Geronimo

“Why is this taking so long?” First Officer Smith asked me. “Wouldn’t the phaser torches be faster?”

“Oh, definitely,” I said. “But the Captain specifically asked me to get some footage of the bunny cutting up the hull with a hand torch. Besides, it gives me time to watch Top Gun again.”

“Ugh,” she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “It’s bad enough he puts them in those ridiculous bubble-top, form-fitting silver spacesuits. This is going to take forever.”

“You could always do an inspection of the Engineering spaces,” I suggested. “We’re about six months overdue.”

“We’re overdue because I hate that idiot, and I’m not going back there. First excuse I get, we’re putting him off at the next port, even if I have to shovel coal myself.”

“Pretty sure we run on dilithium,” I said.

“Whatever.”

Silence settled back onto the bridge. We’d arrived at Delphine IV yesterday, after winning a bid to salvage an old, abandoned intersystem ship hull that had been been falling out of orbit for several months. Captain Ryan had promptly gone on a personal shore leave, primarily because the planet’s dominant species was apparently very similar to Earth dolphins, and because the planet was primarily aquatic. The Captain’s latest space-bunny was out, in her admittedly ridiculous and sexist spacesuit, slowly carving off the bits of the hulk that wouldn’t fit into the Troll’s salvage bay. Once she’d trimmed it down, we’d slowly swallow the rest of the craft and be on our way.

The Icelandic Troll was, like its Captain, a bit of a hodgepodge. It was, in essence, a giant box. The front quarter split in half, hinging sideways and providing access to its spacious salvage bay. The bay was equipped with hundreds of tractor/pressor beams, letting us hold odd-shaped salvage in place during transit. Since it could be flooded with atmosphere but kept at zero gravity, the bay made a more convenient place to disassemble wrecks–when they fit. When they didn’t, we needed to chop off the extra bits to it could all cram in. Normally, we’d do that using an array of phasers mounted just inside the salvage bay. In this case, the old-fashioned approach had been mandated.

Lying across the top three-quarters of the box was our secondary Engineering hull, basically a narrow tube centered on the top of the salvage bay. Protruding downward and slightly outward from the tube were two beat-up warp nacelles capable of driving us at about warp 4. On a good day. Slung across the bottom of the main hull was the crew hull, consisting of a fairly spacious Captain’s quarters, a half-dozen crew cabins, and some common spaces. Attached to the bottom of that, with direct egress into the Captain’s quarter’s, was the “Captain’s skiff,” a search-and-rescue vehicle the Captain had salvaged and rebuilt. We affectionately called it Little Troll, but never in Captain Ryan’s hearing.

The bridge, which sat at the foremost end of the Engineering hull, was a small affair. A utilitarian, two-station central console provided access to most of the ship’s functions, including the drive systems, navigation, helm, environment, communications, and salvage operations–it had been designed to run with just a couple of crew members. The Captain, when present, had bolted an old Starfleet command chair just behind the center console, which made it a bit tight to move around the bridge, but made him extraordinarily happy. To the left of the command chair was an equally out-of-place secondary console that housed some of the Captain’s “upgrades.” The Troll was very much no longer running to her original specifications.

“Why are you listening to that with the sound off?” Smith asked.

“I’m not. I replaced the audio outputs with ultra beam-forming ones. You have to pretty much be sitting right in this chair, and be almost exactly my height, or you won’t hear a thing.”

“Why in the world did you go through all that trouble? We’ve got headphones.”

“First, they muss up my hair. Second, this way the Captain doesn’t know when I’m watching movies. Warp 4 is the second-most boring way to travel, right after generation ships,” I said.

“I see.” Silence returned like a grumpy coworker who’d gone out for coffee only to discover the pot had been empty for an hour.

“Hey guys,” a voice crackled over the main intercom. Our illustrious Captain. We both sat slightly upright, and I paused Top Gun. “How’s it going up there?”

“Oh, peachy,” Smith replied. “We’re staring at Debbie chopping off the second of this thing’s four in-system drive pods. How’re you?”

