• Welcome! The TrekBBS is the number one place to chat about Star Trek with like-minded fans.
    If you are not already a member then please register an account and join in the discussion!

Border Cutter Silverfin - "The Ties That Bind"

Bry_Sinclair

Vice Admiral
Admiral
Here is the continuation of the Silverfin's missions, following the discovery of the Cairo. I hope you all enjoy it.

Also a quick question, does anyone know how to write a good Texan accent? I've tried it here, but not sure how successful it is (I apologise if it offends any Texan readers out there).

Now on with the show...


Chapter One

The Bazaar, Star Station Freedom
Stardate: 55069.6 (January 26th, 2378)

The Bazaar was bustling with activity. Captain Susanna Leijten moved between the various kiosks and stalls, where the vendors and merchants were selling various trinkets from all across the sector and beyond.

The crew of the U.S.S. Silverfin were enjoying a few days downtime on Star Station Freedom, after towing in the starship Cairo, a mysterious ghost ship they had stumbled across, four years and dozens of light-years away from where it had vanished. The Cairo was now under the supervision of the Starfleet Corps of Engineer, who now had the job of deciphering the mystery of the Excelsior-Class ship. Seeing as how they had returned to base prematurely, they had taken the chance to load on new supplies, as well as upgrading their environmental systems—something that Lieutenant th’Shaan had reported would need to be overhauled for the last two months.

The work had taken three days, and with it now completed, the Silverfin was going through systems checks and diagnostics. Leijten had remained onboard for the majority of the work, and with the ship due to launch in just over four hours, she had taken a few hours of personal time to snoop around the Bazaar. Part of the reason was to look for a bargain or two, or maybe some fresh tea, or a real paperbound book to enjoy, but on the most part it was to help her try and forget what had happened to Kolanis Daezan—her Betazoid Ops officer who had had a ‘telepathic episode’ onboard the Cairo and had then been sedated and transported back to Betazed for treatment, with Doctor Mbeki going along with him to assist.

The temporary replacements for Daezan and Mbeki were due to report in at 1200 hours, so she had an hour and a half to herself to take in the shops and stalls. Mysterious, exotic, spicy and sweet smells filled her nostrils and made her stomach growl—the bowl of muesli she’d had that morning hadn’t done the job of filling her up until lunch.

She was contemplating getting some of the freshly made foodstuffs to take back to the Silverfin with her, when her combadge chirped. Tapping it she said, “Leijten here. Go ahead.”

“Captain,” came the booming voice of her XO, Commander Amorin, “we have just received a message from the Squadron Quartermaster’s Office. Apparently there is an issue with some of the supplies we requested, and he’ll only speak to you.”

Sighing, knowing that having a morning to herself would be too much to ask for, she said to Amorin, “Understood Commander. I’ll head over there now. It shouldn’t take too long, but if I’m not back before high noon, send out the search parties.”

“Consider it done sir. Silverfin out.”

Leijten chuckled to herself. Amorin often came off as quite stoic and reserved, but that was only to those that didn’t know him well. He had a quick wit and a belly laugh that could almost shake a room. Before she headed off to the Squadron Quartermaster’s Office, she stopped off at a small food cart that had among its many tasty treats, Bajoran jumja sticks. She took one and then headed for the nearest turbolift, nibbling on the almost-too-sweet confectionary as she walked, hoping that she could clear up the problem quickly and enjoy the rest of her morning—but knowing how pedantic and particular some QM’s could be, she didn’t hold out much hope.

***

Ward Room, U.S.S. Silverfin NCC-4470
Docking Berth 7, Star Station Freedom

Harriet Llewellyn-Smyth, better known to her shipmates as English Rose, sat in the ward room enjoying a cup of camomile tea. With the ship in dock, Alpha Shift was on standby, meaning that the crew didn’t need to be at their posts until it was time to depart, but they had to remain aboard ship, and she had opted to pass the time by doing anything but think about Kolanis—

Lieutenant Commander Daezan, a sharp voice quickly corrected, and she could feel her cheeks redden. He had left the ship before they had even docked at Star Station Freedom, heading back to Betazed with Doctor Mbeki, where he would hopefully get whatever treatment he needed and then return to the Silverfin.

She shook her head, trying to clear it of her concern for Daezan, or her memory of his dark eyes that seemed to look straight into your heart, or his broad shoulders and slim waist, or his nice arms.

“Stop it Harriet!” she ordered herself, unaware that she’d spoken aloud.

“Stop what Lieutenant?” came an uncertain voice from the entrance.

Her head snapped upward and she saw Ensign Jose Tyler the Fifth standing in the open doorway of the ward room. Quickly composing herself she gave him a level stare. “Nothing Ensign.”

The new Tactical Officer didn’t look convinced at her brushing off the stray thought, but he didn’t pursue it (if a superior officer didn’t want to discuss something, they you didn’t discuss it). He had been onboard for only a few weeks, and in all that time she hadn’t seen him in the ward room before, except for staff meetings.

“Would you care to join me?” she asked.

The baby-faced young officer stepped over to the replicator and ordered a Bolian tonic water, and then sat opposite her at the long mahogany table, looking a little stiff and straight. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and Llewellyn-Smyth moved quickly to fill it.

“So how are you adjusting to life in the Border Service?”

“Fine thank you sir.”

“It’s not like they teach at the Academy.”

“No sir it’s not.”

“But very rewarding though.”

“Yes sir.”

“Okay, stop that now!” she told him sternly, fighting the urge to wag a finger at him as well.

“Sir?”

“That Mr Tyler. We’re alone in here, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ or ‘Lieutenant’. My name is Harriet or Rose if you fancy. It’s a little difficult to have a conversation with someone who is being so formal.”

“I’m sorry sir…eh, Harriet,” he amended, looking more uncomfortable than before. “It’s just that this ship isn’t like any of my training cruises. There’s a lot to take in and adapt to.”

