The shuddering of the bulkheads and the klaxon of red alert filled the bridge of the USS Century as it cut a path through the Vaadwaur invaders. Her crew sat or stood at their stations, bracing every so often when the inertial dampeners weren’t able to keep paces with the violent movements of the ship under harrowing fire. Conduits burst under the pressure, sparks launching from within the once sealed tubes that littered the ship like arteries. On occasion, those violent ejections of super-hot gases and molten debris would strike someone, sending them flailing to the ground, sometimes in spectacular fashion.

Captain Gar’rath sat in his command chair, calling out orders to his helmsman and tactical officer in turn, all while keeping an eye on the holographic display that hung suspended off to his left side, its display being constantly updated with the locations of not just their enemies but their allies’ location. Even with his attention split in so many different directions, the Gorn was still able to catch a good number of openings that the Century crew seemed all too eager to exploit when he called them out.

Lieutenant Khar stood behind the tactical console, one hand wrapped in a death grip around it to keep himself balanced during the momentary upheavals the ship experienced when they took direct fire from some Vaadwaur ship or another. His free hand whipped across his console, aiming a phaser burst into one vessel’s engine, lining up a spread of torpedo fire at smaller craft flitting about them, or any number of other tasks meant specifically to distribute what vengeance they could against their ruthless assailants.

A particularly focused round of fire forced the Klingon to his knee, a panel behind and to the right of him exploding from some overload that the attack had caused somewhere in the ship’s system. A few fragments had found themselves a home in his back, but it was such an insignificant wound in the scheme of things that Khar barely allowed himself the few seconds it took for him to acknowledge the hit before shifting his focus back outward to the battle still raging all over the system.

“Our port shields have taken a direct hit, Captain,” the Klingon reported, “Shield generators have overloaded.”

“Helm, turn us about and keep our port side away from the enemy as much as possible until Engineering can make repairs,” Gar’rath called out from his station. Lieutenant Junior Grade Zachery Connor called out an affirmative to the order and made the frantic inputs that would see the large vessel bank and turn their exposed side away from their aggressors.

“Impulse power is down by thirty percent,” the helmsman reported, “Our ability to maneuver is starting to degrade.”

“Noted,” the Captain said, adding that information to the already considerable list of things that had gone awry as the battle continued.

“Captain!” Ensign Thalia Zinith called out from her communications console, “Several vessels have reported Vaadwaur forces boarding them as their shields were being compromised.”

Gar’rath turned toward the woman and was about to ask for more information when the ship’s alert shifted from a generalized alert to the much more specific intruder alert. The Gorn quickly abandoned his initial line of inquiry and instead turned to address Lieutenant Khar, “Where have they beamed aboard?”

It took the man a moment to sift through the information being sent to his console, “Intruders are on decks three, nine, twelve, and twenty-two. I’m already dispatching security teams to intercept.”

The Gorn’s hand drifted down to his side, the cold metallic handle of a phaser soon finding purchase in it. It took a moment for his mind to stop his body from lurching up out of the chair, and even then, a part of him protested at being made to stand idle while invaders infested his ship… his home… his territory. The reality of the situation was, even if he did want to rush off to hunt them down, he had far more important duties than the single-minded annihilation of a boarding party to attend to.

Another jolt rocked the ship, this time causing the console that Lieutenant Connor was sitting at to rupture and toss the man bodily to the floor, blood oozing from multiple wounds from ejected matter forcibly entering his flesh at high speeds.

Commander Abigial Peters rushed from her chair to crouch beside the man, feeling around his neck until she found the pulse she was praying would still be there. Thankfully, despite the wounds, Connor had managed to dodge just enough fragments to come out of the encounter alive, which prompted her to wave over two of the relief crewmen standing near the rear of the bridge.

“Try to take him to Sickbay,” Abby instructed, “But watch out for Vaadwaur. If it looks like you won’t be able to get there safely, find somewhere to hide him and use an emergency medical kit to do what you can.”

“Aye, Commander,” one of the men said as they gathered the fallen pilot up and carried him toward the turbolift. Peters approached the console that had just burst open and swore under her breath. It was damaged enough that none of the display functioned anymore, spurring her to turn to Lieutenant Commander Sorreth with an apologetic look, “Would you mind hopping up? I’m afraid I can’t use those holographic steering controls half as well as I can a regular console.”

The Vulcan pushed himself out of his station, taking a second to straighten his uniform, “Of course, Commander. I will use an alternate station.”

“Thanks,” the XO said as she hurried into the freshly vacated station to configure it quickly to her preferences before getting the ship back under control, “It looks like that last hit also knocked one of the impulse engines offline, Captain. We’re going to be a hell of a lot more sluggish like this.”

