Prologue, Part 2

Posted on Mon 15th Jun, 2026 @ 2:40pm by Captain Gordon Francis & Commander Heriah Rex & Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Lieutenant Victor Delling MD & Khellian s'Siedhri MD & Commander Geraldine "Geri" Severide & Lieutenant Kidan Mallaya DVM & Chief Petty Officer Larry Kersenboom (Ret.) & Jaeih Havraha

4,466 words; about a 22 minute read

Mission: [MAIN] Learning to Fly
Location: Starbase 109
Timeline: Day 0
Tags: Toni, Larry

OOC CF: I know there are two parts being written at the same time now. Make any alterations to part one as you can before continuing this part. I'm splitting the two due to length. Also, since this post has strayed from the original intent, I've started these as the first posts in the new mission.


PART TWO BEGIN



(IBEX)

A signal came across Damion's communications panel: This is USS Thunderchild requesting blood donors of Human-Betazoid extraction to donate blood to cover an emergency surgery. Donations can be taken here or beamed over. Please respond to this hailing frequency or send directly to the Thunderchild cortex.

Damion tapped his combadge. "Ildaran to Severide. Commander, you're Human-Betazoid, aren't you? There's been a request for blood donations from Thunderchild. Can you contribute?"

Geri took all of two seconds to count the Human Betazoids on board, it was Paul Graves. She hit her badge, "I can get wherever you need, Have someone beam me directly to the site!"

The Quantum Teleporter was fast, and silent. Geri breathed in IBEX air and exhaled on the Thunderchild main hospital ward. She ran to the obvious ICU, a nurse stopping her.

"I'm Betazoid/Human, I'm here for a blood donation as requested!"

Nurse Breidinger stopped and looked around ever so briefly. "That message got out fast." She decided against trying to figure out how. "Yes, Commander, thank you for answering so quickly. It is Commander Graves. He has lost a lot of blood, externally and internally." She motioned for Geri to follow her as she guided her toward Graves' location. "We tried protoblood but that won't work. Replicating his own blood will take too much time and we cannot access his personal supply aboard 109. It is the aldosterone that is giving us trouble. Without that, we can keep him alive but may permanently damage his telepathic abilities. Betazoid/human bybrids created a whole new breed of aldosterone makeup that is difficult to replicate. We need yours. You may lose any telepathic ability, but only temporary." They arrived upon the biobed where Graves was laid out. Others were moving about doing what they could. Toni looked from the sorry heap of Graves to Geri. "This is to save his life."

Geri removed her tunic top for a simple athletic cotton undershirt, then tightly bound her hair before she plopped onto the indicated bio bed ready to go.

"Say no more doc, take everything you need, put me in a coma if you must, siphon from my veins with a drinking straw and suspend me in cryogenics but do not let that man die!"

She typed a few commands into a padd and tossed it onto her uniform top at the foot of the bed. "I'm ready."

"Thank you Commander," Breidinger said. She went to Geri's side. The other nurses seeing to Paul made way.

Toni snatched two tele-tranfusers from the drawer on the side of the bio-bed. "These will provide point-to-point teleportation of blood straight from your axillary artery to his," she explained as she powered them both up and verified the two were calibrated to each other. She recalled the location of the Betazoid/human axillary artery location which was about an inch off from humans. Toni tapped Geri's shoulder right over the artery, thumped that location a few times, then placed the tele-tranfuser atop. She did the same for Paul as the others were working on clearing up his internal bleeding. "Just hold on Commander."

Toni returned to Geri. "We certainly do not need to put you in a coma or do anything cryonic. Again, you will only lose any telepathic abilities...for a few days maximum. "Here we go," and the device on Geri's shoulder came to life. The device on Paul's shoulder did likewise and a continuous flow of blood was teleported straight out of Geri's artery and into Paul's. "I have it programmed for only a 20% constant teleportation. That is," she felt she needed to explain, "a one-fifth reduction of blood reaching your brain. You will feel dizzy and you may pass out. That is fine. I will constantly monitor your progress." Toni moved to the head of the biobed to look at the readouts.

Smiling, Geri quipped back, "Damn it Doctor have some drama, some passion for your work. I drink a fifth for lunch, but don't tell my boss, wink." She made a fake wink and a large one at that, "I am serious though I dont need any more of the red stuff than whats necessary if he needs it you got it boy my heads swimming, and I might be babbling, bobble, bibble, bible, bobble... Imma close my eyes." With that final prediction she drifted into a sleep.

Kidan entered sickbay a few moments later, his glasses firmly on his nose. Scanning the room, he read the conversations happening around the room, in real time. He spoke quietly, to the doctors that were clearly here about the call for blood. "I am a full Betazoid, but a universal negative donor. May I be of assistance?"