She gave him a warm smile. “The Academy doesn’t prepare you for life on a cutter. I remember a lecture Commander Weinstein gave on protocols and procedures, if which he spent half the time criticising the Border Service, for their lack or proper decorum in such matters. As soon as the class was over, I went to the library and started reading up on everything I could find on the Border Service. I guess you could say that I have him to thank for my being here.”

Tyler smiled softly. “I think I got the same lecture.”

They chuckled as they compared notes on the class, and found that Weinstein was almost word for word perfect, despite the six years that separated them. They then moved onto other courses they had taken, instructors they had in common, and how all of the theory they had learnt at the Academy really didn’t prepare anyone for the realities of space. It was the most she had heard the young ensign say at one time, but still the young man didn’t seem to relax. She found it odd that someone so young seemed to be wound so tightly, even his predecessor, Lieutenant Commander Ling-Na, knew when to let her hair down. No one onboard would ever forget their stop over at Star Station Destiny eight months before the war started, when the diminutive Ling-Na had faced off against two Nausicaan enforcers who had teamed up against a frail old shop owner—she was the only one left standing by the end of the fight.

Before she could probe further her combadge chirped. “Ch’Tholin to Llewellyn-Smyth.”

“Go ahead Petty Officer,” she replied to the Andorian shuttle control specialist.

“Any chance you could come down here for a minute sir, I’ve having a bit of trouble with Stallion Two’s nav-computer.”

“Understood ch’Tholin, I’m on my way. Llewellyn-Smyth out,” she closed the channel and stood up, Tyler did so too. “Duty calls, I’ll see you back on bridge if not sooner Jose.”

“I’d better be getting back to my station now,” he quickly said, before returning his glass to the replicator and leaving the ward room.

He’s an odd one alright, she mused to herself, as she put her teacup and saucer back into the replicator as well, and then headed for the hanger deck.

***

Squadron Quartermaster’s Office, Cargo Operations Centre
Star Station Freedom

Leijten quickly moved through the Cargo Ops Centre, always a busy place on any station, seeing as how they had strict schedules to keep with all the ships coming and going, and numerous cargo containers being loaded and offloaded, as well as customs spot-checks and security sweep run on every barrel and box and bag that came through. The crew paid no attention to her as she moved to the QM’s office, which was just off of Cargo Ops. She stepped inside and the doors closed behind her shutting out the noise of a dozen people talking at once, whilst controls chirped and beeped.

She had had a few dealings with the Squadron Quartermaster before, a Zakdorn called Gornak, who thrived on making officers jump through hoops. He loved his paperwork and always made sure that everything was filled out properly, or you’d have to start from scratch. After the first and only time that had happened, she had made sure that everything was filled out properly, and had the Silverfin’s administrations assistant, PO Illan Edris, triple check everything before it was submitted—and it was a rare occasion when the young Trill made a mistake.

Senior Chief Gornak was nowhere to be seen. Great! Is this a new method of showing us officer’s whose in charge down here? He could have been in the small private head or the secure storage room that were accessed through doors at the back of the room.

“Hello?” she called. “It’s Captain Leijten of the Silverfin. I was told there was a problem with our supply request. Gornak?”

“If yer lookin’ for ol’ Gornak, yer gonna be waitin’ a while,” said a deep Texan voice from behind her. Though she immediately recognised it, she couldn’t quite believe it.

Turning slowly back towards the door she had come through, her jaw almost hit the floor when she saw the tall, broad-shouldered man, his eyes were their usual sky blue, his face had a few more lines on it, but still chiselled and handsome and well-tanned as always, his buzz cut hair was now almost completely silver, and his easy smile grew wider at her reaction.

“Mornin’ ma’am, or do you prefer Cap’n?” Henry ‘Hank’ Mitchell asked. She just stayed rooted to the spot and stared at him. “Yer gonna be talkin’ anytime soon?”

“Oh my god!” she said breathlessly. “What they hell are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too Suz.”

She blushed at her rudeness. “I’m sorry Hank, it’s just you’re the last person I expected to see here.”

“Ah’ll try not take that personal,” he said, his lopsided grin showing that he held no ill will against her. “It’s good to see yer again though Suz. Been too long.”

“Ten years since you left Charon to go back home. How is the ranch?”

He moved further into his office and sat in the chair behind the large computer terminal, he gestured to the empty seat opposite. Leijten expected him to put his feet up on the console, and see his wearing cowboy boots. He didn’t though, and she found herself to be a little disappointed.

“Runnin’ smooth. When the war began, ah signed back up—do my duty, y’know. After it ended, an Starfleet rescinded the stop/loss order, ah decided to hang on for a bit longer. Made Senior Chief two year ago. Ah heard you made Cap’n, congratulations.”

“Thanks Hank. Didn’t feel like much to celebrate at the time, but I’ve gotten comfortable in the job now.”

“Ah always knew you would make a helluva CO.”

“Speaking of jobs and duties, I take it that there isn’t any problem with our requisition request. And that all this palaver was just to get me down here,” she stated, knowing the answer before he opened his mouth.

He chuckled softly and held up his hands in a surrendering gesture. “Have mercy ma’am. If ah called you down here, ah’d never have gotten to see the look on yer face.”

She laughed too. “I’d probably have done the same to you if given the chance.” She glanced at the chronometer. It was getting closer to noon—thanks to a breakdown in the turbolift network she’d had to use ladders and Jefferies tubes for half the trip down to Cargo Ops. “I wish I could stay and catch up, but I have to get back to the Silverfin and see to a few things before we depart.”

“Yer don’t depart until sixteen hundred, surely there’d be time for chow and some catchin’ up?”

Looking into his sparking eyes, she found they had the same effect on her as they always had, she just couldn’t say no to the man. “A quick bite and you’d better behave.”

“Ah’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

“I’ve heard that one before Hank,” she retorted, smiling at the fond memories of the two of them intertwined, sweating, laughing and more than satisfied. “When and where?”

