were quiet and mumbled and it was obvious that Geordi hadn't intended for him to hear it.

Geordi gathers his tools and carefully sets them down on the workbench, the tools clink softly as they make contact with the metal surface of the bench. He glances up at Data, “I'm going to grab your arm now, that alright?”

Data’s head tilts ever so slightly as he processes the request.

“You do not have to ask,” he replies, “It is expected that you will need to touch me under circumstances such as this”

Geordi pauses, a soft sigh escaping him, his eyes drift to Datas, “Sure, it's expected, but you still have the right to say no. Besides, I don’t want you accusing me of having a bad bedside manner”

“I would never accuse you-”

“I’m joking Data, I know you wouldn’t”

Data’s nods, “Ah a joke! A faux pas, a jab”

Geordi chuckles, “I wouldn’t call it a faux pas but a jab sure”

Geordis's left hand gently rests on the undamaged side of his arm. Without power to his arm the feeling of the touch was absent, instead he could only watch as the limb was delicately handled.

“I'm going to start with your coolant lines, lucky it looks like I can just stitch it back together” Geordi says once he was done looking over the damage.

Geordi picked up a rag and carefully wiped away the mixture of coolant and biofluid from the sensitive components. He discarded the stained rag and reached for a pair of forceps and started lining up the snapped lines. Here Geordi hesitates.

“I have completely shut down all of my right arms systems, I will not ‘feel’ a thing” he assured.

That snaps Geordi from his reverie, “I'm starting the soldering process”

Geordi sets the forceps aside and grabs a hydrospanner. The tool buzzes to life, its tip glowing a soft red as a beam of light stitches the torn coolant lines back together. Geordi wipes away the excess biofluid as it occasionally leaks out. All of his movements deliberate and methodical. When the engineer was done, he carefully sifted through the lines within Datas arm, assessing the damage.

Geordi removes his hands and wipes them off with his new rag. The once white cloth was now stained yellow and drenched in goopy biofluid.

“Your pain power cable is completely frayed, I'll have to replace the line starting from the elbow segment,” Geordi comments, “luckily we have its schematics on file”

They had spent the past few months studying his parts and documenting them; all in order to create a database of sorts. Most of his parts had been relatively straightforward to program but some (his positronic brain) had been impossible to write schematics for.

Geordi sets his tools down, walks over to the replicator and starts typing on its control panel. Unlike standard replicators this one operated off of manual inputs rather than vocal commands. The replicator lit up and a few seconds later a new line materialized on its platform. Geordi carefully gathered the newly replicated line in his hands and walked back over to where he had previously been standing beside Data.

“You may begin when you are ready,” he said before the engineer had a chance to comment.

Accepting his consent, Geordi places the line on the table and carefully grabs his damaged arm. His friend then picks up a small laser scalpel and lines it up with the frayed edges of the bioplast.

The engineer then began to meticulously cut away the frayed edges, in order to leave a smooth border around the damaged area. His friend was quiet for a while, the only sounds in the room being their soft breathing and the hum of the laser scalpel.

Eventually Geordi broke the silence, “So, is everyone alright?”

Assuming the engineer was talking about the bridge crew Data responds immediately, “While the Captain did receive severe injuries everyone else appeared relatively ‘alright’”

Geordi pauses, the scalpel turns off as his hand stills, “Injured? How severe are we talking?”

“The Captain struck his head after becoming dislodged from his seat, while I am not a medical professional It is my estimate that the injuries will not be fatal” he answers.

Geordi resumes cutting, “A head injury still isn’t something to scoff at, he may not die, there could certainly be other affects”

“Certainty, but with modern medicine many of the possible side effects can be avoided”

Geordi sets the scalpel down, “Sure-”

He picks up the triceps, “-but there are still plenty of things that can go wrong”

Geordi carefully detaches Datas power cable at its connecting joint near the elbow. It clicks as it's removed from its housing.

“Doctor Crusher is a highly skilled and seasoned medic, I am sure the captain will recover well under her care”

“Yeah… Did they find out where we ended up?” Geordi asks, changing the subject.

“I was ordered to leave the bridge prior to that information being discovered”

Geordi hummed.

“Well I'm sure they'll let us both know soon, a bonus of us being senior staff,” he remarks.

In one smooth movement, the engineer removes his broken line from his forearm. He places it on the table and then gently grabs the new one. He lines the connectors up and slowly slides the cable into the port at his elbow. The port sat right where his humerus met his radius and ulna. The connection snaps into place.