“Who’s Debbie?” Ryan asked.

“Delilah,” I hissed.

“I meant Delilah. Your… yeoman? What do we call her?” Smith said.

“You mean Denise?” Ryan asked. “She’s not a yeoman, she’s an intern. We’re dropping her off at Qualor II with the salvage. She wants to see about getting a job there.”

“Right, right, Denise,” Smith said. “It’s so hard to keep track,” she muttered. Then, “how’re the dolphin-things?”

“Oh yeah, they’re great. I mean, they don’t keep the blowholes and… other holes… in the same places. So that got a bit confusing. Also, I’m heading back up in the skiff. We should… we should probably plan to leave pretty soon after I get back. There may have been misunderstandings.”

This was a drill we were well-acquainted with. “On it,” I said. “Denise,” I said, switching channels, “get back inside pronto.” I began powering up the salvage phasers and started running a topography scan of the wreck.

“Joe,” Smith said, keying the Engineering channel, “get the warp drive hot, and make sure the salvage bay beams are ready for full power.”

“I was just going to take the warp core offline and rebuild it!” Our engineer replied. This was a fairly standard reply of his, in my experience; he was always wanting to rebuild things, but seldom left the relative comfort of the engineering console.

“Ah well,” Smith said, “maybe next stop. Be ready in twenty. Bridge out.” She toggled the channel off. “We’re leaving him at Qualor II. I’m done,” she muttered. “You got the phaser array ready, Don?”

“Almost,” I said. “There. Scan complete. Engaging automated array.” Then, in my best 20th century sentai warrior voice, “it’s time… to slice and dice!” The phase array flared to life, slicing off the remaining drive pods. Tractor beams lanced out to meet each one, dragging them into the bay. “Engaging impulse drive, one meter per second. Prepare tractor-pressor net.”

“Already on it,” Smith said. A bleep from our console announced that the Captain’s skiff had been picked up exiting the atmosphere and was en route to us. “Salvage net at full power.” Sensors and the ship’s computer locked tractor and pressor beams onto the wreck’s main hull, drawing it into the bay and slowing it down as we coasted over it. After a couple of minutes, she announced, “wreck is clear. Closing bay doors.”

“Accelerating to one-tenth c,” I said, goosing the impulse drive to the top speed our Captain could safely match for docking in his skiff.

“Hey guys,” his voice came over the intercom again, “there isn’t any fuzz up there, is there?”

I pulled up the system ship log. “There’s a Starfleet destroyer, USS Geronimo, just breaking the ecliptic on the other side of the planet. But they wouldn’t care about local law enforcement issues, and I don’t think the planet has a space fleet.”

“Okay,” he said. “Wow, Geronimo. That’s Captain Cree. He’d at least listen to my explanation. Anyway, docking in thirty seconds. As soon as I’m latched on, punch it.”

“Wilco,” Smith said. “Hey, did Debbie get back inside?”

“Denise,” I corrected. “And I’ve no idea, that stupid suit doesn’t have a transponder. Denise,” I said, activating the shipwide intercom, “you make it back in?”

“This is Denise,” she replied. “Yeah, I’m just getting into the shower. Is Buzz going to be back soon?”

“He’s docking now,” Smith said, flicking off the intercom. “I swear to God,” she muttered. “You have a course plotted to Qualor II yet?”

“An hour ago,” I said. “Captain’s docked and confirmed. Ready to engage.”

“Hit it,” she said. I slapped the Warp Engage button and listened to the engines spin up. And… stay there.

“Isn’t this where the stars go all stretchy?” she asked.

“Normally, yes,” I said, swiveling to the engineering display on my left. “Engineering,” I said, “what’s happening back there?”

“Warp drive’s at nominal power,” he said, tension in his voice. “But the warp bubble isn’t forming. We don’t have the sensors for this kind of thing, but it seems like something’s pressing the warp bubble inward so that it can’t encompass the entire ship. I’m shutting it down before something burns out.” The thrumming feeling/noise I associated with a spun-up warp drive quickly ramped down to nothing.