“Say fourteen-thirty at the Bazaar? Ah know a nice Bolian place we can try.”

“I’ll see you there Hank.” She rose to leave, and he stood as well. His easy smile still spread across his face, and his eyes shone with the promise of mischief.

Before the doors parted, he stopped her. “Suz.” She looked back at him. “It’s real good to see yer again.”

“You too cowboy,” she said with a wide smile, and then headed out his office and back towards the Silverfin, her heart pounding in her chest, and feeling more than a little giddy.

***
 
Nice segment - always interesting to read about the background operations and interactions of the officers and crew. As to the Texas accent - I thought it was pretty good. (Better than the over-the-top Scottish accents I write :lol:). The "yer" was a bit jarring, but then it sounds a bit like John Wayne, so that's probably a good thing. ;)

I liked the interaction between Harriet and Tyler. She's obviously carrying a torch for Daezen. You took an awkward moment and turned it into a helpful meeting with the young Ensign. Tyler is still not comfortable as a Border Dog. Hopefully, time and experience will change that.

Seems there's a bit of history between the cowboy NCO and Captain Leijten. More, please! :)
 
Wait, where the previous story? I just read S.O.S. but you've jumped ahead several months. Did I miss something?
 
As to the Texas accent - I thought it was pretty good. (Better than the over-the-top Scottish accents I write :lol:). The "yer" was a bit jarring, but then it sounds a bit like John Wayne, so that's probably a good thing. ;)

Depends where you go, some Scottish accents are very OTT. On one of the isles here in Shetland it sometimes sounds like they're not actually speaking English! I might try a very short story in Shetland dialect, see if anyone can figure it out :lol:

I liked the interaction between Harriet and Tyler. She's obviously carrying a torch for Daezen.

Big time. He will return in the near future, just have to wait and see what happens between them.

You took an awkward moment and turned it into a helpful meeting with the young Ensign. Tyler is still not comfortable as a Border Dog. Hopefully, time and experience will change that.

The kid will learn. He has a long and high-standing family line to live up to, but has to learn how to adapt to the Border Service.

Seems there's a bit of history between the cowboy NCO and Captain Leijten. More, please! :)

Oh there is history. Lots of history! Something I will be exploring as and when they put in at Star Station Freedom. SCPO Mitchell is from rural Texas (hence the strong accent), and served with then-Lieutenant Commander Leijten on Star Station Charon. And that's all you're getting for now.

More to follow.

-Bry
 
Chapter 2

Bridge, S.S. Mirage NTL-439
Sector 16627

The cramped bridge of the transport ship Mirage was quiet, aside from his steady breathing and the pounding of his heart in his ears. Jeffery Mellor, captain, owner and pilot of the old J-Class ship sat alone at the controls. The small teardrop-shaped ship—rounded at the front and then tapering aft, with a nacelle on either side—was a relic of the last century, held together through a mishmash of repairs, on the fly upgrades, and a lot of hope. But in the last month, the latter had been fading fast.

He shook away the thought and focused again on the communications panel. Where are they? They’ve never been late before, he fretted. What if they had double-crossed him, what if she was dead? Don’t think that! He couldn’t afford to think such things. Yes it had been a month, but he was doing what they wanted. Only a little longer and it would all be over.

Just then the incoming signal indicator flashed. Mellor’s heart beat harder and faster, as he tapped the stud with a shacking finger.

“This is the Mirage,” he said, his voice shacking.

“Have you got the item?” said the heavily distorted voice on the other end of the audio-only link.

“Yes. It is in secured in a secret compartment. No one would be able to find it if they came onboard.”

“Would anyone have reason to board your pitiful vessel?”

“No, what I meant was—”

“Silence human! If your snivelling incompetence threatens the item, then our business is done and the contract will be terminated,” the voice stated. Mellor could almost hear the smile in his voice.

“Please don’t! We won’t be stopped. I assure you of that!”

“Excellent. Set your course for the moon of Argaya two. We will be there in seventy hours, and you had better be too.” With that the link went dead, and Mellor was left in silence once again.

He took a moment to steady himself and then looked at the navigational display. The Argaya System was well outside Federation space, close to the Talarian border, but not close enough for them to interfere. Argaya was filled with meteoroids and other debris following the collision of two planets in the twenty-second century. No one went there, except the occasional geological surveyor. They would be totally alone.

If the Mirage could get there in time. At her maximum cruise speed of warp four-point-two the system was well over ninety hours away. They would have to achieve and sustain warp five for sixty-eight hours and forty-three minutes in order to get there in time. Mellor couldn’t remember the last time the old ship had gone above warp four. His previous runs between Beta Rigel, Deneva and Aldebaran hadn’t called for much speed.

He tapped the commlink on the helm console. “Ixaab, get ready to take us to maximum warp. We’ll need to sustain it for sixty-nine hours to get to the drop-off point.”

“What?!” the Bolian engineer exclaimed. “Boss, I doubt she’ll be able to manage that!”

“She has to Ixaab. You know what will happen if we don’t make the drop-off.”

There was silence from the other end, and then a heavy sigh. He was suffering almost as much as Mellor was. Almost. “Understood Boss. I’ll make sure she’ll be there. Engine room out.”

Mellor set the course into the nav-system, selected warp five, and then tapped the engage button. The Mirage leapt into warp, her hull groaning with the strain of the unfamiliar speed she was being asked to travel at. Mellor knew that it would only get worse. But he didn’t have any choice.

***

Docking Berth 7
Star Station Freedom

It was almost 1200 hours when Lieutenant Innis Kalm stepped into the corridor that took him to Docking Berth 7, where the U.S.S. Silverfin was located—his new posting for the next few weeks. The news that was making the rounds through the Border Service was that she had been the ship that discovered the Cairo, which that become one of the greatest mysteries of the century. Innis would have given anything to either have been on the initial search teams sent to the ghost ship, or to be on the S.C.E. team that were charged with unlocking its mysteries. Unfortunately that wasn’t to be.