“Well, now all that's left is replacing your bioplast” Geordi comments.

While the rest of his repairs would take a relatively short amount of time to integrate with his systems. The bioplast would take hours. The formula Geordi had developed to replace any tears in his ‘skin’ was slightly different from the one developed by his creator. Those differences had to be corrected by his systems and during those hours the rest of his processes were slowed significantly.

Usually, he could afford to wait for his systems to integrate the new parts, but with the Enterprise as damaged as she was he couldn't afford to be unavailable for long.

“Geordi,”

“Hmmm?” Geordi hums while he rifles through the various tools on the bench.

“I do not want you to replace the bioplast-”

“What?” Geordi says disbelievingly, “Data…”

“-please let me finish,” Data says, Geordi pauses and gestures for him to continue.

“Until the Enterprise is in a reliably safe position, I believe it would be more prudent for me to remain within functional parameters,” Data explained. “Replacing my bioplast would slow my systems, and under the current circumstances, it is only logical that I remain at full efficiency”

Geordi quietly stares at him, chewing on a response, “Look, Data, I don't think that's such a good idea, if we left your arm unrepaired you would have a massive, gaping hole in your arm for… at this point, who knows how long”

“I am not suggesting we leave my arm completely exposed” Data clarified, “Rather, I propose instead of immediately replacing my bioplast, we instead place a temporary cover over the area until the Enterprise is working within its proper parameters” he argues.

The engineer let out a nearly imperceptible sigh.

“I'm going to regret this,” He mumbles softly, the words were so quiet that it took Data several seconds to decipher the sounds, “Okay, we’ll hold off on the bioplast… but only if you promise that the second the ship’s operational again, you’ll get it replaced, deal?”

“Deal” Data agrees amicably.

Chapter Text

— Stardate - 44185.0 —

“What's the damage?”

“It's not as severe as I was expecting,” Geordi reports, “The navigation, shields, and communication systems took the brunt of the damage”

“How long will it take to fix?”

Geordi sighs, “Commander we're looking at least another 5 hours of work and that's if I had my entire crew available to work on this, but right now a third of my staff is out of commission and from what Beverly told me, most won't be ready to work for another few hours at least”

“So, no good news…”

“No, unfortunately,” Geordi admits.

Will sighs as he takes the answer in, “Understood, thanks Geordi, Riker out”

The channel closes with a soft chirp, Will leans back in the captain's chair. His eyes drift up and out of the view screen where the small nebula lay. Where its soft violet and blue hues stretched out across the inky black void of space.

Large tendrils of gases reached out from its center like a giant spider's web; both beautiful and daunting. The scene may be gorgeous, but it did nothing to cover the grim truth of their situation.

This day has been filled with one disaster after another, each calamity spilling into the next. First, the Enterprise had been caught in an unstable anomaly, a rift or wormhole whose properties the science team was still trying to decipher.

While they had been lucky, with most of the Enterprises systems coming away with minor to no damage. There had still been several key systems that had been damaged; namely navigation, shields, and communication.

The anomaly hadn’t just knocked out crucial systems, it had also stranded them somewhere in an unknown region of space; and without their navigation system online it would nearly be impossible to determine their location.

To make matters even more unfortunate, without knowledge on where they were or how far they were, they would be unable to request help from Starfleet.

To make things even worse, their Captain had suffered grave injuries when he had been thrown from his seat amid the chaos; and he had been notified that the difficult decision to place him in a medically induced coma had to be made. There was no telling yet when he would be woken up.

Now the crew was stranded and without their trusted Captain.

Will glances towards the first officer's chair. He has served as acting Captain before not just for Picard but for a couple captain's before him. Like on one memorable mission during his time on the USS Yorktown, when the captain had suffered a psychotic breakdown due to an at the time unknown chemical agent. So it wasn't like this was his first time commanding a Starship.

Will shakes the tenuous thoughts from his skull. Now wasn’t a time for him to be getting cold feet.

___________

The wrap clung tightly to Data’s forearm, concealed beneath the pristine lines of his Starfleet uniform. The smooth, white bandage was almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, and a silent testament to a recent incident.

Data’s hands moved with mechanical precision across the console’s interface, gliding over the controls in a calculated, familiar, rhythm. His head tilts and his brow furrows as the navigational system fails to reboot yet again.

