The Shortcut

Ensign Marc Razak was sat at the helm, watching the planet Bopak III 'float' by on the viewscreen. He was manning the helm of the Saucer section, whilst it maintained it's orbit above the planet. Assigned to the USS Leviathan-B as a shuttle pilot, manning the helm was not in his normal duties. But he was a pilot and for the moment the only one available who was qualified to be at the helm.

The task of keeping the Saucer section of the Leviathan in orbit was not taxing his abilities and as he continued to monitor the helm controls, be began to think about how he'd found himself in the Gamma quadrant.

June 21, 2385 : Shuttlecraft "Scarab" - Enroute to Utopia Planetia

"Hmm. that's odd." Ensign Marc Razak said to no one in particular as he readjusted his sensors for another look.

At first he thought he was alone in the asteroid belt, after all, this sector was on the restricted list for over a decade and was off limits to fleet personnel specifically and him in particular. Not that anyone doubted his ability to pilot the field, but his shift Commander was quick to accuse Marc of being "A bit too heavy on the stick". It wasn't Marc's fault people though he flew too fast and the fact of it was that he usually did, but he was racing skiffs as long as he could remember and the lumbering Yellowstone shuttle barely rated his full attention.

He had his sensors on full range while sneaking through the asteroid belt at barely one quarter impulse. Marc had just completed his last run to Jupiter Station and his shift was over as soon as he returned to Utopia Planetia. This "short-cut" would knock forty-five minutes off the trip - if he got away with it. At first he thought the object he was tracking was a rogue asteroid, but when he saw it deliberately avoid a collision with another asteroid, his instincts went on full alert.
The object was small, about three metres square and was moving on a course perpendicular to Marc's own at half impulse. He was adjusting his sensors for a more detail scan when the object disappeared. Marc continued scanning for the object to no avail. It was too small to be another shuttle. A probe or satellite perhaps, probably looking for someone, doing exactly what he wasn't supposes to be doing. Either way, he couldn't afford to check it out. He only had four hours to get back to base, clock out and get to the tracks for his qualifying run. Just the though of getting another shot at Tosh was enough to help make up his mind.

Skiff racing wasn't "exactly" illegal and Starfleet had not "specifically" forbidden him from participating. However, it was knowingly frowned upon by local socialites and was never considered appropriate behaviour for a fledgling Starfleet officer. But this time was different. Marc had been in thousands of skiff races in the 16 plus years since his first qualifying run, and in all that time no one had ever consistently "blown his doors off" like Ranci Tosh. But this time, he was racing her on his turf, with a brand new Jaguar XJ-78, with a modified Lancer MPD. Marc was grinning to himself in anticipation of his upcoming victory when the attack came. The shuttle rocked suddenly, jarring Marc violently back to reality.

"Computer, status report !" He called out.

[Damage to the aft section. Hull integrity at two percent. Damage to primary power core. Primary power at fifty percent.]

*Damage ? From where ? What hit us ?*

Marc checked his sensors frantically. He was sure his course would have kept him away from all the asteroids, even while daydreaming. His sensors were clear.

[Damage is consistent with a Type-2 Disrupter blast.]

"Disrupter Blast ?" Marc exclaimed with surprise. Computer, raise shields ! Shift propulsion to auxiliary power ! Helm control to manual ! Scanners at full aft !"

As he spoke out orders, the computer complied with microprocessor efficiency. The shield indicator had just come online when the shuttle thundered with another jolt. Marc grabbed the manual control stick in one hand and the thruster controls in the other as alarms sounded throughout the cockpit.

"Computer, engines at full-impulse !"

[WARNING. Safety protocols in effect. Unable to comply with….]

"Computer, override safety protocols. Access code, 1-4-Sierra, Hotel, Omega, Tango." Marc interrupted.

[Access code excepted.] The computer reported as the impulse engine began to whine louder.

Marc pushed the stick forward and slammed the thrusters into a full power dive. Light flashed past his viewport as his surprise manoeuvre caught his attacker off-guard and caused him to miss. "Computer, identify the ship that is attacking us !"