During the search, the Ops Manager had been badly injured and needed hospitalisation, so he had been transferred from the Minotaur to act up at Ops. It was an assignment he both looked forward too and dreaded. Albacore-Class ships were the backbone of the Border Service, and a billet aboard one was hard to come across. But he was just onboard for a temporary assignment, he’d have to get up to speed quickly and probably by the time that happened his tenure aboard would be over. Then afterwards he wasn’t sure where he would next be heading, as he had left the Minotaur looking for a greater challenge—but every cutter already had a Chief Operations Officer, so he wasn’t sure where he’d find himself.

He looked further down the corridor and noticed a slim young redhead approaching from the other direction, like him she had a duffle bag over one shoulder and carried another holdall as well. As they approached he noticed that she wasn’t quite human—if the dark veins on her face was anything to go by she was from the largest moon of Beta Rigel III.

Going by their relative speeds, he would reach the docking port before her. He assumed she was reporting onboard the Silverfin as well, seeing as how there weren’t any crew quarters on the level and there were no other docking ports in the section. He slowed his pace, so as to meet her at the airlock. He wasn’t sure who she was, or how long she’d be aboard the cutter, but he was determined to make at least one or two acquaintances aboard.

As they got closer, he gave her a friendly smile. She gave him a somewhat puzzled look. When they were within speaking distance he asked, “Are you going aboard the Silverfin?”

“Yes. You?”

“Sure am. Innis Kalm,” he introduced himself, not bothering to offer his hand for her to shake, the human gesture meaning nothing much to either of them.

“Tessi Jenka,” she replied, still scrutinising him. She seemed particularly fascinated by his right ear, and the dangling earring he wore. “I thought they were against regulation.”

He touched the delicate piece of jewellery, which had the Bajoran emblem carved into it. “Since Bajor entered the Federation, the regs have been relaxed a little. It’s up to each CO if they’ll allow them to be worn. I couldn’t aboard the Minotaur, so I’m hoping the Silverfin will be different.”

“Good luck to you,” she said, a faint smile now tugging on her lips.

He gestured for her to go ahead of him and she did so, stepping through the docking hatch and into the umbilical that connected the ship to the station. As they neared the ship’s open airlock, Innis noticed two individuals standing waiting for them, chatting to one another. Both wore command red, but that was where all similarities ended. There was a short, slim human-looking woman, with curly mousy-brown hair and soft blue eyes. He also spotted four pips on her collar. The being next to her was tall and blue-skinned, his head was bulbous at the back and sides, whilst his face was dominated by a breathing mask, with flesh tubes that went from his chin down to his chest. He had no hair and dark goggled covered his eyes. His collar had three pips on it.

On Star Station Freedom, after his new orders came in, he’d familiarised himself with the senior staff of the Silverfin. The pair had to be Captain Leijten and Commander Amorin. He was impressed that the ship’s most senior officers had turned up to greet them at the airlock.

Jenka stepped through and quickly stood at attention and Innis followed suit. He noticed an amused look cross the Captain’s face. The First Officer’s expression was unreadable. Note to self, never play poker with the XO.

“Is that in anyway comfortable?” the Captain asked.

“Not particularly sir,” Jenka replied stiffly.

“Then stop doing it,” Leijten said with a smile. Innis found himself smirking, as he stood at parade rest, feeling immediately more relaxed. She extended her hand to the Rigellian first, who took it and shook slightly. “Captain Susanna Leijten, welcome onboard Nurse Jenka. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

“Thank you sir,” the younger woman replied.

Leijten turned to him and held out her hand again. He took it and was surprised at her firm grip. “Welcome to the Silverfin Mr Innis,” she paused and looked at the earring. “I take it you’d like to keep that on?”

“With your permission of course sir.”

“Granted Lieutenant, after all I let him—” she gestured to the man behind her with her thumb “—wear all that.”

“The breather mask is essential for my survival,” he replied in a deep resounding baritone that almost seemed to echo down the narrow corridors. “The goggles are just to make me more intimidating.”

“Let me introduce the ship’s XO, Commander Amorin. He’s the one who’ll keep you right. As I’m sure you’re both aware, these are temporary postings, but I want you to feel like part of the crew—no matter how long you are aboard for. So any questions, comments and queries please bring them to either the Commander’s or my attention.

“We’ll be departing in a little under four hours,” she continued, getting down to business, but maintaining an open and friendly air. “The Commander will show you to your quarters. You’re both on Alpha Shift, and scheduled to be on duty tomorrow morning at 0900.” Leijten looked back at Amorin. “Commander, I’ll see you back on the bridge. Lieutenant’s if you’ll excuse me,” she said with a friendly smile, and then headed off.

Innis watched her go and then looked up at the towering Benzenite officer. For a moment, no one spoke, and there was only the faint hiss of his breather mask. “Now if you’ll both follow me,” he said, gesturing in the opposite direction to which the Captain had gone.

Amorin led the way, Innis and Jenka following closely behind. The corridor wasn’t wide enough for either of them to walk beside the First Officer, so they kept pace together. “The Silverfin is a Mark-Three Albacore-Class ship, the last one commissioned, so there are a few differences,” Amorin began, as he led them through the corridors. “We have a standard armament, a full array of some of the finest sensors available in the fleet, a maximum speed just shy of warp nine-point-four, and our sickbay was rigged with a Mark-Three EMH. Our crew complement stands at one hundred and twenty-four, and made up of about thirty different species from across the Federation.”

He led them into a turbolift. “Deck three,” he ordered it. “There are eight decks. The lower four are engineering, cargo and most other key systems. Whilst the upper four are where the main crew facilities are located. Deck four—which we were just on—houses sickbay, non-com and enlisted quarters and the canteen. Deck three is for officer’s quarters and the wardroom, which is where most of the officers eat—though you are of course free to use the mess hall. The rec room is also on deck three; officially all we can offer is synthehol.”