This issue was proving to be more complex than he had initially anticipated. What he had originally assumed to be a minor hardware fault was now showing signs of a deeper, more systematic fault. The sensors that run the navigational system had all been repaired or replaced, and subsequent tests had shown them functioning within expected parameters; yet the malfunction persisted.

It was now exceedingly more likely that the fault lay within the software itself. Perhaps the anomalies radiation had corrupted one of the navigational systems subroutines or caused an unexpected feedback loop within the main computer.

Either of which would have been missed on standard diagnostic scans. The only way to know for sure would be to run a level four diagnostic on the entire navigational array and its subsequent systems.

Data taps his combadge, “Commander I want to run a level four diagnostic on the navigational array"

There was a brief pause before the calm, authoritative voice of Commander Riker responded through the combadge, “A level four? That's pretty deep, I thought you said this was just a hardware failure?”

“I have resolved all physical problems with the array, but there appears to be something wrong with the system's software itself. I have already run several level one and two diagnostics and have found no problems. Since the problem is still persisting there is most likely something wrong with one of the navigational systems subroutines-”

“I get the picture, run the level four diagnostic,” The commander interjects.

“Yes sir”

“Oh and Data, When your done I want you to report to the bridge”

“Acknowledged sir”

Data kneels down and removes the access panel underneath the console. He then retrieves his tricorder from the compartment at his hip. He plugs it into the diagnostic port and starts the level four diagnostic sequence. Almost immediately the diagnostic process starts to scroll across the tricorders screen, but he wouldn’t know the results for another three hours.

Usually the diagnostic could be run without the assistance of a tricorder, but since this problem may be with the main computer itself… using a buffer seemed a necessary step; and he could not be too safe.

There was a chance that there was no mechanical fault.

Every coordinate generated by the navigation array has, since entering the anomaly, been completely incoherent. Defying every known convention of stellar positioning, it was almost as if the Milky Way itself had been subtly but not unremarkably rewritten. With planets, stars, and other familiar celestial landmarks, either missing, displaced, or entirely replaced by other stellar bodies.

It was mathematically impossible for all of these stellar bodies to have been displaced in the short amount of time the Enterprise had been within the anomaly. This left only two logical solutions should this problem not be endemic to some software related issue.

One, the anomaly has sent them through time, most likely billions of years into the past or future; or two, the anomaly has functioned as a wormhole, of proportions that have not been seen before, and has sent the Enterprise into a completely different galaxy.

The latter being the most likely of the two; since the anomaly did not emit any chronotron radiation endemic to any temporal phenomenon. This is something he will need to investigate later unfortunately as his presence on the bridge was needed.

Data removes himself from the floor, and carefully sets the tricorder down on the console's surface. It wasn't an ideal place for it but there was no better place for it. He moves his tools to be as out of the way as possible before wrapping up anything else he needs to complete.

___________

Commander Riker listens in disbelief as Data explained his current theory, "So, let me get this straight," he began, his voice tinged with an edge of disbelief, "You're telling me that the reason we can't get a proper lock on our coordinates... is because we might not even be in our own galaxy anymore?"

“That is one theory sir,” Data replies in his usual calm, matter-of-fact tone, “But I cannot confirm it until the level four diagnostic completes”

Riker crossed his arms before continuing, "I don’t understand. We’ve been in similar situations before and have never had an issue with determining our location. Why would it suddenly be a problem now?"

“The Enterprise uses a complex combination of spatial readings and star charts to triangulate our position. These systems rely heavily on the consistent presence of known celestial bodies, stars, planets, and other astronomical features.

Under normal circumstances these systems use the positions of known stellar bodies to help orient itself. However, in this instance, a significant portion of the Enterprise's sensors had been rendered inoperable once we had entered the vortex. Effectively disabling the navigational array” Data explains.

“Alright,” Riker says slowly, the gravity of this possibility weighing down on him, “If this theory turns out to be correct… is there anyway we can manually determine where we are?"

"Unfortunately Commander, there is currently no known method of determining a starship's position without using stellar bodies as reference points and no known celestial bodies are currently within range”

Riker leans forward, “Is there any way you could extend the sensors enough to detect any known stellar bodies?”