“As long as we can still move,” Gar’rath said from his station.

“Captain,” Lt. Khar growled from his console, “My security teams are encountering heavy resistance. Permission to join them in repelling their assault?”

Gar’rath met the Klingon’s eyes and stared at him for a tense moment before pushing his large frame out of his chair, “Go. I’ll take over for you here.”

Khar gave his Captain an almost feral grin, “Thank you Captain.”

The Lieutenant spun on his heels, stopping just long enough to withdraw one of the few phaser rifles kept on the bridge before boarding the turbolift and ordering it down to deck nine, where the fighting was reported to be the most brutal at the moment. The ride into the depths of the ship seemed almost tranquil compared to the chaos that had been raging all around him just moments before. It was peaceful enough that Khar allowed himself to roll his shoulders a few times to loosen the stiffness that had set in after the fragments of shrapnel had hit him. When he felt the lift slowing down, Khar took a deep cleansing breath in, letting it sharply out when the doors finally opened.

The Klingon crouched just a bit and bolted out of the turbolift, hurrying along the darkened corridors toward his people and perhaps more importantly toward the enemy. His anger fueled footfalls thudded against the hard deck, echoing through the corridor as if to warn both friend and foe alike of his coming. He crossed several junctions before he finally found what he’d been searching for, namely the heart of the battle.

Polaron bursts tore through the air, slamming into the bulkheads as they sought out targets that were an impediment to the Vaadwaur who fired them. Cries of anguish, both Federation and Vaadwaur, were filling the air at intervals as the exchange of phaser fire and energy bolts flooded the narrow spaces of the Century’s interior.

When he could see the blue-white flashes of the polaron discharges, Lt. Khar slid to a halt, bracing himself momentarily behind one of the bulkhead dividers to get a sense of where his prey was, phaser rifle pointed menacingly in front of him. Once he had his bearings, Khar made a more methodical advance, checking corners a lot more deliberately and crossing junctions with purpose rather than abandon.

Two intersections forward, Khar found some of his men crouched behind the bulkhead in an adjoining corridor, their uniforms scorched from indirect contact from weapons fire, some of them bleeding but still able to fight.

“Lieutenant,” one of them whispered when they caught sight of the Klingon, “There’s a group up ahead, at least six. They’ve been moving from room to room like they’re looking for something…”

Khar frowned at this news. Given which deck they were on, there were several locations they might be after, the most dangerous one being Sickbay itself. He hurried over to his men and took the forward most position, peering down the corridor they’d been guarding against.

“Let us assume for the moment they’re looking for Sickbay,” Khar told the gathered security officers, “And that being the case, we will have to push through them and whatever else is between us to ensure that they don’t make it there before we do.”

The assembled officers nodded, renewed determination reflected in their eyes as they pulled themselves off the floor and made ready to move with their Chief. Khar gave them a sharp nod, then rounded the corner, phaser pointed dead ahead in waiting for one of the Vaadwaur to cross his line of sight. The other officers followed closely behind, flanking him on either side and keeping a loose but organized formation as they moved. One of the doors to a storage room slid open not far from Khar’s position, allowing one of the Vaadwaur invaders to reenter the corridor.

The Klingon opened fire the moment he knew the person he was looking at wasn’t one of his, sending an angry red bolt of lethal energy surging toward the invader at near-light speeds. The crimson orb struck the Vaadwaur, sending him toppling sideways, a muffled groan escaping his lips as he fell. Khar squatted for a moment and waited for some manner of counterattack, rising again after a few heartbeats of silence had passed and no retaliation seemed forthcoming. The group approached the downed creature, and Khar took a moment to crouch down and pull the body face up to get a good look at who he’d just gunned down.

The Vaadwaur looked rather young to Khar, even if he’d never actually seen one before. His equipment seemed to be relatively new, and it certainly didn’t have the hallmarks of having been used over any great length of time. One item hanging from the Vaadwaur’s equipment belt made the Klingon’s blood run cold.

“Lieutenant Khar to the bridge,” the man spoke after slapping his commbadge.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” the voice of his Captain echoed in the corridor.

“Sir,” the Klingon said as he picked up the item that had prompted his sudden transmission, “I just took down one of our intruders. He was carrying a demolition charge. I believe they are targeting key compartments like sickbay in a bid to sabotage the ship.”

“Understood Lieutenant,” the Gorn replied, “do what you can to stop them.”

“I will see to it the cowards die a swift and painful death,” Khar said before slapping his badge again to cut off the call. He turned to his officers and gave each of them a measured look before motioning them to follow him. None of the gathered men said a word, but they each gripped their phasers just a little bit tighter as they found themselves not just fighting a battle of attrition, but a race against time to stop whole sections of their ship from being torn apart from explosive sabotage.