Prolog

        Star Date: 7701.27...
       
        The shift bell began to ring, startling the young ensign awake. He bounced in the sleeping tether until he woke up enough to remember where he was. Fragmented thoughts provided an answer On his maiden voyage. On the cargo shuttle Vega V. Listening instead of moving.
        “Oh! Hell! I'm late again!” he cursed at himself, and jumped at the echo from the polished, unblemished walls..
        He pulled himself clear of the sleeping tether and hoisted himself upright in motions that were too quick for the weightless conditions in the cabin. Scrambling for the door, he grasped at the handholds in the corridor leading forward to the small Command Bridge. He had no time to straighten the rumpled tan uniform he had slept in, to shave the beginnings of a beard, or to do more than run his fingers through his regulation-length, thick and curly black hair.
        Ensign John Peterson, grimacing in mock anguish at the crew supervisor already present in the tiny command quarters. He had made it into position just in time, and slipped his long frame into the pilot’s seat of the cargo shuttle just as the bell neared the end of its strident chorus.
        He fastened his safety belts just as the shift change bell ceased. Floating freely above him, Lieutenant Celia Longtree took her hands from her ears and gave him a knowing grin.
        “Well! Look at you! You're getting faster!” she teased him. The tall leggy blond filled out her red jumpsuit almost too well for his comfort. He smiled back. She hadn’t mentioned his unkempt appearance ­ and he knew he needed a shower. That was a luxury that would have to wait. At least it made for an interesting miasma in the ship’s passageways.
        “Yeah. One of these days I'll remember to set my alarm.” He settled himself further into the command chair for his next tour of duty, although he tended to think of it in other less attractive terms.
        “Any problems?” he asked hopefully, as he complacently began scanning the indicators before him. He wondered briefly if they had bothered to set him up again in the hazing manner the crew had for any new ensign. It had been relieving the monotony of the previous shifts.
        He fussed over a few settings and waited for the computer to catch up.
        God! How he wished this training was over so he could get on with assignment to a real line cruiser, like a star ship. The damaged USS Enterprise would be taking on replacement crew soon, or so the rumors went. His career-day lecturers during basic training had made duty onboard the fabulous star cruisers sound so exciting. Facing danger. Facing the unknown. The war stories told by the visiting officers by contrast had made this job so very dull and boring
        With no response from Celia, he began to mechanically run the computers through their validation programs while Longtree watched. As his senior training officer, she usually ignored his attempts at conversation, waiting for his initial check to be completed before responding.
        “Nothing unusual, as usual. We're pretty far out for travelers here.” She made a few notes on her tablet. Like the rest of the six crewmen aboard, she was charged with checking out the new trainee in as many situations as possible.
        Considering the effect her appearance usually had on him, it made it all the more difficult on Peterson when she was on duty. He had already had more than a few interesting dreams about her. Dreams that gave him one more reason to be anxious to be through with training and on to better things. Don’t mess in your own nest was the lesson drilled in to all recruits at basics. Her perfume, worn to cover the lack of bathing facilities on the cargo run, did not help him. He found her body scent and the perfume together made a powerful aphrodisiac. He often wondered if others in the crew had the same problem. He was too new to broach such a subject with them.
        In the meantime, he had to be content with furtively watching her as she moved about the cabin. She was elegant in the jumpsuit, no question. Unfortunately, he thought she would be more elegant out of it. He tried for further conversation to distract his errant thoughts and relieve the boredom.
        “We could hope for a pirate or two, I heard they got the USS Potemkin right in her storage berth, right under Star Fleet's nose.”
        “Bad news travels fast, as usual. Remember that even pirates stay close to heavy traffic,” she replied, ignoring his stares. “It's cheaper for them that way.” She collected her coffee cup, a trademark she rather cherished, and hooked it onto her utility belt.
        “Oh, there was one little thing. Engine pod 4 is acting up. Nothing very serious. I'll get Tobu on it.” Tobu was a very big, very dark, very imposing but very talented engineer who regarded the engines and Celia alike as his children. He hadn’t formed an opinion about Peterson, at least one that Peterson was aware of him forming. At the mention of Tobu’s name, a deliberate reprimand, Peterson turned his eyes back to his board.
        Celia finished her notes on her portable entry pad, slung the pad on her utility belt next to the cup, and pushed off toward the doorway. Peterson's eyes followed her. She called up the ladder as she began her descent.
        “Don't fall asleep at the switch. We're all hoping for a good round of captain's chess while you mind the store.” She winked back at him, letting him know that she was fully aware of his eyes on her, and of his ideas. But her smile also said that he was wasting precious energy.
        Smiling to himself, Peterson turned to begin to settle down to some seriously boring duty and some possibly interesting daydreams.
        Suddenly, the control board before him didn’t look right. He had turned back in time to see a yellow alert light begin to flash. As the rest of the scanners began to automatically lock in, their warning lights flashed across the control console followed by the bleat of the first stage audio alarms. Confronted with a real emergency, he shouted to the slowly retreating figure in the passageway below.
        “Hey! Wait! Better come back! The board’s come alive. Something’s out there!” Ensigns-in-training were not in command during emergencies. It was not his place to handle alerts, he reminded himself. Secretly, he was relived to see that it just might be an interesting day after all. He had no real idea of danger, not while on a simple shuttle run. A malfunction? It had to be. Or, perhaps another hazing.