“Why aren’t we in warp?” Buzz asked, bursting into the bridge and collapsing into his command chair. “We need to be in warp.”

“We tried,” Smith said. “It’s not going. Something’s preventing the warp bubble from forming.”

“Uh, Buzz,” I said, “we’re being hailed. It’s Geronimo.”

“No, no no nonono!” he replied not-calmly. “Do they know we know they hailed us?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point of the hailing thing,” I said. “On screen?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning his elbows on his knees and placing his face into his hands.

“Buzz!” said the dapper-looking Starfleet Captain now on our screen. “It’s Captain Cree! How’re you doing over there?”

“Oh, hey!” Ryan replied sitting up and offering a decent approximation of a smile. “We’re, ah… we’re good?”

“Your warp engine just lit up our sensors big-time,” Cree said. “Everything okay?”

“Funny you should mention it… um, Shandra? Want to fill him in?”

“Sure,” she said, sighing. I tapped her elbow, pointing to my in-system sensor display. Geronimo had pulled up alongside us, close enough for a tractor beam to latch on. They probably thought we needed a tow, although I didn’t know where in this particular system they’d tow us. She nodded, and continued, “we’d just finished pulling that wreck into our bay, and were ready to warp to Qualor II. Our warp drive ran up to full power just fine, but our engineer says something was preventing the warp bubble from forming around the entire hull. He said it was like something was pressing it inward toward the nacelles.”

“Yeah, our sensors showed something similar, although gravitic readings suggest something was pulling the bubble in. What exactly was that wreck you–wait one,” he said, turning aside to one of his crew. “What?” He was handed a PADD, which he quickly scanned before looking back at us. “How’s your impulse drive?”

“It’s fine,” I said, glancing at my console. We were still–“ah, not fine. It’s completely offline. We’re just drifting at our last speed and vector.”

“Yeah, us too,” he confirmed. “And our sensors are showing some serious gravitational anomalies. Whatever you’re salvaging must be responsible.”

“I’m pulling up the bid,” Ryan said, reaching for his own PADD. Says it was the… SS Apple’s Core. In-system drives only. We’re not licensed for warp core salvage.”

“Apple’s Core?” Cree asked, glancing to his right, where his Science Officer would sit. There was a brief pause. “Ah. I see. Well. Buzz,” he said, turning back to his view screen, “I’m going to send a small engineering and scientific party over, led by my Science Officer, Mr. Garret. Can you open your salvage bay and provide them direct access?”

“Uh, sure,” Ryan said, pointing at me. “What’s up?”

“Classified,” Cree said, smiling. “Sorry. It looks like there was a mixup in the paperwork when Apple’s Core was decommissioned. She was an NX-series Starfleet experimental ship. Just get that bay door open for me.”

“Bay door opening,” I said, tapping the controls. A Starfleet shuttle had already departed Geronimo’s shuttle bay and was angling toward us. I noticed that they were using their gas-powered attitude thrusters rather than the shuttle’s impulse drive. “You guys need a tractor assist?”

“I believe not,” came a voice from the shuttle, “but please stand by to assist in case it is required.” The voice sounded Vulcan.

“Wilco,” I replied. I muted the inter-ship channels. “Wonder what we–um, hey,” I said, staring at my console. “We stopped.” Space has very strict rules about inertia, and without some force to oppose our drift, we should have simply kept drifting more or less forever. “How did we stop?” I unmuted the intra-ship. “Geronimo, our sensors show that we’ve come to a complete stop.”

“Ours too,” Cree replied, looking somewhat worried. “Stand by. Let’s see what the shuttle team says–they’re pulling up to your bay right now.”

Truth in advertising: their shuttle had stopped just shy of the bay entrance, and two suited figures were moving inside on puffs of gas. Several minutes passed in silence, save for us squirming uncomfortably in our chairs.

“Buzz, we’ve got some news,” Cree said. “Without getting into the classified details, you’ve picked up an old Starfleet experiment that we apparently lost track of. We’re guessing that when you cut off the drive pods, you interrupted some kind of low-power feedback loop that had kept the experimental portion of the ship dormant. It’s now coming online, and it’s what is suppressing our drive systems and holding us in place.”

