I've been working on a few vignettes and longer stories involving different cutters and crews within the Border Service. One that I'm enjoying writing involves the Griffin-class deep-space cutter, USS Dragonfire and her crew. Commanded by Captain Artemis Slayd, the Dragonfire patrols the Outland expanse, a sector of Frontier worlds near the Ferengi and Tzenkethi borders. Based with the 2nd Border Service Squadron at Star Station Bravo, the Dragonfire spends most of its time on patrol, having greater range and endurance than the older Albacore - class ships.
"Dragon's Slayd" is lighter in tone than the "Bluefin" tales. Captain Slayd is something of an eccentric, though a fine C.O. in his own right. He operates by his own set of rules and occasionally makes deals with known devils if it can help out a colony in need. I've posted the prologue and first chapter and would appreciate your comments.
Thanks!
TLR
Tales of the Border Service: “Dragon’s Slayd”
Prologue
Stardate 54012.4 (5 January 2377)
Nuncutt Settlement, Kirvo’s Planet
A back room in Joovin’s Cantina
The cluster of Border Dogs and Ferengi smugglers eyed each other warily as Captain Artemus Slayd conducted negotiations with DaiMon Gog. The two captains sat opposite each other at a battered and stained table. A solitary glow panel provided scant illumination to the scene as the Ferengi DaiMon (or so he called himself) picked at his teeth with a fingernail while Slayd waited patiently for the old smuggler to give his answer.
“Tell me, Cap-ton Slayd,” began Gog in a gravelly voice, “why not simply replicate these medical supplies? Surely your vaunted Federation could produce these drugs easily.”
Slayd favored “DaiMon” Gog with a tight smile, his dark eyes peering intently at the Ferengi. “My dear DaiMon, you know very well we’re a long way from the Federation core worlds. Most of the Outland planets scarcely have running water, much less replicators. My own ship’s replicators are limited in the amounts they can produce and, given the outbreak of Nibo flu on Vagabond VI, I would count it a great personal favor if we could finish our transaction so we can be on our way.”
Gog made a wheezing noise that Slayd supposed was laughter. The old Ferengi sneered, revealing rows of sharp gray teeth.
“Most certainly, Cap-ton Slayd. However, the price for the medical supplies just increased to 500 bars of gold-pressed latinum. Supply and demand - you know how it is.”
As if to punctuate his enhanced bargaining position, the Ferengi contingent produced an assortment of weapons and trained them on the four Border Service personnel.
Slayd shook his head. “Predictable,” he sighed, “I was hoping we could conclude this without any unpleasantness. However, I’m still quite willing to provide 50 cases of Romulan ale for the medicine as we originally agreed. Otherwise . . .”
The Captain’s voice trailed off and he spread his hands in an ambivalent manner.
DaiMon Gog’s toothy grin faltered. A veteran swindler, Gog suddenly sensed that the balance of terms had not swung completely his way. He glanced at the Border Dogs who stood in the background. A dark-skinned human officer leaned against the wall appearing perfectly at ease, if slightly bored. Near him, a tall Capellan non-com loomed with arms folded and a trace of a smile on his face. Only the medical officer, a gaunt, silver-haired human, appeared ill at ease.
“May I contact my ship?” asked Slayd, pleasantly. Several disruptors tracked toward the Captain as his hand moved toward his combadge.
Gog’s smile evaporated completely, replaced by a suspicious scowl. “Why? So they can beam you out of here? Don’t take me for a fool, Slayd!”
“Actually, I was hoping to prevent the destruction of your ship.”
An ugly sneer returned to Gog’s wrinkled face. “You’re bluffing, hew-mon.”
Captain Slayd shrugged. “Fine. Contact your own ship, then. But you’re wasting time Gog – I would estimate your crew has two minutes, perhaps less. It would be a pity for you to lose your ship over a minor hitch in negotiations.”
As if on cue, the Ferengi’s communicator began to squawk for attention. Gog angrily pulled the device from his cloak.