        Scowling at the interruption to her off-duty time, Longtree floated back in to the command area, hauled herself hand over hand to the second command seat, and as she settled in, raised the Captain on the intercom. Claus Vilheim, dressed for sleep, and overdue for it, appeared on the com screen.
        “Bridge. This is the Captain. Fill me in.” Vilheim was known for his brevity. Direct and nonsensical, he was a perfect nightmare for a new ensign. Out of habit, Peterson settled back out of visual range to watch procedure and stay out of trouble.
        “Unidentified object picked up by the sensors, Captain.” Longtree was equally efficient and all business as she quickly programmed the console for further reports.
        “A ship?”
        “Negative. Computer shows no reference to the scanner inputs - no known ship configuration detected. Moving in on us pretty fast.”
        Peterson was relaxed as he listened to the exchange. Longtree had ten years of service behind her and a perfect record. If she sounded calm, he wouldn't worry. He did stay alert and helped in the fine-tuning of the sensors. As they continued to work to identify the object, the Captain made it to the bridge.
        “What is that?” Peterson pointed at the large, dark, irregular shape that was now looming up on the view screen.
        “Unknown,” Longtree answered. “But it's moving toward us and coming fast! Captain,” she sounded puzzled, “I'm reading its speed at warp 8. Heading... Captain, it's on a collision course.”
        “What's our speed?”
        “We are holding warp 7.5. With pod four acting up I don't dare push it higher. Tobu was just about to go EVA.”
        “Cancel that. Begin evasive maneuvers.”
        “Already engaged, Sir!” Peterson was glad to be able to respond so fast.
        Below decks, the red alert klaxons began their strident blaring as the sensors detected the attack.
        “The object is matching us, move for move. Maintaining collision heading.” Longtree pulled up the targeting scanner view screen. “Object maintaining speed and closing. Estimated time to impact is three minutes.”
        “Peterson, notify Star Base Four that we are under attack.”
        “Yes, Sir. Star Base Four, this is the cargo shuttle Vega Five. Priority one distress call. Come in please,” Peterson began.
        “Moving to EVADE programming on nav computer. Time to impact is two point seven minutes,” Longtree reported.
        “Star Base Four, this is the cargo shuttle Vega Five with a priority one distress. Please acknowledge.” Peterson hoped that he was keeping his voice calm.
        “EVADE program engaged.”
        “Cargo shuttle Vega Five... Star Base Four... What is ...your status.” The remote voice cut in through heavy static.
        “Star Base Four. This is the Vega Five. We are under attack by a boogie, heading 4-123 mark 53 from out location. Collision in ...” he looked to Celia.
        “Two point one minutes. It's tracking us. No doubt of that now.”
        “Star Base Four ... Vega. ...copy. We have no ships ... immediate area... are recording.”
        “Damn lot of good that will do us!” the Captain straddled between the two command seats, looking over the shoulders of both. “Get the screens up. Try a lingua-code broadcast. See if you can raise anyone.”
        “Broadcasting lingua-code.” Longtree's hands were fast on the console. She screwed the remote receiver into her ear.
        “Deflector screens are up and at full power. Estimate contact in 90 seconds,” she reported.
        “Phasers?” The captain looked to Peterson.
        “Oh!” Peterson was caught off guard. My God! This is for real! His stomach flopped over and he began to sweat as he reached for the controls.
        “They are ... they are armed and ready, Sir” He initiated the targeting program.
        “On target, Sir.”
        “Contact in 80 seconds. No response to lingua-code broadcast.”
        “Continue broadcast. If they don't respond, we'll have to blow them away.”
        “Contact in 50 seconds. No response to broadcast. Advise Star Fleet that we have no options.”
        “Star Fleet ... Vega. .... loosing you! Boost .... gain.”
        “Confirmed, Sir!” Peterson gripped his console. “We have heavy interference. Gain at maximum.”
        “Contact in 20 seconds,” Longtree reported.
        “Fire phasers!”
        “Phasers firing, Sir. ... Targeting computer shows a direct hit.”
        “Scanners show no damage to the object. No identification,” Longtree continued.
        “Confirm, no effect of full hit.” Peterson's voice shook, his hands trembled. He gripped the sides of the console harder. There were always alternatives. Hadn't one of the guest lecturer's said that? He waited for his Captain to perform some miracle.
        “Contact in 10 seconds.” Longtree was visibly paler but keeping calm. He took a deep breath and tried to copy her.
        “Fire again!”
        “Firing phasers!” Sweat beaded on his forehead, his jumpsuit was soaked.
        “No effect of phasers. Direct hit confirmed by scanners.
        “Contact!” Longtree was tensed and waiting, monitoring her sensors. The Captain was waiting for new input for his next command. Peterson was hanging on to his sanity and trying not to embarrass himself. The thud was a soft thud as contact was made.
        “Captain, ...” Longtree was obviously confused. She stared in disbelief at her sensors.
        “We're ...we're inside something!” Her voice registered tightly controlled tension, and disbelief.
        “But inside what? A ship?” Vilheim needed data to know how to act, what to do next. He hesitated.
        Peterson had been forcing himself to monitor his board. Now he interrupted. “We are losing atmosphere, Sir.” He groped for his helmet as the others did the same, as the atmosphere klaxon began its wail. The scent of something strange began to drift through the breathing filter. Metallic. And something else, sweet, sickly sweet.
        The pressure indicators began spinning. The sensors readouts went dead. Below decks, Peterson could hear screaming. The consoles erupted into spark and flame. As the bulkheads dissolved around them, Peterson heard himself screaming.
        He did not scream for long.
       
        RECORDS LOG ENTRY: 4-7702.03H. Contact lost with cargo shuttle Vega-V. Last report received stated that they were under attack and engaged with an unidentified object. Long range scanners show no debris. No explanation. Advised Star Fleet central to accelerate operation DEMOTH.