Search and Rescue
Posted on 2025, Mon Jun 16th, @ 10:34pm by Admiral John Johnson & Colonel Kane & Lieutenant Commander Jim Karry & Lieutenant Commander Grace Johnsen & Lieutenant JG Jack Sparrow & Chief Petty Officer Jake Palstine & Commander Emily Janeway
2,250 words; about a 11 minute read
Mission:
Episode 1A "Shadows of the Empire"
Location: Rekag-Seroina Sector
Timeline: Before Voyager-A was taken away to be disassembled
Tags: Voyager Crew, E1 "Shadows of the Empire", E1 Shadow of the Past, Season 2 Missions
The Voyager glided effortlessly through the vastness of space, its path unerring as it approached the Rekag-Seroina Sector. The bridge was alive with focused activity, the crew working in unison as they monitored their various stations.
Kane sat at the helm, his eyes scanning the readouts with practiced ease. With a quick glance toward the Commodore, he spoke with clarity. "Commodore, we have successfully reached our destination," he reported, his tone steady.
At Tactical, La'an leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the data on her console. Her expression was focused, her attention sharp. "Commodore, may I have permission to initiate a full scan of the surrounding area?" she asked, her voice carrying the weight of her request. "I would like to coordinate with Commander Situs on this, to ensure we're gathering all necessary intelligence for this uncharted sector."
Commodore Janeway’s gaze flicked to her, assessing the request with a sharpness honed by years of command. “Granted. Run the full suite—tactical, sensor, subspace. If there’s a threat out there, I want it found before it finds us. Work with Situs to cover every angles of the sector I don’t want us to be caught off guard and everything else I want to make sure that we all understand that this point in time rescue quired the halo.” the Commodore seated. in her command chair.
Kane's voice broke the quiet tension in the air, steady but carrying the weight of the moment. His eyes remained fixed on the readouts, but his mind was fully aware of the task at hand.
"Ma'am, the USS Oklahoma, Reliant, Hayes, Texas, and the Janeway have arrived and are awaiting orders."
The USS Oklahoma, an Odyssey-class dreadnought, hung like a silent sentinel at the edge of the formation. Her imposing silhouette loomed large against the backdrop of distant stars, the ship’s hull marked by the scars of recent engagements. A symbol of Starfleet’s enduring strength, the Oklahoma had been built for deep-space command and long-range exploration. The battle damage on her massive frame told of a ship that had seen its fair share of conflict, yet her powerful engines hummed with a readiness that hinted at her resilience.
Beside her, the USS Reliant, a nimble cruiser of the Reliant class, held station with the precision of a well-trained crew. Smaller than the other ships in the formation, her sleek hull reflected the light of distant stars as she waited in perfect formation. The Reliant’s design was tailored for rapid response and swift maneuverability, a ship that could engage quickly and retreat even faster—a vital asset for missions requiring agility and speed. Though smaller in size, her reputation for effectiveness in tactical situations was unmatched.
Not far behind, the USS Hayes, an Excelsior Mk II, drifted in with understated elegance. A modernized version of the venerable Excelsior class, the Hayes blended old-world legacy with cutting-edge technology. Despite her age, she was as reliable as ever, a workhorse of the fleet known for her steadfastness in a variety of roles. From humanitarian missions to military engagements, the Hayes had proven herself to be an adaptable and sturdy vessel. Even now, the grace with which she maintained position in the formation suggested a ship that had endured the test of time and continued to rise to the challenge.
Farther out, the USS Texas, a Sovereign-class battlecruiser, stood poised like a predator in the dark. The sleek lines of her hull concealed a lethal arsenal, her systems primed for both diplomacy and warfare. With a powerful reputation for dominating the battlefield, the Texas embodied Starfleet’s balance between peacekeeping and defense. Her hull bore the marks of recent conflicts—torn armor plating and the faintest hint of scorch marks from energy weapons—yet she maintained her formidable presence. She was a symbol of the power Starfleet could wield when necessary, and her readiness to engage in combat was palpable.