“You were told not to interrupt . . .” he growled.
“DaiMon! The Border Service vessel has locked weapons on our ship! We have broken orbit to escape them, but . . .”
A loud squeal of static erupted from the Ferengi’s communicator, the noise so shrill that it affected all of the Ferengi’s sensitive ears. Unbeknownst to Gog, the Border Service cutter had unleashed two Mark-22 torpedoes on Gog's ship. The torpedoes weren’t intended to destroy the Ferengi ship, but the massive EMP burst rendered the vessel’s weapons, shields and engines inoperative while overloading the comm system. The distraction gave Slayd's cohorts the opening for which they had waited.
With preternatural speed, Chief Anaak cast his Capellan kligat at the nearest Ferengi. The tri-bladed weapon whistled shrilly until it found its mark, burying deeply into the hapless henchman’s neck with a wet chok.
Lt. Commander Marcus Banton produced his own weapon - a flexible carbon rod which appeared magically from his sleeve, striking the gun-hand of the second Ferengi, disarming him. Banton quickly dropped as a disruptor bolt burned past him, leaving the sharp tang of ozone in the air. The Jamaican tactical officer scooped up the phaser dropped by his first target and he quickly squeezed off several shots of his own, forcing the other Ferengis to seek cover.
Captain Slayd drove forward, flipping the table over onto the old Ferengi who emitted a startled squawk. The Captain quickly administered two sharp blows to Gog’s earlobes. Gog screamed in pain and indignation from the attack to his highly sensitive regions.
Slayd rolled quickly as the remaining Ferengi squeezed off a round from his disruptor, the bolt sending fragments of duracrete against Slayd’s back. Anaak quickly dropped the last Ferengi with another kligat. Captain Slayd pulled himself to his feet and began to brush the gray dust and fragments from his uniform.
“Are you alright, Captain?” queried CPO Anaak.
“Yes, quite, thank you Anaak. Marcus?”
“Fine, Skipper,” replied Lt. Commander Banton. The tactical officer’s grin faded and a look of startled apprehension crossed his face. “Doc!” he exclaimed.
Slayd and Anaak whirled to follow Banton’s gaze. Slumped against a wall was the still form of Dr. Guaraldi, a gaping wound smoldering in his chest, his eyes still wide with shock.
The Captain moved quickly to the mortally wounded physician’s side and felt at Guaraldi’s neck for a pulse. Banton tapped his combadge.
“Banton to Dragonfire – medical emergency! Four to beam directly to sickbay.”
* * *
Four months later
Chapter One
Stardate 54359.5 (12 May 2377)
Star Station Bravo – Docking Ring Two
Ensign Brian West, M.D. stepped through the gangway airlock and onto Star Station Bravo. For a moment, the young surgeon was at a loss as to which way to turn as the teeming throng of beings from numerous worlds disembarked from transports or queued up to board ships bound for the core worlds.
Part of his disorientation was due to fatigue. He had spent nearly four days on a Border Service Stallion which was sorely lacking in amenities – no sleeping quarters and only one shared head for the dozen passengers. He had sat next to an unusually talkative Bolian lieutenant who smelled vaguely of cheese. West had slept poorly in the narrow seat and dreamt of being suffocated by Limburger.
Now, more than a little bewildered and greatly in need of a shower, he looked around and wondered what he should do next. Perhaps finding directions to his new billet was in order.
Shouldering his clamshell case and his great-grandfather’s medical bag, he picked a heading and strode off purposefully . . . in the wrong direction.
Two non-coms on an upper-level walkway observed as the young doctor attempted to move against the tide of people. One, a middle-aged human female, was amused. The other, a Tellarite male, merely shook his head in resignation.
“I think that’s him, Senior,” remarked Chief Corpsman Tork.
Senior Chief Paula Burke checked her PADD and compared the image with the struggling young officer. She chucked. “Yeah, that’s him alright.”