“‘Officially’?” Jenka asked.

“There are rumours of a still somewhere onboard, which I can neither confirm nor deny,” he stated, and Innis was sure he could hear a hint of merriment in his deep almost monotone voice. The turbolift opened and he led them out onto deck three. “The gym is down on deck five, and all crew are required to put in at least two hours a week to meet the minimum requirements—but Nurse, I’m sure you’ll keep everyone right.” He came to a halt at a set of doors on their left. “Nurse Jenka, these are your quarters. You’re fortunate that we don’t have a fuller crew, as you get your own room.”

“Thank you Commander,” she replied stepping to the doors. They parted and revealed the small but comfortable cabin, which combined bedroom with living space and had a small private bathroom.

“If you need any help just let me know. I’ll try to organise a full tour of the ship for later this evening, so that you can familiarise yourself with the layout.”

“That would be appreciated sir,” she told him. She nodded at Innis. “I’ll see you around Lieutenant.” She stepped completely into her quarters and the door closed.

Amorin led him a little further down the corridor, and then stopped at a room three doors down from Jenka’s, again on the interior of the ships saucer. “And this is you Lieutenant Innis. Make yourself comfortable, and if you need anything in the interim contact the Ops Centre—they’ll keep you right.”

“Thank you sir. I look forward to the tour, I’ve read a lot about Albacore’s. It’ll be interesting to see if them measure up to the stories.”

“Of that I can assure you Lieutenant. The Silverfin is a damn fine ship, that’s been to hell and back several times in recent years.” He then gave Innis a deep nod. “Until later Lieutenant.” With that, Amorin turned on his heel and headed back towards the turbolift.

Innis stepped into his temporary home and dropped his bag on the bed. The room was neat and tidy, with the typical style used in vacant crew quarters—giving the impression of a lived-in environment whilst also begin devoid of any significant personal tastes. He set about putting away what clothing he’d taken with him, as well as putting the few holoimagers and photos he carried with him on the desk. Though the room would only be his for a short time, he was determined to make it as comfortable as he could.

***

Zim’s Authentic Bolian Restaurant, The Bazaar
Star Station Freedom

Normally Leijten wasn’t a fan of Bolian food, the idea of aged meat never sat right with her stomach, so she had opted for a vegetarian option. A platter of various vegetables, with grains and seeds in a tangy almost barbeque flavoured sauce, on a bed of purple pasta. Mitchell had opted for a variety of seafood, knowing that any meat he ordered would make her queasy.

They had chatted about everything they had been up to since he left Star Station Charon in mid-2368 to take on the responsibility of the family ranch, following the death of his father. She had met the older Mitchell only once before his death, and immediately liked the man. She had gone with Hank to Earth for the funeral, at which point they had parted company. He had spent five years working with horses and cattle before the Dominion war had begun, and he had returned to duty. Though he had intended to return after the stop/loss order was rescinded, he had instead decided to stay on a bit longer, leaving the ranch in the capable hands of Bobby, a farmhand that had worked for the Mitchell’s since before Hank was born. Though he fully intended to return someday soon, for the meantime, Hank was happy to be back in uniform and serving in the Border Service once again.

She shared with him her promotion to Commander a month after he’d left, and then her transfer to the Silverfin in 2370. She’d touched on the death of Captain Ja-Inrosh, the tough time she’d had adjusting to her first command, and the metaphorical kick in the pants she’d been given by an old Border Dog to stop feeling so sorry for herself and take charge of her life. She told him some of the more interesting stories during her time in command, from the time the Silverfin had to pull a passenger transport out of a temporary anomaly that had done some very bizarre things to the ship and crew, to the time they seized a small Ferengi cargo ship that was trying to smuggle in illicit goods to the sexual repressed inhabitants of Jhos’al VI—that one had made him laugh—and then to the mystery of the Cairo (or at least what unclassified information she could share with him).

During their time together, she remembered just how easy it was to talk to him, and how that had been one of the things that had drawn her to him. Whoa there girl, she warned herself. Last thing you need is to get involved with Hank again! When they had split up ten years earlier, it had taken the better part of a year to get over it. No one had his heart or his sense of humour, his strength and his gentleness, and no one had ever made her—

What did I just tell you! She quickly shook off those thoughts. They were just two old friends, catching up. Nothing more. Their pervious relationship was in the past. But damn he smelt good, and the silver hair gave him a distinguished look, whilst the lopsided smile and gentle eyes were just the way she remembered them. What am I doing? I must be nuts thinking about all this now. I leave in a few hours on a two-month tour. And besides, I doubt he still feels the same way.

Mitchell was as good as his word, and acted the perfect gentleman, though at one point he did rest his hand on top of hers, which made them both blush. He quickly removed it, but she could feel the charge of electricity his touch caused, tingle through her fingers and hand and up her arm. She was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, and found it to be quite a humiliating state of mind to be in.

She did notice that neither of them mentioned their love lives (or in her case the lack thereof), and decided not to press the matter. Time flew by, and as they were finishing their coffee (both of them having foregone dessert) the chronometer in the restaurant chirped 1530, she knew she had to be going. The Silverfin would be leaving in thirty minutes, and she had to be aboard.

They paid their bill and as they stepped back out into the bustling Bazaar, he said, “Ah’ll walk you back to the Silverfin.”

“You don’t have to Hank.”

“It’s on my way.”

Leijten kept herself from pointing out the berth seven was no where near the route to Cargo Ops, and instead enjoyed their walk out to the docking bay. They chatted about Charon and the people they’d served with, those they kept in touch with and those who had been killed in action, more often than not during the war.

As they neared berth seven, Mitchell slowed down and she kept pace beside him. “So when yer back this way?”

“This tour is due to last seven weeks. Looks like some smugglers have managed to find a way to slip by us. We’re working with the Hercules to try and flush them out.”

“Sounds tough.”