"Aldosterone," said Toni. She looked back at Kidan as she was confident the tele-transfusion was going well. "You may be a negative donor for blood, but your aldosterone could be useful here." She was, again, dealing with Betazoid/human hybrids. So, the aldosterone from a full Betazoid, she surmised, could throw a hybrid's telepathic abilities into something of a super-mode. "If you would permit," she said to Kidan, "I could extract aldosterone straight from your blood. Your blood will remain intact, though...you may experience lessened telepathy for a few days."

"I have no telepathic ability to speak of. A virus in my youth rendered that part of my brain inoperable, but I do produce all the appropriate hormones. I will not be troubled by their removal. Please." He offered his arm, and sat in the seat that seemed to indicate blood drawing was a possibility.

***

(Garden District)

The Romulans had saved the day. Though there was no shortage of people, how could you ask untrained folks to do things they didn't know how to do? A hundred trained spacers appeared and got to work pulling rabbits out of hats and making innovative leaps to keep the hope alive.

Kya felt hope, seeing the impromptu panels and displays slowly lose their reds, to fade to oranges and yellows. Garden District was green, in more ways than one, but this was a bubble prone to be popped any moment. She felt the enormity of the task in her hands, and once again felt the sweat in her palms.

"Larry Kersenboom here to see you Ms. Kya."

The voice of her assistant, a teenager with no parents, and ward to the station announced from the CRC front lobby.

Their reputation was gold in these parts, if she had been thrilled by the Romulans' arrival, LArry and his team made her ecstatic, and she yelled back, "Be right out there!"

Kya came out of the small anteroom behind the kitchen having composed herself, hand out to shake with Larry.

Larry had been glancing about the CRC, amazed at how intact it still was, even with scorched paneling and blown lighting tubes. With the entire bottom third of the station blasted to smithereens, it was a wonder to him that anything had survived, this far down on the station. He caught sight of Kya Adtanis and grinned as she moved toward him. "Hey, Kya! Glad to see you're in one piece," Larry said. He shook her hand and then pulled her into a fierce hug, startled by how thankful he suddenly was to see her alive. "What can my folks and I do for you?"

He and "his folks" were a retired team of former Starfleet enlisted cargo handlers and maintenance personnel. They had been enthusiastic roleplay gamers while serving together, and now that their dungeonmistress was suffering from an inoperable condition that would kill her someday, they had all decided to move to Starbase 109 to be together and enjoy lots of gaming in their copious spare time. However, man did not live by D&D alone, so when they weren't fighting demons and traveling through fairy portals, they were known as the Sludgebusters and did maintenance work in the Garden District and Perry Gardens.

Kya had found her voice and lost it again over the last day. With a rasp and a cheery lilt she explained, "Fires are out, but keep coming back, we can't find them in time, and I am wasting people on a patrol to find them before they get big. Anything powered has to have a battery, and we cant recharge, the power grid is barely holding as is. We need manual generator setup and power lines run, and I know there is a grid involved somewhere in that. Parts galore, generators and fuel abound, but skilled hands do not. Secondly we have to expand our life support capacity or start sending people back, CO2 trends are not good. Filtration, HVAC, all are hardwired to the EPS, and not set up to be tapped externally. Can we start there, and by god is there a way to restore comms?"

Kya's voice cracked at the end and she sipped tea, grimacing at the heat on irritated throat.

"We need to get those fires under control right away," Larry said. "They're eating up oxygen as much as the people breathing down here. We can set up generators for you. They'll have a run time of about 10-12 hours before needing to be recharged. Those'll keep the lights on and the O2 scrubbers going. To run HVAC, you'd need a large one specifically dedicated to that purpose. I'm thinking you''ll also need one for refrigeration." He took out a small PADD and began scribbling notes on it with his fingertip. "Communications'll take a little longer, as they'll likely require parts--but we can have a look at the consoles and request replacement parts be replicated on one of the refugee ships. I'd recommend Thunderchild or Second Star, as Ehtevau's tech might not be compatible. We can try them, though."

Jaeih walked up to them, soot stained but with a look of satisfaction in her eyes. "I have a trio of SAR teams tracking the fires back to their source. They are rerouting gas lines and erecting portable force-fields to protect the oxygenation of the area and starve the fires. They're from the Wastes, and they are more than equipped to do so. I've opened the...My farm and the orchard from our micro-colony here, to bolster what you already have." Fire was a weapon that Romulans were all too familiar with using to their aid and detriment. She was a fickle weapon and conditions could easily turn a weapon wielded into an uncontrolled disaster. Their teams were specially designed for this, as fires were common and in the Wastes, the fire tornados that sometimes tore through the countryside around the great desert required specialty units to respond to.