“Should we go get him?” asked Tork. Clearly he didn't relish the idea.
“He’s going to be your boss – do what you want. I’m going to grab a beer then head back. See you on the ship, Tork.”
Tork shook his head in resignation. “Might as well go get him now. Otherwise, he might wander around here for days.” The morose Tellarite corpsman moved toward a set of stairs while Burke gave the floundering physician one more look before turning toward a nearby tavern.
“Where do they get these kids?” she muttered, “He doesn’t look old enough to shave.”
* * *
Stardate 54359.5 (12 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
Star Station Bravo – Docking Ring Two, Berth Ten
Captain Slayd stepped onto the bridge of the Dragonfire from his ready room, carrying a gray striped cat. He looked around the bridge, fixing his gaze on the Executive Officer, Commander Katari Nor Huren, a stunning female Rigellian.
“Katari, why are we still docked to this over-priced monstrosity of a station and not on our way to the Lancaster system?”
“Still waiting on our new CMO, Artie,” she replied, her curly brass-colored hair bobbing as she glanced up from the environmental station.
“Ah yes, the good Dr. West. What the devil is keeping him?”
A small smile formed on her face, adding another layer of beauty to her iridescent bronze skin and golden eyes. “His stallion only arrived thirty minutes ago. He probably got off-course trying to make sense of the station’s semi-functional direction signs. I sent Burke and Tork out to find him.”
Slayd absently rubbed the cat’s ears, eliciting a rumbling purr from the feline. “Yes, but who’s going to fetch the Senior Chief and our Chief Corpsman?” He turned back to the ready room. “Come on, Oracle – time to feed the goldfish. Carry on, Number One.”
With a bemused expression, Commander Nor Huren continued her diagnostic check of the air handlers. “Don’t I always?” she murmured.
* * *
Stardate 54359.6 (12 May 2377)
Star Station Bravo – Docking Ring Two
West glanced to his right and sighed in frustration. Somehow he had made a complete circuit of the docking ring and was now back where he started. The directional signs had been a total waste of time, providing seemingly contradictory instructions in Standard, Ferengi and Cait.
“Doctor? Doctor West! Hold up!”
The young physician turned quickly at the sound of his name. A rather stocky Tellarite was moving in his direction gesturing to him. The non-com seemed rather out of breath.
“Deities!” wheezed Tork as he finally caught up with West. “I’ve been trying to catch you for almost an hour. How can you move so fast carrying all that stuff?”
“Ah, sorry – I’m just trying to find my ship and I’m running late. Are you from the Dragonfire?”
“Where else?” the Tellarite replied, testily. “I’m Tork – Chief Corpsman.”
“Oh, hello! Glad to meet you Chief,” West stuck out his hand in greeting. Tork looked at West’s hand suspiciously, as if someone was handing him an armed photon grenade.
Realization dawned and West withdrew his hand. “Oh – sorry, I didn’t realize Tellarite’s didn’t shake hands.”
Tork fixed West with a baleful stare. “What? No – I just have a thing about germs.”
West digested this piece of information as the Chief Corpsman tapped his combadge.
“Tork to Dragon-lady.”
“Dammit, Tork – I’ve told you to stop calling me that!”
“Sorry, Senior Chief. I’ve got the Doc – where the frak are you?”
“Back on the ship – hang on a sec . . .”
West was puzzling over the strange dialogue when a hum filled his ears and the station suddenly faded away to be replaced with the view from a transporter dais. He stumbled, caught off-guard by the unexpected transport.
Three other figures stood in the transporter room. Two NCOs – a human female with close-cropped dark hair stood alongside a large Capellan at the transporter controls. Closer to the transporter pad stood a dark-skinned officer who nodded and tapped his combadge.
“Banton to bridge.” West thought he detected a distinct Caribbean accent from the officer.
“Bridge – go ahead.”
“We’ve got the doctor on board.”
“Thanks, Marcus – Artie will be thrilled.”
