Now here’s the thing: I’m very interested in hearing opinions on this version of the story… so dash off a quick email after reading, if you would.

While there is a contest version of this story, both Matt and I are happier with this one, and so, well stay with this for now.

“Graveyard Shift”

By Matthew Gurney

and Joseph Manno

Even to those whose very life depends on it, the sound of power is difficult to quantify.

Federation starships are some of the most multifaceted in known space, and with good reason. They must not only be vessels of war, but science labs and diplomatic reception halls as well. Even more than that, they must keep their crews alive—which is, of course, where power comes in.

Few environments are as dependent on a stable flow of power as that of a starship. A planet’s sustained biosphere is based on its own mass and the influx of energy from its sun; a starbase’s sheer volume provides ample breathable air and warmth for days or even weeks after a system-wide failure.

For a starship crew, however, it’s different.

Heat must be generated, carbon dioxide scrubbed and oxygen pumped—constantly. A starship at rest is never totally at rest for the simple reason that its mechanical heart and lungs must continue to function even if a crew is too busy to notice the machines working tirelessly to keep them alive.

Hence, while the sound of power often goes unnoticed, its absence rarely does—for in the deeps of interstellar space, such silence means your refuge has just become your tomb.

And, so, for Lieutenant (JG) Sito Jaxa, who had served on two starships in her short career, one so silent—even in dry-dock—was rather unnerving.

No chatter of voices exchanged urgent ship’s status information or idle chit-chat. The halls didn’t echo with footsteps. There was no whooshing of turbolifts and no zzzz of the inertia dampening field. The deflector was offline and the various tactical systems stone-cold, if they’d been installed at all.

As she stood at a rather uneasy parade rest, Sito strained to hear anything beyond her own breathing. The room, an auxiliary maintenance chamber, was essentially dead—powered down except for a single diagnostic console and the overhead lights. It was to those she was listening so intently, straining to hear even the slightest buzz, hum or… something. She could swear they were making a tiny noise, but couldn’t even begin to describe it.

Despite that, it was louder than her companion until she chose to speak.

“The new sensor systems are quite remarkable—more advanced than those aboard the Sovereign or Enterprise-E.”

Sito started at the unexpected words, having until that moment almost forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“Aye, sir,” she agreed. “Liberty has been partially loaded out with the newest generation of bio-neural circuitry. It allows for finer control of the scan frequency, and superior response time from the main computer.”

Vice Admiral T’Kara, head of Starfleet Research, offered her a smile that, from another humanoid, would have gone unnoticed, but in her case indicated significant amusement.

“I am familiar with the material’s properties, Lieutenant.”

“Uh… of course, sir.”

Sito chided herself, Now you’re lecturing one of the Federation’s foremost scientific minds on a project she probably approved for deployment.

T’Kara deactivated the console. Seemingly satisfied with the first-hand examination of the new data returns, she turned to Sito. “Have all the hardware pallets been installed?”

The Bajoran consulted her PADD. “No, sir,” she replied smartly. “The lateral and auxiliary sensor suites are still pending final installation, but the main forward array is complete… and ready for inspection.”

The admiral seemed to consider this for a moment, but only a brief one. “No, Lieutenant, that will not be necessary. No doubt my unannounced visit has already delayed your evening plans significantly. I shall conclude my tour and allow you to return home.”

Sito’s face broke into a smile somewhere between stunning and shy. “It’s quite all right, sir,” she assured the older woman. “We’re all very proud of Liberty. It’s a pleasure to showcase her, particularly the scientific systems. Most of the brass—er, VIPs—that have come to tour her have been interested only in her firepower.” Sito blushed slightly at her faux pas and waited to see how the Vulcan would respond to the colloquialism.

Much to her relief, T’Kara took no notice. “Indeed—an unfortunate sign of the times that such an advanced vessel’s primary asset should be her weaponry.”

“Shall I escort you to the airlock, then, Admiral?”

