The Color of Death

[Chirakis 1]

The Color of Death

 

A sharp click seated the helmet of her pressure suit, and a reassuring hiss of pressurization followed. It came only seconds before a flood of anti-parasite cocktail tinted the control tower's atmosphere a bloody crimson. In the next few seconds the suit configured itself perfectly to match her body's needs. If only the station were so cooperative.

The klaxon had long been silenced, but the chronometer's insistent pulse cut through the haze, providing a surreal counterpoint to the control tower's flashing beacon, both marking their progress towards either success or total annihilation.

 

Fourteen minutes, thirty-six seconds to full hull compromise. And with a hull compromise in the vicinity of the M/AM chambers and various other storage areas, there exists the possibility of massive explosion. If so, the allies lose not only the station, but four of their most valuable engineers, and....

 

The station commander shifted her gaze to the status board where four fighters had been raging a losing battle with voracious parasites on Aegis' hull. Armstrong, Harada, Briggs, and Elder could, if given enough warning, warp to a safe distance if the station blew. If given enough warning. If not....

 

Fourteen minutes. Mark.

 

Also prominent on the status board stood the USS Missouri. After receiving the last of the evacuees from the control tower, Captain d'Ka and his crew held position just beyond the reach of the marauding parasites. The other evacuation ships had long since warped away, but d'Ka was not the sort to leave anyone behind. This Kirel knew, and knew well.

 

* * * * * * *

A lone figure pulled herself from the remains of the runabout, its wreckage strewn across the landscape of the dying planet. Only minutes before, the young Lt Chirakis had watched what she believed to be the last of the science expedition clamor aboard d'Ka's vessel, but Kirel had decided to make one last pass for stragglers before returning to the USS Katawal. Soon after, a massive ion blast had disabled her controls and the planet's gravity well had done the rest.

 

As the young Starfleet pilot struggled to loose her foot that was pinned between a shard of hull and the rocky surface, swirls of ochre powder engulfed the area, nearly burying her along with the runabout. Clamoring for a hand-hold on what was left of the runabout's cockpit, she braced herself against it until it passed. When she opened her eyes, she saw, along the horizon, the planet's tortured atmosphere bleeding into a scarred landscape as solar winds siphoned the atmosphere into its maw.

 

Gathering what strength she had left, Kirel stood with some difficulty and braced herself against the wind to check her flight suit. Finding it intact, she engaged the emergency transponder. Had the transponder not been activated, she would have been presumed dead; with it activated at least they knew she was still alive, though not for long in these unforgiving conditions. She checked the horizon once more to get her bearings.

 

A thousand meters to her right, a pock-marked scrag protruded, and behind it she could just make out the remnants of a building. If its internal structure were still intact it should provide her with more protection from the elements than the wreckage of the runabout, but getting there was another matter. Electromagnetic discharge from swirling dust, a heat index rising beyond her suit's ability to cope, and a persistent trickle of blood down the inside of her flight suit sealed the deal and she stumbled in the direction of the building, pushing her body into a thirty-degree lean against the wind for balance. But the wind increased and shifted violently in all directions. Dropping to all fours, she clawed her way towards the building, but the rising temperature and her suit's depleted oxygen supply sapped her strength. Then the planet began to break apart.

 

Kirel awoke to a light blinding her eyes and the sound of, "... still a damned stupid move, if you ask me," coming from a medical officer hovering over her. "Could've gotten you both killed." The light went off. "Welcome back, Lieutenant. You can thank whatever higher being you believe in that LtCdr d'Ka, here, is as crazy as you are." The doctor disappeared in a huff. Jerit d'Ka took Dr. Lengrave's place, shrugged in the doctor's direction, and gave Kirel a thumbs up and a cigar.

 

* * * * * * *

"It is now twelve minutes to hull compromise." The commander spoke quietly and evenly, recording what she imagined would be her last log. The haze of interior spray began to clear, giving the control tower a sepulchral hue. Appropriate, she thought.

 

"All personnel have been evacuated from the station," she continued, "with the exception of myself, SubCommander Tylus Petrinius Jorahl, Lieutenant Commander Scott Coleridge, Senior Lieutenant Caelan Fletcher, and Ensign Duroz, son of Skurn. In fighters, flying at close proximity to the station are Lieutenant Junior Grade Allen Armstrong, Ensign Tarou Harada, Midshipman Cameron Briggs, and Security Technician Elder. If the hull is compromised, which now seems imminent, none of us is likely to survive. Should we not survive, it should be known that they performed admirably."

 

With one definitive motion she ended the log and sent it to Starfleet Command via Captain d'Ka on the Missouri. It was important that they know the valor of these who were, in her mind, warriors. Whether against a corporeal enemy or the elements, they fought bravely.

 

They died well.