“I’m sure there will be an extra ration of rum for the crew tonight. Banton, out.” He grinned at the confused young surgeon.
“I’m Lt. Commander Banton – second officer. Welcome aboard the Dragonfire, Dr. West.”
* * *
"Dragon's Slayd" is lighter in tone than the "Bluefin" tales. Captain Slayd is something of an eccentric, though a fine C.O. in his own right. He operates by his own set of rules and occasionally makes deals with known devils if it can help out a colony in need. I've posted the prologue and first chapter and would appreciate your comments.
Thanks!
TLR
Tales of the Border Service: “Dragon’s Slayd”
Prologue
Stardate 54012.4 (5 January 2377)
Nuncutt Settlement, Kirvo’s Planet
A back room in Joovin’s Cantina
The cluster of Border Dogs and Ferengi smugglers eyed each other warily as Captain Artemus Slayd conducted negotiations with DaiMon Gog. The two captains sat opposite each other at a battered and stained table. A solitary glow panel provided scant illumination to the scene as the Ferengi DaiMon (or so he called himself) picked at his teeth with a fingernail while Slayd waited patiently for the old smuggler to give his answer.
“Tell me, Cap-ton Slayd,” began Gog in a gravelly voice, “why not simply replicate these medical supplies? Surely your vaunted Federation could produce these drugs easily.”
Slayd favored “DaiMon” Gog with a tight smile, his dark eyes peering intently at the Ferengi. “My dear DaiMon, you know very well we’re a long way from the Federation core worlds. Most of the Outland planets scarcely have running water, much less replicators. My own ship’s replicators are limited in the amounts they can produce and, given the outbreak of Nibo flu on Vagabond VI, I would count it a great personal favor if we could finish our transaction so we can be on our way.”
Gog made a wheezing noise that Slayd supposed was laughter. The old Ferengi sneered, revealing rows of sharp gray teeth.
“Most certainly, Cap-ton Slayd. However, the price for the medical supplies just increased to 500 bars of gold-pressed latinum. Supply and demand - you know how it is.”
As if to punctuate his enhanced bargaining position, the Ferengi contingent produced an assortment of weapons and trained them on the four Border Service personnel.
Slayd shook his head. “Predictable,” he sighed, “I was hoping we could conclude this without any unpleasantness. However, I’m still quite willing to provide 50 cases of Romulan ale for the medicine as we originally agreed. Otherwise . . .”
The Captain’s voice trailed off and he spread his hands in an ambivalent manner.
DaiMon Gog’s toothy grin faltered. A veteran swindler, Gog suddenly sensed that the balance of terms had not swung completely his way. He glanced at the Border Dogs who stood in the background. A dark-skinned human officer leaned against the wall appearing perfectly at ease, if slightly bored. Near him, a tall Capellan non-com loomed with arms folded and a trace of a smile on his face. Only the medical officer, a gaunt, silver-haired human, appeared ill at ease.
“May I contact my ship?” asked Slayd, pleasantly. Several disruptors tracked toward the Captain as his hand moved toward his combadge.
Gog’s smile evaporated completely, replaced by a suspicious scowl. “Why? So they can beam you out of here? Don’t take me for a fool, Slayd!”
“Actually, I was hoping to prevent the destruction of your ship.”
An ugly sneer returned to Gog’s wrinkled face. “You’re bluffing, hew-mon.”
Captain Slayd shrugged. “Fine. Contact your own ship, then. But you’re wasting time Gog – I would estimate your crew has two minutes, perhaps less. It would be a pity for you to lose your ship over a minor hitch in negotiations.”
As if on cue, the Ferengi’s communicator began to squawk for attention. Gog angrily pulled the device from his cloak.
“You were told not to interrupt . . .” he growled.
“DaiMon! The Border Service vessel has locked weapons on our ship! We have broken orbit to escape them, but . . .”