“By all means, Lieutenant.”

The sense of solitude was unnerving. It was half past zero hundred hours, and the veritable army of yard technicians who were putting Liberty together had gone home long ago. But for the two of them, the ship was deserted, what minimal life support she had provided entirely by umbilical connections to her assembly frame.

As they walked in silence through the dimly-lit corridor, Sito kept stealing glances at her charge: Tall, slender and serenely focused—even now, so early in the morning, and after more than five hours of scrutinizing this newest of Sovereign-class starships. The fact that T’Kara had been relatively silent didn’t bother her in the least. The admiral had treated Sito with nothing but respect, and been unfailingly polite when she had chosen to speak.

And that’s better than I’ve gotten from most here.

Many of the officers with whom Sito had worked aboard Alexios Komnenos were now her friends… or, at least, people with whom she enjoyed a solid professional relationship. They’d allowed her work and personality, rather than her reputation, to speak for itself.

At Utopia Planitia, though, she’d encountered more of the disdain and outright contempt that had dogged her since the Nova Squadron incident five years before. Even most of the Vulcans she’d encountered had, in her eyes, manifested a cool disapproval—nothing concrete, but noticeable and painful nonetheless.

Thank the Prophets this one’s different.

Sito knew something about the longtime relationship between the admiral and her own captain. Temporal mechanics hadn’t been her strong suit, but she knew enough to piece together that while Luciano Mantovanni had been born several years before T’Kara, he’d leapt forward across the decades, reemerging into a galaxy where more than a few of his once-contemporaries had long since aged into retirement—at best. The admiral, with her Vulcan longevity, was still in excellent health, but now stood three ranks higher than her former commander.

I wonder if he put in a good word for me.

She decided to ask.

Clearing her throat slightly, Sito began to speak. Barely had she gotten out the word “Admiral” before the subject of her inquiry raised a hand, gesturing for silence.

Then she caught it, as well: Footsteps, coming closer. Vulcan hearing had once again proven superior. It made Sito feel a little better than it hadn’t done so by much.

Who’d heard it, though, was less important than the fact it had been heard.

Her voice almost too low to hear, T’Kara observed, “It is my understanding we are the only authorized personnel aboard.”

Sito nodded, handed her PADD to the admiral and drew her phaser. The small type-one unit fit in her palm, but its innocuous appearance was deceptive: It could blow a hole in the side of the ship if she weren’t careful with it. Her thumb tapped it to a heavy stun setting and flicked off the safety. Gesturing for the unarmed flag officer to stand behind her, Sito started up the curving corridor, the admiral a few steps behind.

The admiral understood the obvious need for quiet, and made as much noise as her escort—that is to say, none at all.

Now the footsteps were dead ahead and coming closer, echoing on the yet uncarpeted deck. Sito could hear the intruder’s breathing and what sounded like unhappy grumbling as well. She tensed, her back pressed against the wall until what she judged was the opportune moment… and then stepped out into the corridor.

“Don’t move!” she commanded, her normally soft voice ringing with authority.

“Whoa!” the intruder cried; despite the warning, his hands came up… and the satchel he’d been carrying came down.

Her phaser never wavered, despite the clatter of tools as they struck and scattered across the deck. “What are you doing here?”

“I…I…I work here!” her clearly shocked prisoner stammered.

“Computer,” Sito commanded, “lights this section to full.” A moment later, she got her first good look at the “intruder”: A human male with pale, almost pasty skin and a scant fringe of red hair. A neatly trimmed mustache was his only distinguishing feature; he seemed like a perfect everyman, neither ugly nor attractive, out of shape nor well muscled, dressed in the gray coveralls of Utopia Planitia civilian workers… and he was obviously terrified.

Suppose he’s never stared down the wrong end of a charged phaser before.

She relaxed her arm, lowering the weapon so that it was not immediately threatening. “The last workers checked out hours ago. What are you still doing here?”