“What is it?” Ryan asked urgently.

“Well, again not to get into the classified bits, it’s kind of an artificial micro- black hole. Or at least it will be when and if it fully activates.”

“You idiots made a black hole?”

“No, not exactly. Again, I can’t get into the classified bits, but let’s just say that in its current condition and situation, it can probably suck both of our ships down to very, very tiny remnants of themselves. If it activates.”

“And what,” Smith asked slowly, “activates it?”

“We’re not real sure,” Cree said, finally dropping some of the cheer from his voice. “We don’t have a full set of records and we’re having some problems getting a transmission to Memory Alpha.”

“Great,” Buzz said. “Should we evacuate the Troll?”

“No,” Cree said, waving a hand, “you’d never be able to get far enough away to do any good. Otherwise I’d beam you over here and put you on an escape pod.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ryan muttered. “So what do we do?”

“Sit tight,” Cree said. “We’re working on some ideas and taking some measurements.” He muted the line from his end, so I muted ours as well.

Ryan drummed his fingers on the armrest of his command chair until Steveson told him to stop. “I hate waiting,” he muttered.

“We all do,” she muttered back.

“Hey,” I said, “the tractor/pressor net in the bay is still active, right?”

“I assume so,” Smith said, glancing at her console. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“So look,” I said, “if this thing’s main goal is to hold its own position in space, which seems to be the case at present, then why can’t we just flip everything to pressor? It might not shove it out of our bay, but it’d shove us backwards from it, unless its just exerting so much gravity that it overloads the pressors, in which case we shut them off and cry a lot.”

Ryan shrugged and signaled Geronimo. Cree came back on, and Ryan explained my plan. He pursed his lips in thought. “Hmm. Yeah. Maybe. See, this thing isn’t in gravity mode per se right now. It’s kind of in a certain kind of energy-suppression mode, but you’re right in that your tractor/pressor net is clearly still working.” He paused. “Yeah. Let me get my crew out of there and we can give it a shot.”

It took several minutes for his crew to reboard their shuttle and move away on little puffs of gas. “Shuttle to Icelandic Troll,” the Vulcan-sounding voice came over the intercom, “you will need to gradually increase power to your pressor beams, monitoring them carefully for any overload. If one does overload, and explodes, it may trigger the wreck into an adverse reaction.”

“We may make it smoosh us into atoms,” our First Officer translated sotto voce. “Wilco,” she said more loudly. “Troll out.” She cut the communications channel and turned to me. “Okay, Don, your idea, your show.”

“Bay is fully open. Confirmed clear space to the aft. Engineering,” I said, opening a channel, “warp core to full power, divert all power to pressor net.” My console readings confirmed the power flow. “Initiating pressor array at ten percent… twenty… thirty… we’re showing movement! Array to forty percent and holding. We’re moving backwards at almost one meter per second. We should clear in about three minutes.”

Ryan opened a channel to Geronimo and relayed our progress. “How’re you guys fixed for shielding?” Cree asked. “Our best information at this point is to take a potshot at that thing with our phasers once you’re clear.”

“Whoa!” Ryan said, almost coming out of his chair. “We’ve got navigation-quality shields only, not the big stuff you guys carry!” Delightfully, he refrained from glancing at the illicitly installed console to his left, which controlled the equally illicit military-grade shield generators we’d installed. Not something we could actually use in front of a military ship, though.

“Okay,” Cree said, “it was just a thought. How far off will your pressor be able to push you?”

“Not much more than a hundred meters,” I replied. “Can you guys flip your tractor to press? It should extend to three or four hundred meters, right?”

“No,” Cree replied, shaking his head, “the cruisers get those because they handle the long-range exploration and stuff. Destroyers really only have tractors to help drag wayward shuttles back home. It’s okay,” he said, raising a hand. “You’re coming up on a hundred meters now. You’re probably still in range of the drive-dampening effect, but we’re working on another idea. Try killing your pressors, but be prepared to flip them back on if you edge forward.”