Data's head tilts as he thinks, “Possibly Sir, but it would take some time to reconfigure the external sensors to reach a suitable range, and even still the likelihood of detecting any known stellar quantities is low”

A ring filled the conference room before Riker could reply as ensign Brower interrupts them, “Commanders, sorry for the interruption, but we've just detected a distress beacon”

“Report!” Riker commands as he and Data exit the conference room, the doors behind them hissing shut as they leave.

Ensign Brower wastes no time in responding, “We detected the signal approximately one minute ago, It wasn’t in any known encoding patterns, so it took some time to decipher”

“Its origins?”

“Unknown sir, the signal is only transmitting a location along with a request for assistance”

That wasn’t at all ominous, Riker thinks. Most distress beacons came with at least a transponder code, something to allow allies to know who sent it; although it was possible that whatever race this was sent from simply didn’t practice such a rule. It has happened on an occasion.

“Are you able to determine a location?” Riker asks as he slides into place in the command chair, in his peripheral he can see Data take his place in the first officer's position.

“The signal is located in sector 67.9 sir” Ensign Brower responds diligently.

This situation was far from ideal. The Enterprise was in no state to embark upon a rescue mission or any mission for that matter. The ship's systems were still in the process of being repaired, and much of the crew was still injured, and those that aren’t were no doubt fatigued after everything that's happened.

Worse yet, they have no intelligence about this region of space, nothing at all to go off of. Which meant, should he choose to respond, they would be going in completely blind.

To make matters even more complicated, there was their obligation to the Prime Directive to consider. The prime directive forbids any member of Starfleet from interfering with the natural progression of other societies; it was designed to protect not only other civilizations but Starfleet and the Federation as well.

He understood the importance of The Prime Directive, what role it played, but that didn’t make it any easier to follow. There was a thin line between safeguarding themselves and others while still offering assistance to those in need.

Riker sighs, it appears he must now straddle that line, “Geordi, what's the status of the shields and warp drive?”

“Warps back to full functionality, but shields are only at 60% of norm” the engineer replies over the intercom.

“And communication systems?”

“Fully functional, so long as we are within sensor range sir”

Riker nods though he knows Geordi would be unable to see it. To Ensign Garcia he adds, “Set course for sector 67.9 at warp seven, drop out of warp as soon as we are within sensor range”

“Yes sir enter warp seven at heading 38 mark 9, we should arrive in one hour”

Pieces of debris strike the Enterprise as soon as she drops out of warp, sending a tremor throughout the ship.

“Shields up, evasive maneuvers!” Riker orders sharply. The Helmsman responds immediately and the Enterprise veers to the side as she whips to the right, narrowly avoiding a particularly large piece of wreckage. The inertial dampeners beneath their feet worked overtime absorbing the movements.

Around them lay a debris field of massive proportions, an enormous graveyard of what must have once been multiple large vessels. The scene before them was one of chaos, filled to the brim with pieces twisted metal and jagged hull fragments. It paints a grim picture.

“Hard to port!” Riker orders. The Enterprise swerved in a swift arc to the left, just in time to avoid another fragment.

The sheer amount of debris was nearly overwhelming. This ship or more likely ships must have been massive. Countless fragments now float aimlessly throughout the void of space, a scene he was all too familiar with.

Data speaks up from his post, “Analysis”

“The debris appears to be from multiple large vessels, based on the amount of fragments the ships would have been approximately 1,137 meters each” Ensign Brower responds.

“The damage appears to be from phaser fire but not of any known model” Worf informs.

“Is the distress signal still active?” Riker inquires.

Brower replies right away, “Yes sir but it's growing fainter, we are having a hard time to locking onto its coordinates”

“Attempt to boost the signal” Data orders.

“Yes sir, diverting additional power to the sensor array now”

“Beam a small piece of the wreckage into hangar bay three,” Will leans forward slightly, “Then begin a standard search pattern and comb the wreckage”

“Standard search pattern layed in” Helmsman Garcia replies.

“The fragment is now in hanger bay three,” Brower informs.

Riker taps his combadge, “Geordi I want you to run tests on that fragment, find out anything you can”

“Yes sir” the engineer responds.

The Enterprise begins to slowly and methodically comb through the wreckage.
They weave between the varying debris.

“The additional power has boosted the signal strength sir, but it's still spotty, we are only able to get a generalized location” Brower reports.

The Enterprise ducks underneath a large chunk of what appeared to be an engine fragment. Small flashes arch across the shields as small pieces of wreckage. The graveyard stretches endlessly in front of them, filled to the brim with torn twisted hulls and cracked supports. Out from the darkness a small oval shaped object came out from the dark.