The man spoke a little more calmly this time, seemingly pleased that the phaser was no longer aimed directly at him. “I… uh… well, it’s insomnia, Lieutenant.”

Sito frowned in askance but the man kept talking.

“I just have a hard time sleeping some nights, that’s all, Lieutenant, honest. I don’t like taking a hypo for it unless it’s really bad, and I’ve been getting okay sleep lately, so I figured I’d just come in and get an early start to the day. I’ve done it before, my super knows, and I’ll still put in a full day’s worth; it’ll just be at a different time than the other guys’, that’s all, I swear.” He reached slowly, carefully into one of his pockets and brought out an ID. “These are my codes. I just wanted to do some work on the grav plating.” He nodded at the toolbox lying on the floor where he’d dropped it. “I even brought my stuff.”

Sito stepped forward, snatched the card from his hand and then retreated out of immediate reach. She held it behind her. “Admiral, if you’ll please verify this.”

Instantly, T’Kara emerged, took the ID and employed the PADD to scan and confirm its validity.

When he saw the newcomer, the tech seemed to deflate. “Aw, man! An admiral! Look, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I just wanted something to do. That’s something people don’t realize about insomnia: it’s really boring.”

“It is a valid identification,” T’Kara announced. “This is Utopia Planitia Yard Technician Second Class Christopher Nobel, Lieutenant.”

At hearing that, Sito finally relaxed and holstered her phaser. “It’s okay,” she reassured the still wide-eyed man. “I was just giving the admiral an unannounced tour and you startled us.”

The worker smiled uncertainly. “You’re telling me!” he said. “So, I’m not in any trouble?”

T’Kara stepped forward. “It is commendable that you are putting these hours to productive use, Mr. Nobel,” she answered, and then added a significant, “so long as you still work a full shift.”

“Oh, I’ll put in overtime!” Nobel promised.

“‘Grav plating’?” Sito inquired.

“Uh, yes, sir!” he replied, retrieving his dropped tools. “I noticed today that deck six was a little lighter than all the others. I think it’s probably a software problem in the environmental control system, but I don’t know much about computers, so I figured I’d check the hardware before I report it to anyone.”

“Very good,” T’Kara said. “Carry on.”

“Thank you, sirs,” he said as he resumed his trip down the corridor.

It didn’t take long for silence to reign again, however briefly.

“An interesting individual,” the admiral observed neutrally, falling into step with Sito once more.

“Aye, sir. Back when I was at the Academy, I’d use sleepless nights for study.”

“A longstanding tradition, I assure you,” T’Kara replied.

The younger woman grinned.

Afterwards, Sito would never be sure if she’d heard or felt it. In a sense, it didn’t matter, since vibration and sound are, technically, different ways of describing the same thing. Regardless of the how, it froze her mid-stride.

T’Kara, on the other hand, seemed to take no notice of the sensation and instead reacted only to Sito’s sudden stop. “A problem?”

“Don’t you feel that?”

The Vulcan focused. After a few seconds, she admitted, frowning, “I detect a slight vibratory dissonance… but is that not to be expected when gravity is being retuned?”

“That’s not the grav plating,” Sito asserted. “Those are the impulse reactors. They just came online.”

For a moment, it seemed as if T’Kara didn’t believe her, preferring to trust her own ears. At last, though, she nodded. “Indeed. It has been some time since I served on a starship, and my ability to differentiate between such subtle differences seems to have suffered.”

“It must be that man, the yard tech,” Sito guessed.

“A logical conclusion,” the admiral agreed. “His ID seemed in order. The salient question is why ‘Mr. Nobel’ would activate the impulse engines to work on gravity plates.”

“There’s no reason,” Sito said, apprehension growing. She went to a wall comm console and pressed it. Nothing happened. She tapped her communicator twice with the same result.

T’Kara tried her own badge to no avail.

“A general, low-level dampening field would prevent communications, but have no effect on the ship’s computers,” the admiral pointed out. “It would also remain undetected by the Utopia Planitia sensor grid…”

Sito caught the thread of her thought immediately.