Lastly, lingering just beyond the others, was the USS Janeway, an experimental Theragy-class ship. Smaller and more enigmatic than the rest, the Janeway had been designed as a research vessel with a focus on advanced medical support and experimental technologies. Her sleek, almost ethereal design hinted at the cutting-edge nature of her mission. Though primarily intended for scientific endeavors, the Janeway's advanced systems had been tested in numerous challenging scenarios, pushing the boundaries of Starfleet's medical and technological capabilities. Her presence here, however, felt like a quiet mystery, as if the ship were holding something back from the others.
Kane’s voice broke the silence again, the tone shifting slightly as the situation became more pressing.
"Ma'am, we are being hailed by the Janeway. It’s Captain Johnsen." He turned slightly toward the Commodore, awaiting her response. The arrival of the fleet was only the beginning—the next move would set the tone for everything to come.
Janeway’s head jerked, violet eyes glinting under the lights. “Patch him through,” she rasped, leaning forward, voice thick with strain. The viewscreen crackled, Johnsen’s face flickering on—then she snarled, “Johnsen, whatever you’ve got, spit it fast—this sector’s a damn powder keg and I’m—”
Her words erupted into a scream, a feral, metallic howl that tore her chest like a hull split by infernal claws. An insidious poison, spawned from some abyssal malevolence, surged through her veins with demonic speed, its venom searing her nerves in molten torment, birthing a grotesque blasphemy. Her vision exploded in blinding delirium, retinas charred as if kissed by hellfire, each breath a serrated demon gnashing her throat raw, her lungs collapsing under spasms that drowned her in frothy blood. Infernal whispers—sibilant, profane, as if chanted by damned legions—slithered through her skull, each syllable a talon shredding her sanity into bleeding shards, her mind a shrieking maelstrom of cosmic ruin. Her hands clawed her sternum, nails rending her uniform with a wet, slaughterhouse snarl, fabric peeling like flayed flesh to reveal raw, pulsating meat oozing crimson. Crystalline tendrils erupted—indigo and violet, jagged as shattered altars, each shard a prismatic inferno warping light into a vortex of bleeding nebulae. Needle-thin or thick as disruptor barrels, they tapered to guillotine tips, their fractured surfaces pulsing with rancid bioluminescence, spewing wraithlike shadows that writhed in torment. Barbed thorns, dripping molten amber ichor, bristled along their lengths, each drop scalding the titanium deck into bubbling, blackened pits. The tendrils lashed with satanic fury, their droning buzz a swarm of infernal locusts, razor chimes clashing with the sickening cracks of tearing muscle, charring her flesh as they burrowed deeper, her skin sizzling like a sacrifice on a pyre.
The poison’s wrath consumed her, muscles convulsing in bone-shattering seizures, each twitch a warhammer pulverizing her frame, her joints grinding as if crushed in a demon’s vice. Her cybernetic heart spasmed, a torturous grind spraying splintered bone, agony impaling her lungs as her pulse waged war against the toxin’s infernal grip, each beat a wet, shuddering betrayal. Her skin blistered, bubbling as if plunged into a crucible’s heart, her sweat a caustic sludge melding with the amber ichor and blood that gushed in torrents, drenching her uniform in a grotesque shroud, each heartbeat a gory spray congealing into tar. Her tongue swelled, choking her with the iron tang of her own blood, her saliva ashen as grave dust. Her vision imploded, a black maelstrom shredding her senses, her mind a howling void where demonic voices roared her annihilation, their guttural chants weaving a tapestry of eternal dread. Her limbs buckled, knees smashing the deck with a sickening crack, her spine arching in a convulsive arc as the poison incinerated her nerves. Her fingers twitched, clawing air in futile defiance, her face contorted in a rictus of agony, teeth grinding until one shattered with a sharp snap.
"Janeway!" Kane shouted, his voice a mixture of disbelief and panic, the urgency in his tone unmistakable. He sprang from his station, an agile blur of movement in the dim, flickering light of the bridge. His boots echoed with frantic precision against the deck as he reached her side in an instant. Kneeling beside her, his breath came fast, his pulse hammering in his ears as he assessed her ashen face. She was slipping—there was no time to waste.
"Emily, you’re unfit for command, Commander," he said urgently, his voice steady but filled with a cold edge of authority. His gaze turned toward the first officer, eyes hardening. "Yadira, you’re in command now."
