Chapter Text
Chief Medical Officer’s Log, Stardate 47654.2
The crew is slowly returning back to normal after their abrupt de-evolution to their ancient ancestors at the hands of a novel virus. Commander Data and I have determined that the virus caused introns, or inactive genetic codes, to reactivate, leading to the de-evolution phenomenon. I’ve traced the emergence of the virus to my own treatment of Lieutenant Barclay — by all accounts, the creation of the virus was more or less a one-in-a-million occurrence. Beyond serving me a bit of humble pie, this whole escapade has reaffirmed the universe’s unending trove of secrets and the Enterprise ’s alarming tendency to encounter so many of its most dangerous ones .
“Report,” Jean-Luc roars over the blare of the Red Alert, levering himself back up into the captain’s chair. The Enterprise had just rammed bow-first into something at full impulse — they were lucky the hull was still intact given the impact.
“Casualty reports coming in from all over the ship,” Beverly says, eyes and fingers flicking over her console. No confirmed fatalities yet, but also no way to tell how long that will last. “Mostly minor injuries — concentrated mainly in the nacelles and Engineering. Dispatching emergency crews now.”
“Shields holding at twenty percent,” Worf adds grimly, standing by her side. “Damage appears to be from a collision with an unexpected anomaly.”
“Captain,” Ensign Ro says suddenly from the helm. “I can’t confirm our location relative to any known spatial landmarks.”
Beverly looks up at the viewscreen — just empty space as far as the eye can see. No sign of whatever the ship had collided with. The Enterprise had only rarely left the confines of known, charted space in the past, and they had never done so willingly.
“Confirmed,” Will agrees lowly, eyes fixed on his console, “we have no knowledge of our current location and sensors aren’t picking up any familiar stars or planets within range. We seem to have been — displaced , somehow, somewhere.”
Jean-Luc draws his hand across his brow in thought. These are the kinds of times that make Beverly wish they were still connected like on Kesprytt — she would give up half of Sickbay to know what he was thinking right now.
“Send a subspace message to Starfleet advising them of our position, Mr. Worf,” he says, interest apparently piqued. "Scan nearby sectors for stars, ships, and planets — specifically M-class."
“Unable to contact Starfleet, Captain,” Worf replies quickly. “There are no Federation subspace beacons within sensor range. Sensor's operating at less than three percent capacity.”
Lost, alone, and blind in the depth of unknown space. Not the first time, but still Beverly's heart will certainly be calmer when they regain sensor function.
“Analysis, Mr. Data,” Jean-Luc says, tension beginning to snake through his words.
“Unclear, Captain,” Data responds, swiveling to face Jean-Luc. “We appear to be beyond the bounds of the known galaxy. Our exact position remains unknown. All contact with Starfleet and the Federation appears to have been severed.”
Jean-Luc purses his lips. Beverly glances around the bridge; the crew had been in far worse scraps before and beyond tight expressions and particularly violent padd poking, they were still performing their jobs as well as ever.
“Captain! Sensors picking up what looks to be a battle between two fleets in a neighboring system,” Worf says quickly. “The ships are of unfamiliar make, but all four appear to be significantly larger than the Enterprise .”
“I can sense thousands of minds,” Deanna says lowly. “Terror, determination, anger .” She turns toward Jean-Luc, face tight. “I advise extreme caution, Captain — it’s very possible we’ve stumbled onto the outskirts of some kind of armed conflict.”
Jean-Luc rises to his feet sharply, turning toward Tactical, true alarm blooming across his face.
“Have they engaged in hostilities yet?” he asks quickly.
Worf’s fingers race across the console.
“Sensors picking up a large burst of unknown energy from the largest ship,” Worf says. “It appears to be directed at the other three. Captain — the other three vessels have been destroyed.”
Deanna holds a hand to her head, wincing.
“Counselor?”
“Hundreds, maybe thousands of people just died in agony,” Deanna bites out, eyes closed. Suffering of any kind always hit her hardest out of the bridge crew — Beverly could barely imagine sensing the death of one person, let alone three starships worth at once.
Jean-Luc exchanges a glance with Will as silence settles warily on the bridge — three vessels even larger than the Enterprise destroyed in a single volley. A weapon of that magnitude was almost unimaginable, to say nothing of the potential loss of life of those three ships and their crews.
“Estimated time of arrival to the system at Warp 6, Ensign Ro?” Jean-Luc asks suddenly, turning forward.
“Just under two hours, sir,” Ro replies crisply.