“…because no one is supposed to be aboard right now.”

It made sense. You don’t try to communicate with an empty ship.

“With your permission, sir, I’d like to go to the nearest impulse control room. It’s one deck up and several sections over.”

“I shall accompany you.”

After a moment’s consideration for T’Kara’s safety, Sito reluctantly agreed. “Very well, Admiral. Turboshaft eight is this way.”

A short walk down the corridor brought them to the promised conveyance—which, of course, refused to open for them. Repeated attempts to summon a car with the call button failed; at last, Sito gingerly informed the admiral, “Well, there’s a… Jeffries tube access just down here, sir.”

T’Kara arched a brow, but gave no other response.

The hatch leading into the ship’s conduit system proved more cooperative than anything else yet had. A mere dozen ladder rungs later, they were on the proper deck. It didn’t take them long to arrive at their destination, clearly marked as Impulse Control, Starboard.

This door, too, refused to admit them; and both had lost their patience with such obstacles. Sito drew her phaser and asked, “Permission to force the door, Admiral?” A curt nod later, the way was clear.

“Nobel” was in the room, but wasn’t capable of greeting them. Before Sito could fire on him, he had fully dematerialized in a Starfleet transporter beam.

Sito cursed in a Bajoran dialect she knew for a fact wasn’t programmed into the translator. It made her feel better for all of a second.

“Lieutenant.”

She turned and saw what had caught the admiral’s attention: a small device, no larger than a closed fist, was attached to the side of fusion reactor sierra one.

“A bomb.”

“Uncertain… but highly probable,” T’Kara acknowledged, examining one of the console displays. “According to this, both impulse engines have been brought online. We must assume that one of the portside reactors is also rigged to explode.” She crouched to more closely examine the device. “I shall attend to this one. Proceed to the portside impulse control room, Lieutenant.”

Sito blanched. “B–Begging the admiral’s pardon… but do you have any experience with disarming munitions?”

T’Kara nodded, and Sito would have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile. “Do not let my rank deceive you, Lieutenant. I spent plenty of time on the frontlines in my youth—some of it as Captain Mantovanni’s X-O. Carry out your orders.”

“Aye, aye,” Sito replied, and forced aside her misgivings—mostly because she had no choice.

She crossed the saucer section as quickly as prudence allowed, half-expecting “Nobel” or an accomplice to leap out at her, even though she knew he was probably long gone.

This door, too, was sealed… and it received the same treatment the other had.

Inside, similarly attached to a fusion generator, was another bomb.

Fortunately for her, the impulse control rooms had a ready, varied supply of tools on hand, and Sito grabbed a box of everything she felt she’d need. Engineering tricorder in hand, she examined the device, which proved to be small and simple, but quite powerful.

Most disturbingly, it was all Federation technology.

Putting the ramifications of that aside, Sito immediately went to work disarming the small device. Her scan had showed no obvious traps, but it had been a rather cursory examination... and most such traps weren’t obvious. The Bajoran knew full well that rushing ahead like this was a good way to get killed, but found that thought didn’t bother her in the least. She’d been through too much to fear death anymore; Sito simply accepted its possibility and pressed ahead.

Removing the exterior casing from the bomb proved remarkably simple. For all the power of its micro-fission design, Sito was convinced that the bomb had not been designed with difficulty of disarm in mind. Clearly, "Nobel" had not expected anyone to discover them.

That’s the only piece of good news we’ve had… but it probably means I don’t have much time left to actually disarm the cursed thing—especially considering that this one was probably placed first.

She soon exposed the detonation circuits and prepared to do just that: If the bomb were going to prematurely detonate, it would happen when she used the plasma scythe to break the connection between them and the tiny plutonium core.

Either it’ll happen, or it won’t, she told herself.