Yadira’s expression stiffened, her face betraying nothing but the fierce weight of responsibility suddenly thrust upon her. The full magnitude of the situation settled on her like a physical force. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, preparing herself for the storm to come. "Captain, it seems I might be a—”
Before she could finish, the shrill wail of alarms erupted across the bridge, a sound so harsh it felt like it pierced the air itself. The crew froze for a split second, the noise drilling into their minds before it was immediately overshadowed by a thunderous explosion. The blast tore through the ship, a violent wave of force that rattled consoles and sent papers and equipment scattering like confetti in the chaos.- The deck beneath Janeway buckled mid-explosion, a jagged fissure splitting the titanium with a deafening groan, swallowing her convulsing body into a collapsing abyss of twisted metal and sparking conduits. A serrated console shard tore through her shoulder as she fell, blood erupting like a geyser, the flesh gaping in a jagged maw. The shockwave slammed her against a jagged bulkhead in the chasm, its edge splintering her ribs with a wet crunch, the pain a white-hot supernova dwarfing the poison’s wrath. Her boots dangled over the edge, skidding on the gore-slick debris, her temple a throbbing wound from an earlier blow, now a pulsing mass of raw, oozing flesh. Her eyes burned into inky abysses, pupils swallowing irises in a void of despair. She lay half-buried in the wreckage, her body a mangled ruin, The shockwave reverberated through the deck, the walls shaking as though the very heart of the ship was under attack. Lights flickered erratically, casting eerie, strobe-like shadows across the room. The bridge had become a battlefield.
Crew members were thrown from their stations, some clutching desperately to consoles to stay upright, while others scrambled to regain their balance as the bridge plunged into a disorienting chaos. Kane’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to process the impossible unfolding before him. The situation had escalated beyond his worst fears in an instant.
"REPORT!!" Johnsen’s voice ripped through the mayhem, a bark of command that cut through the panic.
The operations officer's voice trembled, barely able to process the horror. "Sir, the Oklahoma is gone... And the Hayes, and Reliant are crippled beyond repair. The USS Voyager and Texas have moderate damage, but they won’t be able to use slipstream. Sir, Arlo is offline, and it's not rebooting. Engineering states that a virus was planted in our systems, and MVA is offline as well. We're trying to reboot now."
Johnsen’s face darkened, his jaw clenched tight as he processed the staggering report. His eyes narrowed, an inferno of fury igniting behind his steely gaze. "So we were just attacked by an unknown enemy." His voice was low, dripping with venom. "FUCKING GREAT!"
His command rang out like a battle cry. "Shields up! Red alert! All hands, man your battle stations! Medical, stand by for possible casualties. Get Marines on shuttles, ready to become rescue squads, and be prepared to send a message to command. Tell them we’ve been attacked, and we need backup—NOW!"
Kane had no time to react. The bridge of the USS Voyager was in absolute disarray. Wires dangled from the ceiling, some sparking ominously, while sections of the panels had been blown apart, leaving exposed circuitry and sparking terminals in their wake. The bridge was a war zone, but there was no time for hesitation.
=/\= Attention, crew! Blue alert! Repeat, we are at blue alert. Medical personnel report to all stated needs. =/\= His voice echoed through the ship's comm system, sharp and clear amidst the ongoing chaos. The tension was palpable, as crew members scrambled to follow his orders.
Kane’s eyes flicked to Janeway, still unconscious on the floor. There was no time for sentiment—he had to act. With swift precision, he gently handed Janeway’s limp form to a nearby security officer, his hands moving quickly but carefully. The officer took the unconscious Commodore, understanding the gravity of the situation.
Then, his eyes locked onto the XO, lying unconscious in the corner of the bridge. Kane’s gut tightened with the realization. "Ensign, take the XO to med bay," he said, his voice clipped and determined. "I’m taking command."
His words hung in the air for only a moment before the weight of them fully settled in. The bridge was in chaos, but Kane’s resolve was unshaken. He straightened his back and took his position at the command chair. The ship’s survival, and the safety of everyone aboard, depended on him now. The storm had only just begun.
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