“Chart a course and engage — you have the Conn, Ensign,” Jean-Luc says before turning back to Will. “Senior Staff to the Conference Room. ”
Jean-Luc let out a billowing sigh. Far more expressive than normal in Beverly’s opinion, but then again, the whole crew may still be a little closer to their emotional, animal past than normal. Regardless, the situation does seem rather bleak.
Cut off from Starfleet, from the Federation, from the Klingons, even from the Romulans. Adrift in a sector of unknown space with potentially powerful adversaries nearby, no allies to turn to, nowhere to run. And, still no real idea of what brought the Enterprise to wherever they even are.
“Explanations,” Jean-Luc commands as the staff assembles.
Geordi and Data exchange a loaded look, never a good sign.
“Every instrument we have recorded something significant at the moment of collision, Captain,” Data reports, “but the volume of data has made it impossible to determine what the readings indicate — we cannot distinguish artifacts in the sensor logs from data. It is possible that the information the ship recorded at the moment of collision was simply illegible to our sensors.”
“ Illegible ?” Will repeats, doubt etched deep onto his face.
“Yes, Commander,” Data says, “it is likely that our sensors are unable to make sense of the space around our current location.”
“The sensors’ operating range has been significantly impaired,” Worf adds.
Jean-Luc and Will trade a heavy glance.
“And what could cause such a — a malfunction ,” Jean-Luc asks, pointed, “that our sensors are so hamstrung as to be near the point of uselessness?”
“Well, we’ve run a series of Level I diagnostics on the sensor array and they seem to be functioning within normal parameters,” Geordi explains, looking around the table. “One possible reason could be that whatever disturbance we encountered, it somehow jumped the Enterprise into an alternate dimension, where the fabric of space is noticeably different enough to not quite sync up with our systems. Almost like someone picked up the entire universe and shifted everything a couple feet to the left.”
“A couple feet to the left?” Jean-Luc repeats, his face rapidly approaching thunderous.
“It is our best explanation thus far, Captain,” Data replies. “Our equipment can still function, but at a significantly sub-optimal level. It is not dissimilar to the effect of regions of space like the Delphic Expanse. We will need to work to attenuate our sensors to this section of space before regaining full efficiency.”
Jean-Luc sighs deeply, clearly displeased.
“Make it so,” he orders, before turning to Beverly and Deanna on his right. “And the crew?”
“No fatalities,” Beverly assures him quickly. “The worst injury reported was Lieutenant Barclay’s minor concussion. The triage teams sent out were efficient and effective — almost all injuries have been treated.”
“And the crew is certainly a bit confused and anxious, but as confident in each other and in you as ever,” Deanna adds. "Though I would suggest some kind of ship-wide briefing once we have a better idea of the situation."
Jean-Luc nods once before settling back in his chair. He looks pensive for a moment, mind millions of light-years away. Suddenly, Jean-Luc leans forward and speaks.
"Does this situation feel at all," he pauses, searching, " familiar to anyone else."
Will and Worf exchange a glance, unsmiling.
"It does feel a bit like the incident in system J-25," Will says. He does not sound pleased at all. Beverly glances around the conference table — that system seems to mean something to everyone else.
"J-25?" she asks Jean-Luc. He looks back, face drawn.
"An incident with Q that occurred while you were commanding Starfleet Medical," Jean-Luc answers lowly. "Q transported us to Borg-occupied space in order to prove to us that humans should still fear the unknown."
He stands, adjusting his uniform.
"I concur, Will," he begins, voice filling the room. "This does have all the hallmarks of Q's involvement — we will continue toward the last known location of the unidentified starships and remain at Yellow Alert until we can determine the cause of our displacement. We must remain vigilant."
“And,” he continues with a ghost of a smile, “as I see it, we’re heading into potentially hostile territory with limited sensors and no hope of reinforcements. Hardly the worst odds we’ve ever faced. Keep me apprised of your progress recalibrating the sensors, Commanders. I have a feeling we might need them soon. Dismissed.”
"Shields up as a precaution, Mr. Worf," Will says, coming up to Worf's other side. His hands are tense on the console, the skin around his knuckles the color of white lilies. "We don't want any unexpected surprises."
"Aye, Commander," he responds brusquely.
Beverly inhales deeply, taking a last couple moments to center herself. She's never become completely comfortable on starships in battle. Too little agency, too little she can do to help defeat the enemy.
“Captain,” Ensign Ro says, breaking the fragile silence, “arrival in ten minutes.”