“No one ever said the Border Service was a cakewalk.”

“True,” he muttered. When they reached the airlock he stepped in front of her, his eyes holding hers. “Come back in one piece Suz. Ah’d hate to face losin’ yer now.”

She felt her cheeks burn at the sentiment. Resting a hand in his bicep—taking note that it was just as solid as it had been ten years earlier—she gave him a warm smile. “We have to go out, but I always make damn sure that we come back too.”

He chuckled. “Ah’m gonna hold yer to that.” He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Good huntin’ Cap’n.”

“Thank you Senior Chief,” she replied. Mitchell headed back the way they’d came, and Leijten looked after him for a moment before she stepped through the docking port and headed for the Silverfin, not sure what to make of his final gesture, but knowing she wanted to see more of him in the near future.

***
 
Last edited:
Quick note on Chapter 2:

I borrowed an idea from the Gibraltar in having Nurse Jenka in charge of sickbay (at least until Dr Mbeki's return). She is one of the other many Rigellian species that seem to exist out there.

The Mirage seen here is similar the same design as the Aurora from TOS Remastered.

-Bry
 
Quick note on Chapter 2:

I borrowed an idea from the Gibraltar in having Nurse Jenka in charge of sickbay (at least until Dr Mbeki's return). She is one of the other many Rigellian species that seem to exist out there.

The Mirage seen here is similar the same design as the Aurora from TOS Remastered.

-Bry

Oh, when you said J-class, I was picturing the Horizon from Star Trek: Enterprise - The Mayweather family ship. Thanks for clearing that up. :)
 
Chapter 3

Training Room, U.S.S. Silverfin NCC-4470
Patrol of Sector 16628, Day 1

Syva’s hands shot out in front of her, crossed at the wrists, and effortlessly grabbed the fist that was rapidly approaching her face. With a little upper body strength and quickly shifting her weight from her left to right foot, she spun around her attacker and slammed her elbow into the middle of his back.

He let out a grunt, both at the precise force she applied to his forearm, and the blow just above his kidney. Her moves delivered, she released his arm. His momentum carried him forward and down onto the mat, where he lay sprawled for a moment before looking back up at her.

Syva gave him a curt nod and then looked around the training room. Ten other men and women stood around her, watching the display, all dressed in the same standard issue off-white workout attire she was in. They were members of her security detail who were going in for more advanced hand-to-hand combat, all of them were crewmen just out of basic training except Petty Officer Henderson, who was just getting up off the ground—he had been on her team for several years and she had asked him to help with the demonstration.

“Where did he go wrong?” she asked, her tone so level that no one would have guessed that she had spent the last four minutes and fifty-three seconds testing one of her best combatants.

“You were too fast,” said Crewman sh’Thoris, a tall and willowy Andorian.

She fixed her stare on the younger woman. “I was not at fault Crewman. Mr Miller made the grave mistake. What was it?”

The collection of young enlistees looked at one another. From the back a tentative hand rose up into the air. She focused in on it and its owner. “Yes Mr Drim,” she said to the stocky Bolian.

“He was too aggressive sir?” he said, sounding a little hesitant.

“Correct. When in physical combat, strength, speed and aggression will not ensure victory. Technique will win against even the largest of opponents,” she looked along the line up in front of her. “When engaged in hand-to-hand fighting, your adrenaline levels and emotional state will push you more towards taking charge of the fight, to land as many hits on your opponent as possible. Though this can be an effective method, it can also be a fatal flaw. You must learn restraint, to focus your senses on whomever you may face, to anticipate their next move and be ready to counter it.

“I may be faster and stronger than Mr Henderson,” she continued, moving back to the centre of the mat, where he stood once again, flexing his muscles, “but he is trained in seventeen separate techniques, from eight planets—including five that I am not.”

As soon as she was in position on the mat, he launched an attack at her. She deflected as quickly as he swung and kicked, countering where she could. She noted, with a sense of pride, that Henderson switched from discipline to discipline with ever move, karate to jujitsu to Vulcan khil’an’ra to Andorian shii-so. He had been like the crewman they sparred in front of when he’d first come onboard, during the war. His twin brother, a Starfleet officer, had been killed in action at the Battle of Tyra. Henderson, who had run a dojo in New York City, had enlisted the day after he got the news. He’d been assigned to the Silverfin after completing Basic Training, and had been an angry and aggressive young man. The discipline and control he’d once had were consumed by grief. But she had forced him to refocus—though not after she’d dropped him on the matt on well over eighty occasions—and he had since become one of her most reliable crewmen.

He quickly shifted into an Acamarian technique (one she hadn’t studied), and landed a solid punch on her right side, quickly followed up by a knee to her stomach. She ducked and rolled out the way and then leapt to her feet. Had she been human she would have winced at the dull throb in her gut, but her high pain threshold allowed her to move unhindered. Henderson kept up his onslaught, choosing his moves and executing them with perfect precision, which made it difficult for her to retaliate.

She was aware of the intense stares of the crewmen, the open mouths on a couple on them, whilst four others were laying odds on who would win (three were in favour of Henderson). She would have to instil in them the need for focus, she wouldn’t have members of her team be so easily distracted.

A few swift moves later, and they found themselves in a grapple, their bodies tight together—each of them trying to gain the upper hand, whilst preventing the other from doing the same. In half a heartbeat, Henderson broke through, and using a hand on her shoulder and a foot hooked behind her legs, she was slammed onto the mat. Having been sparring with Starfleet shipmates for thirty years, and colleagues at Vulcan Security for fifty years before that, she knew how to land to avoid sustaining injury.

After a moment, Henderson offered a hand to help her up. She he pulled her up he asked quietly, “You okay Master Chief?”

She gave him a slight nod. “That was new.”

He smiled at her. “You taught me never to stop learning sir.”

“Indeed,” she replied, an eyebrow raised. She looked around at crewmen. “Pair up. One will focus on aggression and the other on technique.”

