"Speechless."

[FredM 0]

"Speechless: unable to speak temporarily; struck dumb; speechless with shock" - Princeton Dictionary

 

 

"Sir, we really don't have a clear picture of the situation. The area seems to be filling with some sort of off type of particle we've never seen before," the Lieutenant said in a somewhat hopeful attitude. In reality, while all of what he had said was true, deep space telescopes were amazing pieces of technology. The dashing hopes of the young Bolian were destroyed in an instant. Though no words were uttered, the Tellarite's face said it all. Several seconds later, the room darkened slightly and the three hundred and ten degree view illuminated itself. As the astrometric computers started to display several screens locking onto the desired target, the Captain of the U.S.S. Galilee slowly walked the few steps to the central observation point in the room. The Tellarite paused briefly, opening his mouth to say something but being interrupted by a beeping alarm from the computer.

 

Though indeed slightly grainy, a distant view of the entire solar system was clear. As the image focused, the wrecks themselves came into focus. As the Lieutenant back at the controls near the door started to speak the names of the different ships, his voice trailed off at the backwards glance of his superior officer. Truth was that all in the room knew what they were looking at, a sight none of them would even be witness to without the telemetry from deep space technology built into Deep Space 12. As the shifting picture finally came to rest on it's target, the Tellarite grunted.

 

The sick looking man standing next to him stood speechless.

 

Twelve Hours Earlier...

 

Progress! It was something Fred Michaels had stopped believing in. His attempted journey to head back to his ship had resulted in nothing but one delay after another. In hindsight, it wasn't exactly a surprise. The entire region of space was in chaos, with Federation forces attempting to secure territory and prevent any violence from spilling into Starfleet patrolled regions. The idea that information about fleet movements, positions and scheduled rallying points would be classified made sense. If only the concept of keeping this information from a Captain trying to get back to his ship did. In fact, after his second day marooned on Deep Space 12, Michaels had started to question if it wasn't a deliberate attempt by some above him to keep the still recovering man from actually rejoining his vessel.

 

Yet, the master plan of the universe came to his rescue. The arrival of the U.S.S. Galilee to the station had been something of a miracle. An Intrepid Class ship assigned to escort duty of recovery ships, her Commanding Officer for the past five years had been a Tellarite by the name of G'll'bart. Such a unique name it is one Fred Michaels had remembered in his youth, spawning a friendship between the two for the past decade. At the time, both had been assigned to work for the Starfleet Corp. of Engineers on Pluto. Their contributions to the project had included some serious migraines for the Project Leader. Even after all these years it didn't make sense to either of them. Why would someone object to trying to see if a ship could function at Warp 9...in reverse?

 

After some extended catching up, a departure date the following day for the ship had been announced. When it left, Michaels had been aboard. While not a direct route, the task force's destination was a resupply point for the small group of ships the Reaent was supposedly working with. "I'm hearing a lot of 'shoulds' and 'believe that's' in here," Fred had said briskly. His counterpart had simply shrugged his shoulders, "I'm lying, just wanted someone above First Lieutenant I could beat at poker."

 

Eleven hours after leaving Deep Space 12, Captain G'll'bart had been awoken by an Ensign at his door. The contents of the message he contained were obviously not pleasant given the young man's facial gestures, something that was mimicked by the Tellarite after reading the document. Seven minutes later, at 02:30, Fred Michaels had learned of the Reaent's fate.

 

In the hour since, the absent Captain of the now derelict Reaent had been questioning something. Was he really angry about what had happened to his ship and crew...or was it frustration at the fact wasn't there when the battle had taken place? News shortly after that a visual fix of the ship might be possible had temporarily brought Fred out of his debate.

 

As he stood staring at the visual image of a ship that looked ghostly like something he recognized, he cleared his throat slightly. "They still don't know about survivors. We know that at least one hundred and fifty were beamed off. They're en route back to DS12," G'll'bart said in a reassuring voice. Michaels shift his head slightly, "Out of over five hundred and fifty?" Truth be told, Starfleet had yet to actually confirm what had taken place during the battle. Sensor information showing a complete lack of ships in the area failed to make sense, as one would expect those controlling the holographic vessels to leave some behind in an effort to defend the area. The entire question of what this odd radiation they were detecting was all about only complicated things. Well, that and apparently scrambled communications.

 

The U.S.S. Galilee and her armada of eight recovery vessels was two days away from the region at maximum warp. Whether or not they would be ordered to turn back due to detection by superior enemy forces was a question. The fact Fred Michaels was quite possible out of a job was also a stark reality that was yet to be determined.