"The Transition"

[FredM 0]

"Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome." - Isaac Asimov

 

 

"It is a complete outrage! I don't care if the President of the Federation was here! They have caused a complete lack of security! They have attempted to violate every security protocol on systems which have nothing to do with repairs! I demand they're immediate expulsion from this system," Doctor Wero screamed at the top of his lungs. One would not have thought he was speaking to the leader of the Bolian government, a person who technically had the power to expel him from the system. However, Wero new the political game.

 

It was an easy equation. He had been selected by Starfleet to head the research station, conducting "astrometrical analysis" of deep space. It was an interesting, and not completely false, classification. After all, he did spend much of his time looking thru telescopes. When the entire team was present, they would do some analysis. Yet, at the moment none of that mattered. Wero had larger problems...the Starfleet punks who were trying to break his station's security!

 

Wero had tried to warn the Prime Minister and his superiors at Starfleet that sending an outsider in would be a bad idea. Curiosity was common in most cultures and it always got the better of them. So was the case with these Reaent fellows....Reaent....what the heck did that mean anyway? U.S.S. Freak? AH! It was insulting to even have to look at them!

 

His concentration was interrupted by a beeping sound behind him, he glanced back briefly but returned his gaze to the monitor hearing the voice of the Prime Minister. "Doctor, you speak like that to me again and I'll ensure the only research you do is on the moons orbiting the sixth planet in our system...you know, the ones that look like our north pole?," she said in a surprisingly calm and frank voice. The Doctor only groaned in reply. At this, the woman on the screen smiled, "They will complete their work and leave. You'll never have to deal with them again. So...calm down."

 

Taking a deep breath, Wero collected himself. "They brought in another vessel, Prime Minister! Another ship! No one had authorized that. No one had authorized them to access the restricted files of the computer. They were here only...only...to repair, not investigate," he said calmly. Glancing away from the monitor again, he refocused his eyes and looked back at the Prime Minister. "I will do as you request, Prime Minister. However, next time, alternative arrangements will have to be made," he said in a flippant tone of voice. At that, he closed the channel.

 

The console on the other end of the small control deck beeped. Wero cursed under his breath as he approached, first reading the computer notice that there had been transporter activity. "Finally...," he mumbled, "they're gone." Yet, his joyful attitude was cut short as he scrolled into another screen and tilted his had in confusion. Why was this other ship, the Olympic, moving into a lower orbit? Were these Starfleet minions out of their minds?

 

Before he could analysis the screen further, a bright flash could be seen throughout the windows in the control room. Wero glanced upwards and saw for himself the eruption of the Olympic, in horror looking at a computer monitor to confirm the readings. "This....this.....ba!," he said cursing again under his breath. The Bolian ran to another terminal and activated the outpost's subspace communications array. He quickly entered in a series of commands, causing the small antenna on the outskirts of the base to change direction. Soon thereafter the computer started to flash, "Upload in progress." It was amazing, the crew of the U.S.S. Freakazoid out there had actually done their job.

 

By this time, there had been another explosion above Wero's head. One of the giant pieces of debris that had once been a one hundred year old vessel had been vaporized into small bits. Yet, there were still two pieces of the hulk hurtling down towards the Bolian. It was a simple statistical equation...he would logically be dead within the next few seconds. It was something he had partly expected, after all the nature of his work would have made the outpost a prime target during the Dominion War.

 

The Doctor started to jog down the neck of the base, "Computer! Transfer all power systems to primary and secondary communications transceivers! Reset primary control function for data upload!" In response the computer beeped several times, acknowledging it had received the command. It would be one of the last intelligible sounds Wero heard.

 

The dorsal section of the Olympic was first to hit, slamming into the southern edge of the station. Alarms immediately started to blare thru mostly empty corridors. It was inconsequential to Doctor Wero, who was attempting to make it to the transporter. From there he would beam to a relay station in orbit above the moon, where hopefully he would be rescued. It was a plan he would never get to test.

 

Several seconds later, the second piece of remaining debris that had once been an Oberth Class vessel hit the moon. Unlike the first, this had been the remnants of the ship's engineering boom...containing most of it's critical engine components. As it slammed into the outpost, a chain reaction was initiated which sent a fireball through almost every corridor in the base. The remnants of the ship's matter and antimatter storage pods, mixed with fuels on the base, created a deadly combination.

 

Wero had made it to the transporter panel, which had now gone dark as primary power on the base had failed. Oddly enough, his thoughts changed from those of his own safety to curiosity as to whether or not the computer had uploaded most of the station's data. After all, it had been several weeks worth of important information. These thoughts were interrupted by the closing door to the transporter room erupting inwards, a giant wall of fire replacing it.

 

The Doctor screamed, hearing in the faint distance a gushing sound he figured to be the atmosphere fleeing the station. The pain was not what he had expected, though he could not bring himself to glance at his own body but instead peered at the ceiling. It took only a few seconds before the Doctor lost all sensations, which was actually a positive thing given the extensive burns, and causing him to collapse.

 

When he hit the bulkhead, it was not that of the station but that of a transporter pad. Wero moaned slightly and tried to open his eyes. His vision was burly, his right eyelid unable to function. The Bolian gasped for air, clearly in shock, before again collapsing and succumbing to the pain. For now, all had gone dark.