“Yes Master Chief,” they replied in unison.

As they scattered to the other mats, Syva and Henderson moved through the groups, assessing the rookies, offering advice on moves and encouraging where needed. Though the sparring sessions would never meet the same conditions of a real fight, they would help hone skill and push their stamina. Though they were all adequate fighters, she had always made sure that every non-com and crewman under her charge were the very best they could be.

***

Sickbay, U.S.S. Silverfin NCC-4470
Patrol of Sector 16628, Day 1

“Please state the nature of the medical emergency,” the holo-doc asked as she phased into existence in the middle of the main ward. The Mark-3 was the first female template EMH, which had since been replaced by the Mark-4 and now the Mark-5.

Tessi Jenka circled the hologram, looking her up and down. The hologram seemed a little flustered at this.

“Is there something I can do for you?” she asked.

Jenka stopped in front of her. “Not really, no. Just wanted to make sure that your programme was stable.”

“The computer runs routine diagnostics on my algorithms daily. All systems have been at optimum for the last eight hundred and thirty-seven days, since I was installed.”

“Just checking,” Jenka replied. “Computer deactivate EMH.”

As quickly as the dark-haired hologram appeared she vanished. Jenka had worked with EMH’s on the Hippocrates during the war, and then again on Star Station Freedom. She saw them for what they were, a useful tool. She didn’t understand people who got attached to them, after all one command to the computer could delete them completely or alter their subroutines to transform them into Mr Hyde.

Her inspection of the Silverfin’s medical facilities now completed, she had to admit she was impressed. Two well equipped treatment wards, a small but perfectly formed medlab, and two state of the art surgical suites. Obviously the CMO took a great deal of pride in his facilities and his people, all of whom had nothing but praise for Doctor Tunde Mbeki. She could only hope that when she got her own sickbay, her crew would be so kind about her.

That’s if I complete the course, she reminded herself. Her assignment to the Silverfin had usurped her original plans as she was leaving Freedom. With five years service under her belt, she was eligible for the Starfleet Medical Officer’s Advanced Training Programme, which would see her gain her MD in eighteen months to two years—depending on if she wanted to specialise or not. It was an intensive course, and one of the most difficult to get onto, but she had been accepted. Unfortunately she didn’t know where her temporary posting to the Silverfin left her. She might have to reapply the following year, and even if she did there was no guarantee that she would get in.

She had contacted Starfleet Medical and told them about her new posting and the extenuating circumstances, and had been told to wait until a decision could be made—after all if she couldn’t attend, another nurse or corpsman or medtech could have the vacant spot. She sighed heavily and picked up the PADD she had been reviewing before she decided to play about with the EMH. It held a full list of the ship’s crew complement and their medical records.

As impressed as she was with the ship’s facilities, she was even more impressed with the fact that for such a small ship there were so many alien races onboard. There were the usual suspects that were onboard just about every ship in the fleet (humans, Bolians, Andorians, Tellarite, Vulcans), but there were also several others that were much rarer, including a Skorr, a Nasat, a Suliban, a Kobliad, and of course Commander Amorin. She would have to read up on their physiologies and anatomy before she would feel completely comfortable treating them, but the corpsmen onboard had been for a while and would help keep her right.

Luckily for Jenka, the crew’s annual physicals weren’t due for another three months, and she doubted she would still be onboard by then. However, she still wanted to read up on the more uncommon Starfleet personnel onboard the Silverfin. She looked over at Corpsman Echor, who was running checks on all the medical tricorders. The young Tellarite was unlike any Jenka had served with before, her pleasant and open demeanour would take a little getting used to.

“Corpsman, I’m going to catch up on the crews medical records in the lab if you need me.”

“Sure thing Lieutenant. I’ll comm you if anything comes up.”

Jenka headed through the ward and into the lab, where she nodded a greeting at Petty Officer Donovan, and sat down at one of the other consoles. She decided to start at the top, opened up the file on Captain Leijten and began to read.

***

Captain’s Ready Room, U.S.S. Silverfin NCC-4470
Patrol of Sector 16628, Day 1

Susanna Leijten leaned back in her chair, sipping on a cup of mint tea as she waited for her subspace commlink to go through. She found herself floating back to the day before, and the moment she and Hank had shared at the airlock; his concern for her, the peck on the cheek, and her own giddiness. The chirping from her computer terminal roused her from the memory. She looked at the screen just as the Border Service logo vanished, replaced by the face of Captain Shanei Deyz, CO of the cutter Hercules.

“Good morning Susanne,” Deyz said with a warm smile.

“Good to see you again Shanei. How are you finding the ‘big chair’?”

“Finally gotten it morphed to suit my undercarriage,” the Joined Trill said with a wink, which made her chuckle. Captain Deyz had been promoted into his current post only six months earlier, following his predecessors’ promotion to the Admiralty—a much less traumatic way than how she assumed command. “We’re eager to start flushing out the quail for you.”

“Glad to hear it. Are you in position?” she asked her counterpart, who’d just turned thirty-nine.

“We’re in the Velgor System and ready to start causing havoc.”

“Excellent. You get them stirred up and we’ll mop up.” The plan was a relatively simple and straight forward one, designed to shake up any smugglers working in the region, force them to change their routes and plans at the last minute and catch them off guard. Similar manoeuvres were being carried out all along the Federation-Talarian border. A random assortment selection of sectors were assigned a pair of cutters, one would make itself very visible, stopping and searching ships, launching probes and conducting high-intensity scans, whilst the second cutter would hang back and pounce on any ship acting suspiciously.

“Copy that Silverfin. I’m looking forward to having some fun.”

“So remind me, which Host was the loud and obnoxious one again?”

Deyz laughed loudly. “I’d say that’s a Symbiont trait and not any of the previous Hosts. We were all a bunch of mellow and happy-go-lucky people, until being Joined.”

“I’ll take your word for it Shanei. I better leave you to it then. Report in anything of interest.”