"You just made my day," Larry said to Jaeih. "Thank you!" He drew a line through 'Fires' on his list and moved to the next item. "Okay, generators for HVAC and refrigeration. I'll see what we can get replicated or brought down here and set those up for you. While my guys are doing that, I'll see if the female half of my team can work on restoring communications."

Larry tapped his communicator. "Hey, Karen? Larry here. Can you have Marie and Renee come to the CRC and run a scan on the Garden District comms system? I don't know if everything's fried or if just some of it is, but Kya needs it fixed quick, fast, and in a hurry. It would make coordinating repairs go a lot faster."

I'm on it, Karen replied. Renee's heading there now; I'll tell Marie to meet her. Once they tell me what parts are needed, I'll source them and get them to you.

"I owe you one, my Dread Mistress." Larry said

You certainly do, but we'll negotiate the DM bribe later. Karen out.

Kya was slack-jawed at the speed of their response, and utter ability to help. She found her voice quickly, "Larry, we don't have a command team at the moment, everyone is scattered, and the comms arent working. Can we make a system here? You clearly have a natural rapport with your people, I can coordinate with mine, and surely the Romulans will have an interest in joining our tribal council... If we work together, I think we can hold the line and keep these decks viable, stop everything from going up in flames."

Larry thought for a moment. "I can't give you a solid answer until I speak with my team, but I'm willing to work with you and the Romulans, and I suspect my folks will be glad to coordinate with all of your Garden District people and the Romulans, too. Anything we can do to make the repairs come together better and faster, I think we're for."

(End of this section)


***

(Fusion Core- SB109)

The stars held their places in indifferent silence, but the space around Starbase 109 was alive with motion. From the torn underside of the station, lines of contained plasma stretched outward in rigid arcs, glowing with a fierce and unstable light. They reached across the void toward the bulk of the Ticonderoga, whose vast structure bristled with extended arms, open apertures, and exposed frameworks. It no longer resembled a finished vessel. It looked like something taken apart mid-operation and forced to continue functioning anyway.

Closer to the wound, figures moved, small against the scale of it, teams in EVA suits clung to the fractured hull of the station and the skeletal extensions of Ticonderoga. Their helmet lights cut thin beams through vapor and drifting debris. They worked in silence except for clipped comm traffic, guiding conduits into place, locking down anchor points, manually stabilizing systems that no longer had the luxury of automation. Every motion mattered. Every mistake would be final.

Aboard the Ticonderoga, Commander Sepp Agandar stood at the center of a bridge that felt more like an engineering bay than a command deck. Every surface displayed stress readings, power flows, and structural warnings. The ship was being pushed far outside its design envelope, and everyone present knew it.

“Report,” he said.

“Six primary EPS trunks established,” an engineer named Miska replied. “Four secondary lines holding. External aperture arms locked into position. Structural integrity is holding at sixty-two percent and dropping.”

Sepp grunted. “It only has to hold long enough.”

A channel opened, audio only. The voice that came through was filtered, distant, carried from the command ship Second Star.

“Commander Agandar, it’s Entaaro on Second Star. We are reading your initial link, Captains Francis and Lo are present. Confirm readiness to proceed.”
Sepp did not look toward the source of the transmission. His eyes remained fixed on the station.

“Captains, we are proceeding,” he said, knowing Francis and Izzy were listening, “There will not be any way to reverse this or stop the process without loss once begun.”

“Understood,” Captain Izwyx, “For the record, explain the process.”

Sepp allowed himself the smallest breath.

“The station cannot sustain internal generation given it’s fusion core is gone, and the remaining grid is unstable given the damages throughout. We are bypassing the grid with direct linkages. We must replace the power generation with another Fusion core, because if power drops completely, containment fails, and the structure follows. There is no repair window without a continuous energy source on the station it will collapse onto itself without any.”
A pause as Sufai added, “So the only thing to do is…”

“We replace the missing core,” Sepp said. “Directly. Using the Ticonderoga’s Fusion systems.”

There was a brief silence on the channel, and Sufai replied “We are agreed, proceed Commander."

Before Sepp could even blink, the science officer Fouran turned from his station, hesitation written plainly across his face. “Commander, we need to revisit this extraction sequence. Once we decouple the core, we lose internal power distribution immediately. There is no way to maintain system continuity during the transfer.”

Sepp looked at him, then at the display of Starbase 109, and pointed at the power load measures. “There is if the station takes the load first.”

