Founder versus Vulcan

[Sorehl 0]

The following log takes place midway through the 09/12 sim...

 

Captain Sorehl looked up from his prone position, hearing the latest alert. He glanced at the display which monitored Xavier’s progress two decks above. The lieutenant appeared to be moving the device toward an airlock. Clearly, the alert wasn’t about the Dominion explosive.

 

The lighting above him flickered and metal groaned with a terrible hiss.

 

Vulcan reflexes sprang to react as decompression alarms blared. Sorehl rolled to his knees, then got to his feet, reaching out for the display. With a touch, he brought up a damage report. Localized hull breach, he noted, only a few decks away. The fact that he was still breathing meant the autonomous failsafes built into the Alexandria-class starbase were working as designed. He let his eyes dance about the display, assessing the situation. Shields were up. No evidence of weapons fire. A physical impact with the station? Unconsciously, an eyebrow lifted.

 

Sorehl pulled open the access panel, yanking free one of the heavy-duty emergency engineering support kits. With a swing, he hefted it to his shoulder, heading toward the damaged area.

 

He didn’t get far.

 

The mass surged into the room, a wave of luminescent orange fluid. All at once, it recoiled and thickened, collecting itself as a man-sized object in front of him.

 

The chief engineer heaved the kit at it and fumbled for the phaser at his hip. The box fell harmlessly through the gel, but in the time taken to morph around it, he’d managed to draw his sidearm.

 

Sorehl fired directly into the shapeshifter, recognizing the futility of the gesture. As he acted, a detached portion of his intellect reminded him that the Founder exposed during the Order of Bat’leth ceremony on Ty’Gokor had taken no less than 87 disruptor blasts to kill. Still, his mind reasoned in near-desperation, if he caught it at the right moment…

 

As the weapon discharged into the shifting mass, one of the tendrils wrapped around his hand, firmly squeezing the weapon out of his grasp. The phaser fell harmlessly to the deck. If the shapeshifter had taken any damage from the attack, it showed no outward evidence. Another pseudopod extended, gripping the Vulcan by the neck and covering his mouth. On the other end, a body began to take shape; its featureless face examined him, taking note of his appearance and the rank on his collar.

 

Sorehl struggled in vain, trying to speak and emphasize the illogic of this battle. Instead, the arm shoved outward, sending him backward in a violent spin and into the nearest panel.

 

* * * * *

 

The Founder watched the solid crumple into a heap beside the display, laying motionless. With a shrug, it finished assuming the limiting shape, becoming an exact Vulcan copy. Smoothing the uniform, complete with captain’s rank, it took note of the wall display. Onscreen, an officer was trying to move the device that had been planted on this station. Unstopped, he might even set it off prematurely.

 

Now that the Klingon ship had made it necessary to take refuge on the human station, the explosive could not be allowed to detonate as planned. It would be necessary to use this shape and its authority to keep that from happening. Scooping up an untended tricorder, the Founder moved toward Deck 86 to head off the maelstrom.