Wills eyes squint as stares at the small object, “Enhance visual at mark 46”

It was a small escape pod.

“There are no life signs sir”

That was unsurprising, the pod's front was completely ripped open, its mangled interior exposed to space. Its front burst open in a way reminiscent of a gaping maw.

“The signal was originating from within the pod sir”

Will places his hand on his chin as he takes this in, he releases a soft breath, “Keep searching the wreckage, scan for any life signs”

“It’s possible no one survived” Worf comments darkly.

“Possibly,” Riker replies, “We’ll search for one more hour”

“Sir forward sensors are detecting faint biosigns,” ensign Brower informs, “at mark 101.6”

Will shares a quick glance with Data, “Set course, half impulse”

“Yes sir, setting course at two quarters impulse”

After some time scouring the dark, another pod slowly appeared in the distance. It was the same model as the previous one. A small cylinder with four small engines at its rear, and unlike the previous one, this one was not torn apart. It did however have some visible damage running along its side.

The pod’s relatively intact condition gave Riker his first clear view of it. The forward section of the pod was lined with large hexagonal windows, dull grey platting that ran down its sides, and faint red accents ran across its exterior.

Will rises from his seat, his eyes still fixed on the view screen, “Life signs?”

“Four sir”

He walks forward, one leg rising to rest on the side of opps station, “Hail them”

Ensign Brower looks down at his console, his hands running over the controls as he attempts to make contact with the escape pod, “we can’t sir, the pod's systems are completely down including life support”

Will doesn’t hesitate.

“Prepare to beam them aboard,” he orders, he taps his combadge, “Beverly meet me in transporter room one with a medical team”

Chapter Text

The constant ache in his chest has only intensified as the hours dragged on. Wolffe bites back a groan that threatens to leave him as a particularly strong wave of nausea surged through him. His hands curl into fists at his side, the fabric of his dress uniform gathering up in his hands, bunching up at the strain.

He takes a shallow, rationed, breath. All too aware of the limited air supply they all share.

While they had been successful in destroying the hunter, they hadn’t been successful in preventing the pod from becoming crippled in the attack. With the life support systems now rendered inoperable, they'd only have enough oxygen to last them another few hours at most.

The Malevolence hadn’t come to destroy them, as he’d initially feared. Instead, the ship had, from what he could tell, simply left the system. They must have deemed it a waste of time to finish off a singular, crippled pod; and the Separatists surely knew the Republic wouldn’t mount a rescue. Not after the multiple failed attempts at finding survivors after the previous attacks. It would have been a waste of the GAR resources.

Instead they had been left to asphyxiate in their pod, or freeze to death, whichever came first; but given how stale the air around them was quickly becoming, Wolffe would place his rations on it being the former. Although his General and his vod may live long enough to freeze. Their helmets and the General's mask would filter out much of the carbon dioxide, for a while at least.

Wolffe slides to the floor as an exceptionally strong bout of nausea and dizziness overtakes him. If he had the energy to look up he'd have noticed the concerned look his brothers shared. A gentle hand grasps his shoulder before he could collapse fully onto the floor.

“Sir,” Boost says, his hand pressing firmly into Wolffe’s clavicle, “Your starting to exhibit signs of acute oxygen deprivation”

Wolffe doesn't react, he just stares blankly at his hands for several moments, “I’m fine Boost”

He was familiar with what acute oxygen deprivation felt like. All clone commanders were, they had all been trained to withstand various forms of torture. He knew intimately how much more he could take.

“Boost is right Commander” his General says, “We must all be at our best”

Wolffe looks groggily towards his general, staring at the blank face for a few seconds before finally giving in. With some struggle he begins to maneuver to helmet, it falls from his grasp, clinking onto the floor with what sounds like an ear deafening clank.

Embarrassment floods him.

He was showing an unacceptable amount of weakness.

Wolffe reaches for it yet again but Sinker beats him to it, grabbing the helmet and kneeling down beside his commander.

“Let me sir,” Sinker says as he places the helmet on his head.

He feels light headed and weak even as he takes in greedy gulps of air. His lungs rattle in his chest as continues to take unsteady breaths. The sound was unsettling and he almost forgets to monitor his breathing.

Boost releases his hold on his shoulder, allowing Wolffe to lean back against the side of the escape pod. The cold durasteel almost seems to penetrate straight through the thin dress uniform and he suppresses a shiver.

