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Log Entry: Star Date 46227.4 Emergency status Yellow, begin event recording.
A lot of background noise erupted from the speakers, then one voice takes over and the racket died off a little.
"OK, we're at yellow alert. Ahhh, this is Lieutenant Mary, I'm ahhh, acting C/O I guess. Commander Straider is off base on patrol." The face looked away from the camera, she listened to somebody then looked back, "Yeah, OK, ahhh, what is that command?"
Another voice spoke calmly and slowly, "Full auto record."
The view changed to a full shot of the command center of the outpost. The area is rather small and cluttered compared to other Star Fleet base command areas, but then again, Patrol Base SL-374-II isn't as spacious as even some of the fleet's smaller vessels. Three of the crew are in view, they are all talking at once, one in some gritty almost barking language to a communications panel. Then they shout to each other in English. Two are wearing partial Star Fleet uniforms, the other appears to be wearing a bathrobe.
The view changed for a second to an exterior shot of the docking area of the station, a small sleek fighter/patrol craft blasts away from the docking connector, it turned sharply and sped into the void.
The view then changed to an interior view of the docking area, two crewmen were throwing containers and actual paperboard boxes through the hatch. "OK, we're loaded. We'll be out in a minute." One of them shouts. The hatchway closes behind them and there are several loud metallic noises. The view shifted to exterior again. Just to one side from where the fighter had been docked a false wall retracted and exposed the bow of an outdated shuttlecraft. It seems to wallow into space as it got its stabilizers going, then it followed the course of the fighter at a more sedate pace.
Back to the control room.
The other uniformed crewman turned toward the Lieutenant with wide eyes. "We just lost the emergency signal from the ship."
She nods and crosses her fingers toward him. "Just stay with it Pang. We'll get to them."
"The Lattorian's have a ship on the way. They claim it's all they can send." The bathrobed crewman said.
Lt. Mary Welden looked his way. "Which ship?"
"It's a frigate. I didn't catch the name."
She sagged. "They're sending some rust bucket commander." She said to her console.
A man's voice speaks from the screen. "At least they are helping." The voice sounded a lot older than any of the other crew. In a second, the view changed to show him. The commander turns out to be a lot older than the rest of the crew. He is older, but he doesn't look either senile or even tired. His eyes are clear and alert, long gray sideburns march down his face challenging the standard trim mandate of command grade officers. His uniform is at least one change of issue out of style, but he wears it well and it seems to suit him. "OK, we're at full speed now, but the shuttle will beat us to the coordinates. Keep this line open, let me know if anything else happens." He looks at the controls in front of him and speaks to somebody else on this ship. "ETA, seventeen minutes."
The view cut back to the command office.
"I got a Star Fleet ship on. It's the FRAIZER, they're be there in less than an hour." The other crewman said.
"What kind of ship is that?" The commander asked from the console.
"It's a Saber class scout."
The other uniformed crewman ran out of the room.
"I need to get dressed." The bathrobed crewman says.
Lt. Mary turned and smiled at him, "Don't bother to change on my account. I kinda like you like that Jamah."
Jamah makes an unreadable face and turns back to his console. "374 to the FRAIZER. Commander Straider is also in route to the scene."
The comm beeped and the FRAIZER answered. "Sounds like you're going to have plenty of help there, you sure you need us?"
"FRAIZER, this is acting C/O Lieutenant Mary Welden. I am requesting you continue to respond, we don't know what the Lattorian ship is. They may end up needing rescued themselves."
"Understood Lieutenant. FRAIZER out."
The view changed to a nose camera from the fighter. It showed a bright object against a background of deep space. The object grew in size slowly.
"Ensign MarcTall to base, I have the TRARON STAR in visual range, I'm bringing up my spot lights. You should be getting the picture now."
"We see it. Your telemetry is showing a total loss of all power on board, almost two hundred life signs, some of them are weak."
"Confirmed base. I am circling around. They will know I am here."
The view changed to a side shot from the fighter, somebody inside the ship was waving a light at a portal, they had seen the fighter.
"Any ideas as to what happened Ensign?" Lt. Welden asked over his comm.
"No sir. I have never seen a ship like this before, but everything looks OK."
"MarcTall, this is Straider. I've seen the TRARON STAR before. Swing around in front of it and get a better shot of the particle intake."
The view moved as the fighter came around. We see a clear picture of the front of the disabled ship.
"There it is." The commander says over the comm. "They went through something they shouldn't have with open intakes."
Where there was supposed to be a long tapered opening there was a jagged opening stained with some dark stuff that looked dirty in the reflected searchlights from the fighter. From the front of the ship somebody could be clearly seen waving at the fighter.
"Wait a minute, I'm getting a signal on a different frequency." MarcTall said, "OK, I'm relaying it."
"Hey! Hey! Can you hear me?" A frantic voice erupted from the panel.
"This is Ensign MarcTall from Space Lane Station 374 help is on the way, I'll stay right here with you until they get here. Just relax. What's your status?" The young Vulcan forced the calmness of his voice through the microphone, it almost worked.
"We overheated and everything shut down. It's freezing in here. Our gravity is out. We've got some people that need medical attention aboard." The voice sounded ready to panic.
"OK, just take it easy. Help is on the way. What are you using to contact me?"
"It's a toy communicator. It doesn't have much power."
"It works, that's enough. Our shuttle is almost here. Two other ships are coming. Everything is going to be fine."
The view shifted to the perspective of the arriving shuttle, then two more fighters. In another minute the camera switched to the commander's runabout, the shuttle docked with the ship and used its power to bring the larger vessel's life support back on line. The FRAIZER arrived and things were well in hand. The passengers and most of the crew of the TRARON STAR were taken aboard the small starship. As things were winding down the Lattorian ship came in and took the drifting ship in tow.
After all the excitement the conclusion was an anti-climax. The ships from the station convoyed back to the base discussing the rescue and trying to weasel out of doing their respective reports and analysis. The screen showed the approaching ships.
Lt. Welden talked them in then handed them off to the automated system. The docking was routine all around.
There was a brief look at the outside of the station then the Commander's aged face and calm voice took over the narrative.
"No casualties, all passengers are being taken to Starbase 178 on Eclustus, most of the crew went with the Lattorians where they hope to get the ship repaired. Nobody from the TRARON STAR returned to the base. Station expenditure will be attached when finalized for back billing to the cruise operator." He smiled gently and spoke the final words. "End automatic recording."
The screen changed to a view of the exterior then went dark for a second.
Continued in: The Station Part 2
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[NOTE:This Story Is FAN FICTION. This presentation carries the copyright The Media Desk, 2005. Author retains all rights, including the right of approval for publication. STAR TREK, and all images and situations affiliated with STAR TREK are originally owned and copyrighted by PARAMOUNT STUDIOS and other entities. They are used in this story without intent to harm or otherwise defame PARAMOUNT or the estate of Gene Roddenberry. If either of those parties object to it, the story will be pulled immediately. The Media Desk is not in any way affiliated with PARAMOUNT. For information contact Levite. Email- drleftover[~at-]themediadesk[~dot-]com (email scrambled to screw with spammer robots), or surface mail to: The Media Desk, PO Box 1276, Dover, DE 19903 ]