[There is no vessel of any type within sensor range.]

As he cut the stick hard to port, Marc watched an asteroid vaporise just forward of his previous direction.

"Computer, are your sensors damaged ?"

[Negative. Sensors are operating within approved Starfleet specifications.]

"Okay, so who's attacking us ?" Marc asked, trying to avoid the asteroids in front of him while at the same time trying to make the shuttle a more difficult target.

[Insufficient data for your request.]

Marc wasn't surprised. The shuttle jumped violently from another direct hit, and still his own scanners were reading clear.

*A cloaking device ? Here ?* He thought.

[Danger. Aft shields at eighteen percent. Hull integrity at forty-one percent. Propulsion at sixty three percent. Communications array is off-line.] The computer reported as the shuttle took more and more damage.

Marc took it all in and flew on, his mind racing. A year ago, while in the academy flight trainer, he was in a similar situation. Although the attack was a simulation then, the situation was the same. There was no way he could outrun his attacker and one more hit in his aft section would turn his shuttle to vapour.

"Computer, re-route remaining aft shield power to forward shields! Re-routed emergency battery power to forward phasers ! Re-route all remaining power to propulsion !"

The Type-6 Yellowstone transport shuttle was in no way an attack craft. Its designers had in mind a small, light, low maintenance, interplanetary transport vehicle. Armed with a pair of type-3 phaser emitters and minimal shields, the shuttle was everything the engineers wanted.

What Marc wanted was a Danube class Runabout, or even a type 16 shuttle, especially with what he had in mind.

A year ago, while in the academy flight trainer, he had turned his shuttle on the attacker. Like then, he had no illusion that his small phasers could penetrate his attacker's shields. They were only designed for short-range point defence. But if they were strong enough to break down his shields enough and if he can get enough speed out of his crippled engines and if his damaged shields would hold.

In that simulation, he "destroyed" his attacker and won the simulation. He also severely damaged the trainer, received an official reprimand for reckless flying from the Commandant and spent three hours in medical with a broken rib. This time who knew what would occur ?.

"Computer, transfer all sensor logs, instrument logs, and navigation data to the escape pod."

[Transfer is complete. WARNING. Life support failure in T minus eleven minutes.]

Ensign Marc Razak ignored the computer as he inverted the shuttle into a tight 180-degree turn and poured all of his remaining power into his thrusters while firing his phasers blindly into space.

Utopia Planetia : Main Briefing Room

Commander Alexander Norman, Commander, Bureau of Starfleet Personnel, and second Officer, Starbase, Utopia Planetia, sat unmoving as Ensign Marc Razak was escorted under guard back to his chambers. Deep down, the young Ensign impressed him. Razak stood before the Board of Inquiry with razor-shape academy disciple. He answered all questions short and specific, with the right amount of "sir's" and "Ma'am's" thrown in at the right places.

On the outside, the Commander's face was a stone mask of indifference during the entire inquiry and he continued to wear his mask for long minutes after Ensign Razak was gone. For he deeply believed that Razak had the making of a fine starship Captain someday. And he deeply believed that he might just have to kill him.

If Commander Norman was the cool symbol of indifference, then Lieutenant Commander Sonja Hemphill, Senior Director of Operations, Starbase, Utopia Planetia and second member of the Board of Inquiry was the symbol of rage, frustration, and naked fear.

"How could this happen ?" She exclaimed, as Ensign Razak was clear of the room and the doors closed. "I thought you said no one would ever stumble onto the operation in the asteroid field. You told me this was impossible !"

"I said it was unlikely. I never said it was impossible." The third and final member, Lieutenant Commander Scott Garcia, Director of Transportation, Starbase, Utopia Planetia, replied quietly. "Most shuttle pilots are aware of the risks of navigating the asteroid field and the propaganda the safety committee has been posting has helped keep the area clear for months. Ensign Razak, however, is a bit of a maverick. He has extensive flight experience for one so young and graduated top of his class in shuttle operations and combat training. He is rumoured to be an accomplished skiff racer and according to his records he was born - and raised - in San Diego of all places. All of which gives him a personality profile, which leans more into the "reckless" or in this case "fearless" category. Any warnings and limitations to his flying ability would be interpreted by him as a challenge."