Wolffe feels completely weightless as he sits there, his legs numb even as he shifts them into a more comfortable position. A strange tingling pulses through his hands, it travels up from his fingertips, spreading across his body.

His eyes snap shut as a bright light floods his vision, the helmet doing little to block the harsh light from his sensitive eyes. Distantly, he can hear jumbled voices somewhere in the distance but they’re muffled by the pounding in his ears.

The harshness of the light slowly fades as his eyes begin to adjust and what he's met with is certainly no escape pod. Their surroundings were no longer cramped and dark, the eerie silence gone and replaced with the low hum of distant engines. The floor beneath his hands was smooth but not ice cold like the pods had quickly been becoming.

“What…” he mumbles soft and confused.

He uses what strength he has to lift his head from the floor. He feels some minute relief as he spots his troops and General beside him but that relief was swiftly replaced by dread as he noticed several unfamiliar people in the room.

They were wearing strange unfamiliar uniforms that varied in color, three from what he could see. The guards are what he assumes were guards, based on the strangely designed blasters in their hands wearing yellow and black, there were a few others wearing blue carrying unknown pieces of equipment, and finally there was one in red.

“I’m Commander Riker of the Federation Starship Enterprise,” The man in red explains, “We received your distress signal and have beamed you aboard, we'll provide you with any medical assistance you may require”

Wolffe blinks slowly, his mind still sluggishly trying to process the situation. His lungs felt heavy and tired, and his body still tingled with the strange sensation of being… transported. The commander's words that had no doubt been designed to assuage their worries but he felt nothing of the sort.

Federation? Beamed?

Those two words in particular echo in his mind until they almost lose all meaning. He had doubts that they were referring to the Trade Federation since he saw no battle droids within the room, but it certainly wasn’t impossible.

Just because he had yet to see a droid aboard this ship didn’t mean they weren't here; and it was unlike the Trade Federation to use organics instead of their mechanized soldiers. The commander was also no Neimoidians, a human commanding a Trade Federation was highly unlikely.

Their technology was also far beyond what he’s seen before, this beaming had (unless his memory is failing him) them to transport them from their escape pod to their own ship without the use of a shuttle craft or the need to pull them in. A concerning thought.

No this Federation was likely a separate entity but that didn’t mean they weren't affiliated. There was no telling what side they might support. Fortunately, for the moment, they appeared neutral.

“I am Jedi Master Plo Koon and we thank you for your assistance,” his general begins, “However, I must confess, I find myself unfamiliar with both your Federation and with your beaming technology”

Commander Riker glanced towards his crewmates, a brief look, almost like he was hesitant to answer the questions, “The Federation is a union between sovereign planets… it's a collection of worlds systems that have chosen to collaborate with each other. As for our transporters… they're a technology that allows us to transmit a person or object from place to another”

Wolffe twitches as an unfamiliar hand touches his arm, the sudden contact makes his instincts scream. A small device, a medical scanner of some sort, is run down the length of his body. He had been so focused on analyzing the Commander's words he hadn’t even noticed a nurse approaching him. He fights the urge to throw the nurse off him.

Instead he obediently follows the medics instructions. If the general wants them to accept these people's help, then it wasn’t his place to question him.

“I’ll need you to remove your helmet sir”

Wolffe stares at the medic from behind the helmet's eyes before, with somewhat shaky hands, reaches up and removes Boosts helmet from his body. The helmet slips from his grip before he can set it down, and the plastoid clacks loudly against the floor.

He catches a couple of the Enterprise's security personnel sharing a glance. It was a look he knew far too well. One nat borns tended to get when they realized they were dealing with clones.

The medic's eyes comb over his device's readouts, frowning at the results, “Your showing signs of oxygen deprivation and your ribs are bruised, your respiratory rate is also quite slow”

The medic closes his scanner and turns to address someone else, “Doctor Crusher, I recommend we take this one to the medical bay”

A woman, Doctor Crusher apparently, glances up from where she had been tending to the General, “Agreed, however I think you should all come down to medical for a proper examination”

The general inclines his head, “We will trust your judgment Doctor”

___________

Wolffe sat quietly upon the medical table, the cold sterility of the room pressed in on him from all sides as the medic continued to run scans across his body. Across the room his general was speaking calmly with the lead physician. Answering any question Doctor Crusher may have no matter how minute.