A loud squeal of static erupted from the Ferengi’s communicator, the noise so shrill that it affected all of the Ferengi’s sensitive ears. Unbeknownst to Gog, the Border Service cutter had unleashed two Mark-22 torpedoes on Gog's ship. The torpedoes weren’t intended to destroy the Ferengi ship, but the massive EMP burst rendered the vessel’s weapons, shields and engines inoperative while overloading the comm system. The distraction gave Slayd's cohorts the opening for which they had waited.
With preternatural speed, Chief Anaak cast his Capellan kligat at the nearest Ferengi. The tri-bladed weapon whistled shrilly until it found its mark, burying deeply into the hapless henchman’s neck with a wet chok.
Lt. Commander Marcus Banton produced his own weapon - a flexible carbon rod which appeared magically from his sleeve, striking the gun-hand of the second Ferengi, disarming him. Banton quickly dropped as a disruptor bolt burned past him, leaving the sharp tang of ozone in the air. The Jamaican tactical officer scooped up the phaser dropped by his first target and he quickly squeezed off several shots of his own, forcing the other Ferengis to seek cover.
Captain Slayd drove forward, flipping the table over onto the old Ferengi who emitted a startled squawk. The Captain quickly administered two sharp blows to Gog’s earlobes. Gog screamed in pain and indignation from the attack to his highly sensitive regions.
Slayd rolled quickly as the remaining Ferengi squeezed off a round from his disruptor, the bolt sending fragments of duracrete against Slayd’s back. Anaak quickly dropped the last Ferengi with another kligat. Captain Slayd pulled himself to his feet and began to brush the gray dust and fragments from his uniform.
“Are you alright, Captain?” queried CPO Anaak.
“Yes, quite, thank you Anaak. Marcus?”
“Fine, Skipper,” replied Lt. Commander Banton. The tactical officer’s grin faded and a look of startled apprehension crossed his face. “Doc!” he exclaimed.
Slayd and Anaak whirled to follow Banton’s gaze. Slumped against a wall was the still form of Dr. Guaraldi, a gaping wound smoldering in his chest, his eyes still wide with shock.
The Captain moved quickly to the mortally wounded physician’s side and felt at Guaraldi’s neck for a pulse. Banton tapped his combadge.
“Banton to Dragonfire – medical emergency! Four to beam directly to sickbay.”
* * *
Four months later
Chapter One
Stardate 54359.5 (12 May 2377)
Star Station Bravo – Docking Ring Two
Ensign Brian West, M.D. stepped through the gangway airlock and onto Star Station Bravo. For a moment, the young surgeon was at a loss as to which way to turn as the teeming throng of beings from numerous worlds disembarked from transports or queued up to board ships bound for the core worlds.
Part of his disorientation was due to fatigue. He had spent nearly four days on a Border Service Stallion which was sorely lacking in amenities – no sleeping quarters and only one shared head for the dozen passengers. He had sat next to an unusually talkative Bolian lieutenant who smelled vaguely of cheese. West had slept poorly in the narrow seat and dreamt of being suffocated by Limburger.
Now, more than a little bewildered and greatly in need of a shower, he looked around and wondered what he should do next. Perhaps finding directions to his new billet was in order.
Shouldering his clamshell case and his great-grandfather’s medical bag, he picked a heading and strode off purposefully . . . in the wrong direction.
Two non-coms on an upper-level walkway observed as the young doctor attempted to move against the tide of people. One, a middle-aged human female, was amused. The other, a Tellarite male, merely shook his head in resignation.
“I think that’s him, Senior,” remarked Chief Corpsman Tork.
Senior Chief Paula Burke checked her PADD and compared the image with the struggling young officer. She chucked. “Yeah, that’s him alright.”
“Should we go get him?” asked Tork. Clearly he didn't relish the idea.
“He’s going to be your boss – do what you want. I’m going to grab a beer then head back. See you on the ship, Tork.”
Tork shook his head in resignation. “Might as well go get him now. Otherwise, he might wander around here for days.” The morose Tellarite corpsman moved toward a set of stairs while Burke gave the floundering physician one more look before turning toward a nearby tavern.