“Dropping pressor net to twenty percent…” I paused, and my console didn’t show us moving forwards toward the wreck. “Pressor net at zero,” I announced.

“Okay,” Cree said. “We’re showing some weird gravitic readings, now. It’s ramping up to something since coming out of your hull. Locking on tractor beam.” A hazy beam of light connected Geronimo to the hulk, although neither one moved. “Buzz, you got emergency attitude thrusters on that scow?”

“Yeah,” I answered for him. He hated other people using that word. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well, I want you to shift about ten degrees down, so you’re pointed through the ecliptic instead of along it. Then we’re both going to engage our warp engines at full power. We think having two sources, especially with ours being so much stronger, might let your nacelles deploy a proper bubble and get you out of here.”

“What’ll happen to you guys?” Ryan asked.

“Hopefully nothing,” Cree said, smiling. “In which case we’d like you to squirt a request to Memory Alpha for us. I’m transmitting over an encrypted packet now.” I nodded, indicating I’d received it. “Warp back into the system when you get their response, but keep well back from this thing. If we’re still here, you can send me the response, and it should have the codes for deactivating this thing.”

The three of us were silent for a moment. There was a big if there. We made fun of Starfleet a lot, but this is what they were for, and it was huge to have them there when you needed them. Ryan nodded. “Engineering,” he said, “prepare for maximum warp.”

“What, again?” came the reply. “I thought I’d have time to rebuild the–”

“PREPARE FOR MAXIMUM WARP!” Ryan shouted, before slamming the button that closed the channel. “Please fire him at the next port,” he told Smith.

“Already done,” she confirmed.

“The Troll is reoriented,” I said. “Course laid in, ready to engage. Geronimo seems to be spinning up their own warp drive.”

“Punch it,” our Captain said quietly. I punched it. This time, the Troll’s warp engines spun up and launched us out of the system at several times the speed of light. We came to a stop in open space.

“Transmitting to Memory Alpha,” I said, keying the instructions into the communications controls. Several tense moments passed. Then: “Reply received and stored. Return course laid in.”

“Go,” Ryan whispered. By now, there might not be a Geronimo to deliver the reply to. I engaged the warp drive. We emerged several light-minutes away from Geronimo, close enough for ordinary communications to work without much delay, but well outside the range of that wreck.

“Transmitting!” I said, hitting the button. “Sensors show Geronimo closing in on the wreck, though–they’re closer than we were, at this point!”

“Ah, Buzz, good to see you,” Cree said in an audio-only response. “We’ve received your transmission, and none too soon. This puppy is actively dragging us in, now. Give me a few.”

Nobody said anything for several minutes. Then, “Geronimo’s tractor beam has disengaged!” I said. “They’re moving away quickly–their impulse engines must be active again.”

“Can I get a visual?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “sorry. Pulling it up now.” Our main screen showed the destroyer rapidly backing away from the relatively tiny wreck. At a couple of kilometers away, her phasers lashed out, and the wreck’s explosion was entirely disproportional to its size. We’d have been wiped out at a hundred meters.

“Problem solved,” Cree said, his image replacing the still-bright explosion on our screen. “Thanks for the assist, Troll.”

“We’re the ones thanking you,” Smith said. “We’d probably be dead if you hadn’t been in-system.”

“All in a day’s work,” Cree said, smiling. “Which does remind me–right before all the excitement, we got a request from the planetary government, asking for an assist since they lack a space force. Something about a possible interspecies paternity suit?”

“I, ah, the, I’ve no idea what that could possibly be about.” Ryan stammered.

“Yeah, I figured. Still, it’d probably be best if you steered clear of this system for a bit?”

“No reason for us to be back,” Ryan said, waggling his hand at me. “Okay, thanks again and hope to run into you some other time! Troll out!” The communications feed cut out. “Get us to Qualor II, please. Now, please.”

“Course laid in, and ready to engage,” I said.

“Punch it,” Smith said before Ryan could respond. Troll’s warp drive literally told space to get bent, and we were on our way.