Harsh beeps suddenly echo through the bridge. Jean-Luc is already half out of the captain's chair roaring " report! " as Worf's hands fly over the tactical console.
"Three more ships of unknown make have entered the system," he bites out quickly, "sir, they are on an intercept course with the larger ship!"
“I sense no apprehension or fear, Captain,” Deanna says, brow furrowed. “It’s likely the newly arrived crews are unaware of any potential danger.”
"Captain," Data breaks in, spinning his chair to face Jean-Luc. "Preliminary sensor readings suggest that the three ships are substantially similar to the ships that were destroyed. Given these similarities, I calculate a 73% chance that —"
Jean-Luc steps forward, face hardening.
"They'll be flying into a massacre."
Silence rings across the bridge, tense, expectant . Beverly feels a chill trickle down her spine.
"Aye, Captain," Data replies after a beat, "that was my conclusion as well."
Jean-Luc drags a hand down across his face, lips tight. His shoulders are drawn up, fixed and rigid.
"Very well," he says at last, "it appears we're now staging a rescue mission. Red Alert — all hands to battlestations!"
"Unfortunately," Jean-Luc continues, expression twisting into bitterness, "we have limited tactical information at this time and limited time to prepare. Suggestions?"
Finally , Beverly can direct her nervous energy somewhere productive.
"I'll set scanners to immediately analyze the crew of the ships when we warp in — we need to determine if they're baseline human and can tolerate our life support systems before beginning rescue operations." Her fingers are already flying across the console, setting up a subroutine to scan through any holes in the shields of the other ships.
"Understood," Jean-Luc says, authority etched in every syllable as he turns to face her. "And a triage area —"
"Designating Sick Bay, the Arboretum, and Ten-Forward as emergency triage areas now, Captain," Beverly responds, already sending emergency alerts to all her Sickbay staff and any qualified non-essential members of the crew. Thankfully, ten minutes warning was more time than the crew usually had before crises — she had full confidence they would be ready. "Dr. Selar will distribute assignments and hold down the front lines in Sickbay. Lower Decks crew quarters will be our fall-back triage location."
"Excellent, Commander." Jean-Luc shifts his gaze to Worf. "Lieutenant, we'll need an immediate tactical evaluation of all other ships upon arrival."
"Aye, sir," Worf says, "our sensors will be ready — primary focus on weapons, shields, and hull integrity, secondary focus on engines and life support. Charging phaser arrays and arming photon torpedoes.”
"Security teams in place outside Sickbay, Ten-Forward, and the Arboretum and monitoring all critical points within the ship," he adds, voice resonating deeply off the bridge walls. "Emergency forcefields ready to isolate any non-crewmembers if needed.""
"Very good, Lieutenant." Jean-Luc turns forward once more. "Number One?"
"Recommend relying on our speed and maneuverability rather than direct combat, Captain," Will says, eyes fixed on his console readout. "Preliminary sensor readings suggest that the unknown ships are significantly larger than the
Enterprise
. I wouldn't be surprised if they pack a mean punch, but our maneuverability should outclass theirs."
"I concur, Captain," Data adds. "If rescue is our primary goal, I suggest a strategy of rapid and random accelerations to warp to avoid enemy fire and allow for transporter use."
Jean-Luc turns to Ensign Ro, who's already rapidly working at her console.
"Pre-plotting several potential courses now, Captain."
Jean-Luc nods firmly, tapping his combadge.
"Picard to La Forge. Be advised that we will undergoing multiple rapid accelerations and deaccelerations from warp during a ship-to-ship evacuation effort."
Geordi's voice burbles of the com system.
"Aye, Captain, I'll make sure she doesn't burn out. La Forge, out."
"Bridge to all transporter rooms and shuttle bays," Jean-Luc says, hitting his combadge once more, voice stern. "The Enterprise will shortly enter a potentially active combat zone — our priority is transporting any survivors from ships and escape pods to our triage zones of Sickbay, Ten-Forward, and the Arboretum. If necessary, the Lower Decks crew quarters will be a secondary triage location. Consider this authorization to make use of all shuttle bay, shuttlecraft, and transporter room transporter pads to save as many as we can. Bridge out."
The next few minutes passed in tense silence. The time stretched out, long and thin, as it always does on the cusp of a battle.
Ro marks the two minute point, and Beverly inhales deeply, taking a last couple moments to center herself. She's never become completely comfortable on starships in battle. Too little agency, too little she can do to help defeat the enemy.
“Dropping out of warp,” Ensign Ro says, “in three, two, one.”