“Where do they get these kids?” she muttered, “He doesn’t look old enough to shave.”
* * *
Stardate 54359.5 (12 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
Star Station Bravo – Docking Ring Two, Berth Ten
Captain Slayd stepped onto the bridge of the Dragonfire from his ready room, carrying a gray striped cat. He looked around the bridge, fixing his gaze on the Executive Officer, Commander Katari Nor Huren, a stunning female Rigellian.
“Katari, why are we still docked to this over-priced monstrosity of a station and not on our way to the Lancaster system?”
“Still waiting on our new CMO, Artie,” she replied, her curly brass-colored hair bobbing as she glanced up from the environmental station.
“Ah yes, the good Dr. West. What the devil is keeping him?”
A small smile formed on her face, adding another layer of beauty to her iridescent bronze skin and golden eyes. “His stallion only arrived thirty minutes ago. He probably got off-course trying to make sense of the station’s semi-functional direction signs. I sent Burke and Tork out to find him.”
Slayd absently rubbed the cat’s ears, eliciting a rumbling purr from the feline. “Yes, but who’s going to fetch the Senior Chief and our Chief Corpsman?” He turned back to the ready room. “Come on, Oracle – time to feed the goldfish. Carry on, Number One.”
With a bemused expression, Commander Nor Huren continued her diagnostic check of the air handlers. “Don’t I always?” she murmured.
* * *
Stardate 54359.6 (12 May 2377)
Star Station Bravo – Docking Ring Two
West glanced to his right and sighed in frustration. Somehow he had made a complete circuit of the docking ring and was now back where he started. The directional signs had been a total waste of time, providing seemingly contradictory instructions in Standard, Ferengi and Cait.
“Doctor? Doctor West! Hold up!”
The young physician turned quickly at the sound of his name. A rather stocky Tellarite was moving in his direction gesturing to him. The non-com seemed rather out of breath.
“Deities!” wheezed Tork as he finally caught up with West. “I’ve been trying to catch you for almost an hour. How can you move so fast carrying all that stuff?”
“Ah, sorry – I’m just trying to find my ship and I’m running late. Are you from the Dragonfire?”
“Where else?” the Tellarite replied, testily. “I’m Tork – Chief Corpsman.”
“Oh, hello! Glad to meet you Chief,” West stuck out his hand in greeting. Tork looked at West’s hand suspiciously, as if someone was handing him an armed photon grenade.
Realization dawned and West withdrew his hand. “Oh – sorry, I didn’t realize Tellarite’s didn’t shake hands.”
Tork fixed West with a baleful stare. “What? No – I just have a thing about germs.”
West digested this piece of information as the Chief Corpsman tapped his combadge.
“Tork to Dragon-lady.”
“Dammit, Tork – I’ve told you to stop calling me that!”
“Sorry, Senior Chief. I’ve got the Doc – where the frak are you?”
“Back on the ship – hang on a sec . . .”
West was puzzling over the strange dialogue when a hum filled his ears and the station suddenly faded away to be replaced with the view from a transporter dais. He stumbled, caught off-guard by the unexpected transport.
Three other figures stood in the transporter room. Two NCOs – a human female with close-cropped dark hair stood alongside a large Capellan at the transporter controls. Closer to the transporter pad stood a dark-skinned officer who nodded and tapped his combadge.
“Banton to bridge.” West thought he detected a distinct Caribbean accent from the officer.
“Bridge – go ahead.”
“We’ve got the doctor on board.”
“Thanks, Marcus – Artie will be thrilled.”
“I’m sure there will be an extra ration of rum for the crew tonight. Banton, out.” He grinned at the confused young surgeon.
“I’m Lt. Commander Banton – second officer. Welcome aboard the Dragonfire, Dr. West.”
* * *
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I'm looking forward to more.
I think though it must be the border patrol service and air has a knack for throwing up some interesting personalities.
