V’Lar stood in the midst of the wreckage of the Archer’s bridge with the apathetic air only a Vulcan could maintain. She stared out at into empty space through the ten foot gap in the bridge’s hull, the lavender energy shield holding in the atmosphere glimmering faintly, plasma bursting in small blooms around the edges of the torn Duranium-Tritium composite hull.

The first officer, Fabian Cortez, an American of Columbian decent, meanwhile, was looking at the science station’s controls. The ship was a wreck. They had barely survived their escape from the tower. The antimatter reactor was down as were the fusion reactors. They were effectively running off of batteries. Communications, sensors, warp drive, transporters, replicators and shields were down. Weapons may as well have been as they didn’t have enough power to do much of anything. Unfortunately, damage control systems were inoperable. Without power to the replicator and transporter systems they couldn’t beam out the broken components and transport in replacements. Everything had to be done by hand.

Their chief engineer, an Edoan named Apex, was working on cobbling together power from the shuttles and connecting the main computer to the shuttles that possessed transporters and replicator systems. They weren’t as powerful but could help repair critical systems that were exposed to space.

“There are ships in near orbit,”, V’Lar observed, starting out the hole in the hull, “Perhaps we should request aid.”

“I rather suspect,” Fabian answered, looking at the displays before them and considering where best to concentrate their efforts of restoring the ship, “that there should be little doubt to anyone out there that we might need help.”

There was something to Fabian’s voice, a hardness. He was filled with anger. He was frustrated and upset and there was nothing he could do to relieve himself of these emotions at the moment. He put his hand through the mess of curls atop his head and then back down the closely shaved sides. He was also feeling some degree of anger towards these ships that V’Lar had mentioned. If they didn’t want to help they could simply go to hell.

“You presume that all cultures follow your Federation code of morals,” V’Lar countered, “Warrior cultures like the Klingon would not interfere in a test of survival unless invited to do so.”

There was a long drawn out silence. Fabian clenched and unclenched his fist.

“Perhaps you are right,” Fabian finally agreed, “Maybe we can get a shuttle ready. At the very least we can use its sensors to do a limited reconnaissance and to make contact.”

“Unfortunately, there is no reaching either of the shuttle bays from here.”

“Blast!” Fabian cursed, then tapped his communications badge which, fortunately, was one thing that mostly worked, “Cortez to Covenry. I need a shuttle mission. Reconnoiter and make contact with nearby vessels.”