Wolffe keeps his head down, his eyes fixed on the floor beneath him, trying to ignore the stares he could feel burning into the back of the head. He's never liked nat born doctors.

The way they looked at him and his brothers never failed to make his skin crawl. Nat born medics rarely tried to hide the way they saw clones. They weren't people to them, just tools, machines, weapons.

He hated it.

Especially since, in many ways, it was true. Clones weren't nat borns. They had been grown, produced like products. He knew this, he was intimately aware of it, but that didn’t mean he liked being reminded of it.

“Your vitals are stable,” the nurse says, drawing Wolffe from his thoughts. The medic looks something over on his pad, “It will take a few days for your ribs to finish healing, so I wouldn't recommend over exerting yourself”

Wolffe gives him a curt nod, “I understand”

The nurse gives him a tight smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach the eyes, before stepping away. Wolffe doesn’t watch him go. Instead his gaze drifts across the room to Doctor Crusher who was still examining his general. There was nothing suspicious about her movements, not on the surface at least.

A deep unease stirred in his gut, brewing beneath his calm exterior. He aches for the familiar weight of his armor or even the calming press of a blaster in his palm. The lack of either felt disconcerting. The armor was more then just plastoid. It was a part of him, a second skin. Going so long without it felt unnatural.

His brothers at least had been spared such a fate. Their rescuers had, interestingly enough, permitted them to keep their armor. Even more surprising is that they had even been allowed to keep their weapons; not even the general's lightsaber had been confiscated.

Wolffe draws in a steady breath. The sharp sting in his lungs is now absent. Disgust brews in his gut.

Here he was worried about a few pieces of bioplast when thousands of his brothers lay dead and forgotten in the void. Their bodies left to float in space until the republic decides when and if it wants to harvest the corpses.

A quiet click draws him from his thoughts. The doctor has just shut the device in her hands.

“All of your vitals are within what I’d assume would be the normal range for your species,” the Doctor says, sounding both clinical and curious. She takes a step back.

“I thank you for your due diligence” his general graciously replies, “I suspect we are something of an anomaly to you”

Doctor Crusher smiles a little, “You could say that”

Plo Koon's hands fold together in front of him as he rises from the examination table, “If it is no trouble, would like to have an audience with Commander Riker as soon as possible”

“I’ll let him know, though I imagine he's just as eager to meet with you,” the Doctor gathers up her things and calls over her staff, “I’m sure you all want some space”

Wolffe watches the doctor and her medical staff leave, his gaze shifting back to his general as the doors hiss shut.

“Commander,” Wolffes attention snaps to his general as his calm, even tone fills the quiet, “What's your take on this situation?”

“Sir?”

Plo Koon turns, his masked face unreadable, “What is your assessment of the Enterprise's crew?”

Wolffe hesitates, surprised that the General was asking his opinion on the matter. The General had far more experience when it comes to diplomacy.

“They are… odd sir,” he says at last, “They offered us medical aid without requesting anything in return. They didn’t take any of our weapons, and have asked no questions about our mission. There's been no mention of the war… It's strange”

“It is my belief” the general says quietly, “That they may be unaware of the war”

Wolffe could hardly believe what he was hearing. Unaware of the war? He found that hard to believe. If this had been a small nomadic tribe, he wouldn’t have questioned it, but these people were far from being primitive.

In fact, their technology surpassed their own in some aspects. While their medical medical equipment seemed a bit outdated. It was safe to say their transporter was leaps and bounds ahead of shuttle crafts.

His vod share an unease look.

“They have to be bluffing,” Sinker mutters as his arms fold together, he leans into the wall, “Everyone knows about the war”

“I don’t think so,” Boost says, “The commander seemed pretty sincere to me”

“You couldn’t tell the difference between sincerity and deception if it hit you in the shebs”

“I can tell the difference! I’m just saying that I didn't notice any lies!”

“Sinker, Boost, enough!” Wolffe orders harshly.

The two clones fall silent.

Wolffe exhales through his nose before turning back to his general, “It is unlikely they are unaware of the war sir”

“Unlikely but not impossible commander” the general answers.

Wolffe doesn’t reply. His thoughts swirling and turning in his head like a storm cloud. The General's words echo in his head. If the Enterprise's crew truly had no knowledge on the war, had no knowledge about the republic and the Jedi. Then where could they possibly be from?