"Then what in the blue-blazes was he doing out there without supervision ?" Hemphill snapped back. "Your Shift Commanders should know better than that!"

"My Shift Commanders know their job and their part in our little operation well enough", Garcia responded calmly. "In fact, it was under direct orders from your office that his shuttle was detached from the normal schedule."

Hemphill's eyes were ablaze with rage. "If you are even suggesting that this is my fault !."

"Enough !" Commander Norman barked after long minutes of silence. "What's done is done ! We don't have the luxury of blame ! Now, has he had a chance to talk to anyone yet, Scott ?"

"Not likely, Sir." Garcia replied. "Three hours after he was reported overdue the Search and Rescue team picked him up in an escape pod. He was sedated pending treatment of his injuries and held in confinement since. He hasn't been allowed more than brief contact with anyone in the last three days."

"Good!" Hemphill interjected. "That means he can have one of those unfortunate 'accidents' and the problem will be solved. We would still be a little behind schedule, but no one would be the wiser."

"His sudden 'accident' is the last thing we need" Norman stated flatly. "Starfleet intelligence would lock-on to the situation as surely as if we fired off a Type-III probe. But there may be another way."

Norman entered a query in his monitor and consulted the results for a second.

"This is our answer." He said as he pointed to the monitor.

"The USS Leviathan-B ? What does that have to do with anything ?" Hemphill asked.

"Absolutely nothing, which is exactly my point," Norman began. "The Leviathan-B is the third instalments in Admiral Marcus Devore's 'Slipstream Project'. Starfleet Personnel has put out the call for experienced officers to make up the crew."

"So are you suggesting that we promote him ?" Garcia asked suspiciously.

"No, far from it. The 'Slipstream Project' is a failure that refuses to die, everyone knows this. The first two vessels ended in disaster and Admiral Devore had to cash in all of his favours to get the Admiralty to even consider giving him a third attempt." Commander Norman stated. "What I suggest is that we give Razak a second formal reprimand for this incident. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to 'alter' the perception of any prospective Commanding Officer. Make him out to be a loose cannon, someone that any self-respecting Starship Captain would gladly stay upwind of."

"Then we transfer him to the Leviathan-B and relax." Lieutenant Commander Hemphill commented. "In the worse case, he will slipstream so far away it will take them years to get back to the Alpha Quadrant. In the best case, the Leviathan-B will follow the path of her namesakes and she will go down in a blaze of glory in less than a year, taking one Ensign Marc Razak with her."

"Either way, we win !" Commander Norman suggested, with a smile on his face.

Present

The doors to the Briefing room opened, bringing Marc back to the present. He glanced across towards Lieutenant Commander J'Ross, who stepped down and took the Command chair. Marc had expected to be relieved, after all he was not assigned to the Bridge crew. He was therefore very surprised by the Commander's next orders.

"All hands, Blue Alert." The Caitian announced. "Helm, take us down to the surface, grid Sierra Seven five Alpha Two Nine Four."

For a moment, Marc froze then regaining his composure. He fired the impulse engines for the decent and pushed the nose of the Saucer down. He checked the thrusters as they descended into the upper atmosphere, firing them up as they started to get to the lower atmosphere where the impulse engines would no longer work. Within half an hour, they were moments from the planet surface. At the last moment, Marc activated the landing sequence, the four landing feet lowered, before bringing the Saucer section to the ground with a slight bump. Shutting down the thrusters and the anti-grav lift engines, he double-checked everything.

"All landing stations report secure." Marc announced from the Helm position.

"Well done Ensign….." J'ross said.

"….Razak, Marc Razak Commander." Marc stated.