Still, Sito hesitated for the length of a deep, steadying breath—just long enough to remind herself that, even if it happened, she wouldn’t feel a thing anyway.

It didn’t help.

She winced, cut the circuit…

…and, a few seconds later, decided a micro-nuclear weapon wasn’t about to go off in her face. She came out of her crouch, began collecting her tools and planned her next move.

We’d better get off the ship and call for a demolitions team. I hope the admiral had as much lu–

A massive shock rocked the deck under her feet. Sito pitched forward, and made the acquaintance of the nearest support beam—head first.

It was a meeting she’d have preferred to avoid.

She came awake crying, “The admiral–!”

“–is fine.” The strong hands of her captain restrained Sito, even as his voice reassured her. He settled her back onto the sickbay bed, and continued, “She was beamed away by the Harris seconds after the explosion.”

Her head was clearing, but unconsciousness might have been preferable: If T’Kara had successfully defused her device, and there was little doubt she had….

Prophets. A third bomb.

They’d never had a chance.

“There was a man aboard, had yard-tech credentials…!”

Mantovanni grimaced. “Maquis,” he told her. “They immediately claimed responsibility… with this.” He keyed the comm panel near her bed, and together, they listened to its playback:

“Know that this message is being broadcast on all subspace channels in the Federation, including unclassified civilian wavelengths, as well as Klingon, Cardassian, and Romulan frequencies:

“TO THE CITIZENS AND MILITARY FORCES OF THE UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS:

“We were patient and restrained for too long. We asked either for our privileges as Federation citizens, or the acknowledgment at least of the right to defend ourselves, and were permitted neither. We exercised our right to verbal protest, and were ignored; or worse, we were disregarded as too few to be considered important. Instead, when we acted to protect our own interests, we were branded criminals… pursued and hunted mercilessly… locked away on Federation penal colonies… killed in battle with vessels which should have been protecting us.

“We have friends, though, and these extend even into the upper echelons of Starfleet Command itself. The destruction of the new Sovereign-class vessel before she could even be commissioned is but a warning. Continue to label us terrorists if you will; history has always remembered righteous defiance of tyranny as a responsibility—no, a duty—belonging to men and women of good conscience.

“We are the Maquis, and our voices will not be silenced.”

Mantovanni shook his head.

“As you might have expected, there’s no sign of your yard-tech, ‘Nobel’… and believe me, we’ve looked. I doubt we’ll ever see him again, at least in that guise. Considering his choice of alias, I’d say he has a rather sick sense of humor—in addition to being a coward and a terrorist.”

“Poor Liberty…” Sito murmured, sick at heart. As she watched, her captain’s eyes narrowed. She understood how he thought, and recognized his helpless fury at what had happened to his ship… and, nearly, his friends.

Then, they focused on her, and softened.

“Now the good news: That message of theirs must have been prerecorded and programmed. They looked like idiots, Jaxa…” and he leaned closer to whisper.

“…because Liberty’s still out there in her bay.”

For an instant, the announcement didn’t register. When it did, though, her own smile far outshone his.

“She’ll need extensive repairs before launch... but Starfleet’s decided to go ahead with her commissioning ceremony anyway. They’re saying that since she was attacked, she shouldn’t lose her place in the lists. The shipmaster for Argus was a little irritated, but… he saw reason.”

“I’m sure you and the admiral were quite persuasive, sir,” she teased.

Mantovanni afforded her a rare smile and an infinitesimal nod. “Now get some rest. You’ve earned it… and I’ll need you aboard soon enough to…”

“…defuse difficult situations?” she finished.

He’d never been one for puns, especially such painful ones.

“That was abominable,” he told her, and withdrew.

While the weary Bajoran was thankful to have survived this latest in a long line of disasters to befall her short professional career, a final pair of thoughts as she drifted back into now-welcome darkness let Sito know that her own sense of humor, and her captain’s penchant for subtle one-upmanship, were both undiminished.

At least it’s not as short as it could have been.

“Abom–”?