“That would require full synchronization of both grids,” Fouran pushed back. “Their system is damaged. Ours is not designed to carry an external structure of that scale indefinitely. The harmonics alone could destabilize both networks.”

“Which is why we are not carrying them indefinitely,” Sepp replied. “We are handing them our core.”

Fouran wasn’t amused, “Which brings me back to my first point. Sir, that is not a transfer. That is a live core extraction under load.”

“Yes,” Sepp said calmly.

“The plasma shear forces will tear through any misaligned junction. If we lose phase alignment for even a second, the entire transfer network will collapse.”

Sepp tapped the display, bringing up the station’s grid. Its chaotic energy flows flickered like a failing heartbeat. Matching phase would dbe like finding the rhythm of raindrops, but he had faith the crew could do it.
“Then we do not lose phase,” he said. “We synchronize them so completely that by the time we remove the core, the station no longer recognizes the difference.”

He let that settle before continuing, Fouran was struggling to argue, and he found the words, “We are not connecting a power source. We are replacing the station’s heart with our own while it is still beating.”

{Fusion Core-SB109}

Outside, the work continued.

“EVA Team Three, secure that junction,” a voice crackled over open comms. “You are drifting outside tolerance.”

A suited figure braced against a spar of twisted hull, locking a conduit into place with both hands while another stabilized the line with a tethered field generator. The plasma within the conduit pulsed brighter, then steadied, its violent flicker settling into something closer to a controlled flow.

“Junction locked,” came the reply, breath audible in the helmet. “Field holding.”

“Hold it tight!” another voice said. “If that slips, it cuts straight through deck.”

A hail from the Second Star came over, “Commander,” Sufai was worried, “grid synchronization at ninety-four percent and redlined.”

“Push it higher,” Sepp said. “We need the margin.”

She was adamant, “Not able to, we are already exceeding safe thresholds.”

Sepp did not raise his voice. “Push it until it will not go further lieutenant, the damage to Ticonderoga is irrelevant.”

The deck shuddered as more power was forced through the system, Sufai did as she was told and hated to say it, but “Ninety-six percent, and holding.”

Sepp turned to Fouran, excited to see the result, “Phase variance?”

“Within tolerances at three percent sir. You were right, but…barely.”

“Barely right is still on the correct side of things for me. Good work. Begin load transfer.”

The effect rippled outward immediately as Fouran kept their one percent margin of error as wide as it could get but let the systems begin to link.
The plasma conduits brightened, their glow deepening from a harsh white-blue into something denser, heavier. The lines thickened visually as more energy was forced through them, their containment fields tightening to hold back the surge.

Outside, EVA crews flinched as the conduits surged beside them, light reflecting off their visors in blinding flashes. Fire control crews internally raced once again to put out the brushfires in the countryside, but most of the pathways were ruptured, direct linking kept the blowbacks small.

“Load transfer at fifty percent,” came the report. Slow and steady was winning the race.

Time crawled, it took an hour to hear the next call, “Seventy. Having issues with power output, linkages are bucking.”

Sepp knew the time had come. “Reduce load on our end, cut it all except vitals.”

Sufai called again, “Almost there Sepp, I see you cutting down. I have two runabout crews on the way for phase three."

Fourteen runabouts landed into the bays dotting the Ticonderoga surface. Each bay had a power link, meant to charge the depleted ships, but in this case, they took on a fraction of the incoming power demand each.

Fouran couldn’t believe it, “We hit Eighty.”
The Ticonderoga groaned, a deep vibration that ran through its entire frame.
“Commander, internal systems are destabilizing,” an officer warned. “We are losing redundancy across all decks.”

Sepp’s expression did not change. “Divert all internal systems to reserve power.”

The officer froze. “Sir, that leaves us without active support systems. We will lose propulsion, environmental control, and internal distribution.”

“Yes, T'gron,” Sepp said. “We will.” There was a brief silence and he confirmed the order, “Do it.”

{SB109- Fusion Core}

Inside the station’s hollowed lower decks, figures in EVA suits moved through darkness lit only by emergency strobes and the distant glow of plasma lines bleeding through ruptured conduits. “Station Team Two, we are seeing stabilization,” one of them reported. “Power is coming back through the grid. It is uneven, but it is holding around 2% variance.”

His implants dint fit within his helmet quite right, but with two power cables in each hand he didn’t dare take his hands off to adjust. His comm sounded, “Tannis, keep those junctions aligned,” came the reply. “You are the only thing keeping that flow coherent, grip it with your hands to keep it tight if you must.”

