"Mister President!"
President Winston Carlyle looked up from the briefing materials he was reading and saw his aide working his way through the crowded forward lounge of the starship Sutherland toward his table. Outside the huge bay windows, the last wisps of the Briar Patch Nebula were falling quickly behind as the mighty vessel proceeded on the last leg of the long journey from Earth. Somewhere ahead, still too far to be seen with the naked eye, was their destination, the planet Serenity, where in a few short days history would be made.
The aide finally made it to Carlyle's table. "Mr. President, Captain Valker just let me know that we'll be in orbit around Serenity in an hour. We should probably get you secured aboard Starfleet One, sir."
"All right. Thank you, David," replied Carlyle, beginning to shuffle his papers into a briefcase. "Help me gather my stuff together."
Fifteen minutes later, the President and his ever-present aides and bodyguards were aboard the sleek vessel known simply as 'Starfleet One'. It was luxuriously appointed, perfect for diplomatic missions, yet also highly capable for crisis situations and emergencies. At about four times the size of a Danube class runabout, Starfleet One barely fit within the Sutherland's spacious hangar, but for safety's sake it had been necessary to ride piggyback through the unpredictable Briar Patch.
Seated in a comfy chair back in the passenger compartment, Carlyle felt the deck vibrate under his feet as his ship powered up and lifted from the Sutherland's hangar. A minute later, they had cleared the larger ship and begun their long fall to the surface.
The starry view out the porthole turned from spangled black through deep indigo to light blue, and the planet's curved horizon flattened until it was almost a straight line, but the marvels of nature were lost on the President. He was once again engrossed in his briefing materials, and paid little heed to what was going on around him. The sudden blaring of the alarm klaxon rattled him and his aides to full alertness however. Moments later, the deck pitched violently as the pilot banked hard to port, tossing everyone off balance. Erica Lieffert, who was just carrying a tray laden with coffee mugs from the kitchen, screamed as she was thrown to the carpeted floor amidst the clatter and crash of crockery and silverware.
"What's happening!?" demanded Carlyle of his aide, who could do nothing but grip the arms of his chair and shrug helplessly, the fear he was feeling plain on his young face. Lurching to his feet against the pull of the ship's extreme maneuvers, the President staggered forward to the cockpit to demand an explanation from the captain. He opened the control room door just in time to hear the copilot shout to Captain Scott Kenny.
"There's another surface-to-air missile incoming! That's three total!"
"What's happening, Captain?" demanded Carlyle. He had wedged himself in the doorframe to keep from being knocked off his feet.
At Carlyle's voice, Captain Kenny spared a lightening-quick glance backward. "Mr. President, you should get back to your seat and buckle yourself in!" he snapped, not concerned with proper protocol at the moment.
"I asked you a question, Captain!" retorted Carlyle, determined to get to the bottom of this.
Captain Kenny's fingers flew over the piloting controls and Starfleet One swerved sharply, again tossing its occupants around with no regard for their rank and station. He spared the President a terse reply. "We're being fired upon from the surface sir. Now, please return to your seat!"
"Who would do such a thing?" said Carlyle, stunned and dismayed by this news. The treaty signing between the Federation and the G'kra had been well received by all. Well, not by the Mullurans, of course, but they no longer fielded any military assets and their activities were closely monitored by both Starfleet and the Ferengi military. Who then? The So'na? The Nausicaans? Cardassians? Terrorists? The Breen?
From his pilot's seat, Captain Kelly yelled, "Hang on!"
A terrific shock slammed Carlyle into the bulkhead and the ship interior began spinning around him as the craft lost control and plummeted from the sky. A harsh rumbling started from the rear of the ship followed by several explosions, and the cabin began filling with acrid smoke. He thought he was going to be space-sick. Sparks flew from the cockpit controls, and he heard a man's gurgling scream. The Captain slumped over his console, a deep, bloody gash in his neck. Oh my God! They killed Kenny! thought Carlyle, feeling ill. You bastards...
Lieutenant Commander Kyle Stanford was desperately wrestling with the copilot controls trying to right the ship before it hit the ground, but Carlyle could tell his efforts weren't enough. The sound of the air shrieking across the hull outside was growing ever more deafening, or was that someone inside the ship screaming? It was impossible to tell.
"We're gonna hit!" cried Stanford above the clamor just before throwing up his arms to protect his head.
From where he lay on the heaving deck, Carlyle could see out the front viewports. The blue sky was no longer visible. Instead, he saw the green of trees rushing towards the ship. A violent shock knocked the wind from his lungs, and the shriek of tearing metal and crashing wood brutally pummeled his ears. Starfleet One plowed through the dense forest canopy, snapping tree trunks like toothpicks. It's warp nacelles were ripped from the hull, the stumps of the support pylons spewing toxic plasma across the landscape. Finally, the stricken craft's nose snagged on a mighty arbor and bent downwards, plowing into the earth with explosive force. Everyone inside was mercilessly thrown forward. Carlyle's senses were overloaded with chaos and pain, but then an overhead beam cracked loose, and the last thing he saw was it swinging down towards his face.
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