A gloved hand pressed against a vibrating conduit, feeling the oscillation through layers of suit insulation. A tight grip reduced the vibration, and he saw the power phase reduce variance by .08 but increased the repulsion at the interlocking flexures.

“Feels like it wants to tear itself apart,” he answered.

“Yeah best don’t let it,” came the answer.

{Ticonderoga}

“Load transfer complete,” an engineer reported aboard Ticonderoga. The last twenty minutes had seen their ship go cold. The crew had donned their own EV suits as well.

Sepp nodded once, then realized nobody could see him nod in the suit helmet. He presed comms, “Begin core decoupling sequence at 1044 :41.”

The words seemed to carry weight, few as they were, it was the order to make the move that could cause another explosion entirely.

Fouran replied in sync with phases as they occurred, when he said “Core mounts releasing….”

A heavy vibration passed through the Ticonderoga, followed by a deep metallic resonance that echoed through its structure. The sounds vibrated in a super resonance compounding until integrity fields compensated to dampen the energy dissipation. Metal screeching on metal announced the cooling tower shaft had been removed. The Core was suspended purely my cable and magnetic fields, the radiation it emitted so naked was appalling, but this portion of the exchange had to be fast so their exposures were minimal.

Miska called now, “Magnetic cradle disengaging.”

The deck lurched as gravity fluctuated and then failed entirely for a fraction of a second before emergency systems compensated.

She updated again, “Containment fields shifting to external projection only.”

Fouran sounded alert, “Internal plasma shear is incredible, the lines are overheating!”

Sepp steadied himself. “Hold it together.”

“Captain Francis, we are entering the transfer gap,” Sufai’s voice came over comms, tight but controlled. “Power levels across the station are dropping. We are seconds from critical threshold. Captain Lo, prepare Thunderchild for the final phase!”

On Ticonderoga, the core hung suspended, no longer part of the ship in any meaningful way. It glowed with a contained intensity that seemed almost alive, its surface rippling with contained reactions held in check by layers of forcefields and precision control.

“We are running on transfer inertia,” an officer said. “There is no stable source on either side.”

Sepp stepped forward, eyes locked on the core, “Move it.”

External arms extended, massive and deliberate, guiding the core out into open space. The plasma conduits stretched and adjusted, their paths recalculating in real time to maintain continuity. Thunderchild was guiding in micro motions using their tractor beams and Alidade’s precision control. Outside, EVA crews scattered to preplanned positions, anchoring themselves as the core passed near them, its radiance turning their suits into silhouettes against its light.

“Keep those lines stable!” someone shouted over comms. “If they slip now, everything goes with it!”

Hundreds of brilliant motes of light, a soul for each of them flurried like sparks in the campfire breeze to secure flailing lines. Inexorably the core moved in its seething volatility unphased. After six minutes where several people nearly passed out from holding their breath, the core reached the broken underside of Starbase 109.

“Aligning connection points,” came the call, Tannis was ready.

Miska replied, “Structural anchors engaging.”

The first clamps locked into place with visible force, bracing against fractured hull plating. With the positioning now undeniable, they made a temporary housing directly in the path of the drifting beneficent malevolence. As gently as could be, the former beating heart of the Ticonderoga slid into the housing, regaining confinement and magnetic constriction.

“Seal it,” Sepp ordered.

Tannis answered, “Welding in progress.”

Streams of focused energy flared as connection points fused, metal flowing and hardening in rapid succession. The conduits tightened, their geometry shifting from temporary lines into fixed pathways. For a moment, everything seemed to hold its breath, then the flow changed. The chaotic flicker of energy stabilized, smoothing into a steady, continuous surge. The violent pulses evened out into a controlled rhythm, the systems accepting the new configuration.

“Grid accepting load,” Sufai’s voice came through, clearer now. “Power levels stabilizing. Containment stabilizing. Life support… remains offline, but all station critical systems are responding.”

And in a moment that ignited hope across their hearts, the lights across the station surged back, not to full brightness, but to a steady, sustainable level.

Silence followed on the Ticonderoga bridge, broken only by the quiet hum of restored systems.

“Ticonderoga has completed the transfer,” Sufai said on their comms. “Their core is now fully integrated into the station’s external grid.” A pause as she also recognized, “They have no remaining internal power. The vessel is no longer capable of independent operation.”

Outside, the Ticonderoga hung dark. No lights, no motion. Its vast frame remained locked in place only by the structures it had deployed and the work of those still moving across its surface in EVA suits. Below the station, the transplanted core burned steadily, its light constant now, feeding power into a structure that had been moments from collapse. Weakly pulsing and in open space, the borrowed heart beat on.

-The Adventures Continue-

 

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