Consider it done Suzanne. Happy hunting to us all! Hercules out.” With that the image of Deyz was replaced with the Border Service logo once again.

She chuckled softly at his enthusiasm and exuberance. She’d met Deyz just after the war, when the Silverfin and the Hercules were on a joint salvage operation of one of the battlefields. She had hit if off with the then-XO, and they had stayed in touch ever since. It pleased her to see that his dedication and ability had been rewarded with the promotion, and that the fourth pip on his collar hadn’t changed him in any way.

Finishing her mint tea, and happy that everything was in order, she headed out onto the bridge to begin their part of the plan.

***
 
My first story on the Silverfin was "Lost and Found" (http://trekbbs.com/showthread.php?t=127937) which is set at the start of 2378.

I then have two Dominion War tales, both set in 2375:
"Ambush" - http://trekbbs.com/showthread.php?t=129445
"S.O.S." - http://trekbbs.com/showthread.php?t=129565

"The Ties That Bind" is the latest one and follows on from "Lost and Found".

Hope that helps,
Bry

Alrighty then, I'm caught up now. A little disconcerting to see the Cairo mystery dropped but then... was it really??

Anyways, I'm really digging this border service stuff lately, hope to see more soon!
 
Alrighty then, I'm caught up now. A little disconcerting to see the Cairo mystery dropped but then... was it really??

Anyways, I'm really digging this border service stuff lately, hope to see more soon!
I had hoped to follow up on the Cairo in the continuation of another story I wrote called "Convergence", however I'm not fond of what I started (posted here as "Strangers in a Strange Land"), so will go back and look at what I originally had in mind and how to do it another way. In the meantime it is on hiatus.

Hopefully get back to it again soon, but just having too much fun with these Border Dogs.

-Bry
 
This is just a suggestion but you could always combine your Border Dogs with 'Convergence' and your other story. I'm also surprised that they haven't been requested for updated manips of the survivors at STPMA if you plan on using them further.
 
This is just a suggestion but you could always combine your Border Dogs with 'Convergence' and your other story. I'm also surprised that they haven't been requested for updated manips of the survivors at STPMA if you plan on using them further.
"Convergence" was a way to bring back established characters I liked but that had been killed off, so then I could create a crew or two from all established character stock.

One crew was to be onboard Empok Nor (renamed to something like DS10 or something like that), whilst the second crew were to be onboard the Cairo. Then also answer a couple of loose ends from Nemesis:
1. How come Wesley was an officer even though he left the Academy to go with the Traveller?
2. Why did Worf give up on being UFP Ambassador to the Klingon Empire, to come back to a dead-end career in Starfleet?

Will give it another go once I finish with this story. The Silverfin might appear in it, or maybe just a character or two, though I may have to bring back the SCE Mothership Brunel to help solve the mystery.

We'll see what happens.

-Bry
 
This is just a suggestion but you could always combine your Border Dogs with 'Convergence' and your other story. I'm also surprised that they haven't been requested for updated manips of the survivors at STPMA if you plan on using them further.
"Convergence" was a way to bring back established characters I liked but that had been killed off, so then I could create a crew or two from all established character stock.

One crew was to be onboard Empok Nor (renamed to something like DS10 or something like that), whilst the second crew were to be onboard the Cairo. Then also answer a couple of loose ends from Nemesis:
1. How come Wesley was an officer even though he left the Academy to go with the Traveller?
2. Why did Worf give up on being UFP Ambassador to the Klingon Empire, to come back to a dead-end career in Starfleet?

Will give it another go once I finish with this story. The Silverfin might appear in it, or maybe just a character or two, though I may have to bring back the SCE Mothership Brunel to help solve the mystery.

We'll see what happens.

-Bry

I await with the patience of Yoda :)
 
Continuing to enjoy this story - nice change of pace from the intense battles the crew has faced. I like these quieter moments where we get to better know the characters, even those on temporary assignment.

I'm still intrigued with the relationship between Leijten and Hank. Interesting that an officer and non-com would be involved romantically, but I would think that's no longer taboo in the 24th century. Wondering if the flame is being rekindled or if Leijten will be disappointed. I know, I know - be patient. :lol:

Good stuff!
 
Chapter 4

Cargo Hold, Orion Registered Freighter Xeros
Sector 16628

Five hours after their mission had begun, the Silverfin had its first culprit, a bulky Orion freighter that had skittered on the edge of the sensor range and tried to mask its warp signature. They had pounced on the ship. Sensors revealed its hold had been reinforced to prevent scans, but a couple of Mark-22 torpedoes and a tractor beam later, Amorin and a full security team had beamed over.

With the crew under guard in their common room, the boarding team had begun to search the ship. It hadn’t taken them long to get into the ships hold. What they found stunned the Benzenite First Officer. The space was packed with ship-mounted disruptor arrays, torpedo launchers, full magazines of plasma and photon torpedoes, high-quality shield generators, crates of hand phasers and rifles from at least eight different planets, and enough explosives to take out a small starbase. The crew had been detained and beamed to the Silverfin’s brig, whilst the boarding team catalogued the contents of the hold.

Amorin stood on the balcony of the upper level and surveyed the mountains of weaponry. The crew would be questioned as to its origin and destination, though he doubted any of them would talk. One thing he was sure about was that the Xeros carried enough supplies to arm a small fleet. Immediately he thought of the Maquis, who were trying to rebuild and rearm themselves after the withdrawal of the Dominion and the collapse of the Cardassian Union. They could put the weapons to good use, attacking Cardassian outposts and ships, and also any Starfleet vessel that got in their way. The new Maquis had lost all the sympathy they had once held in the Federation, after they started hijacking, attacking and even destroying unarmed UFP ships.

His combadge chirped. He tapped it, surveying the hold to see who was calling him. “Amorin here.”

“Commander,” came the level monotone of Lieutenant JG Solvaar, the Silverfin’s Customs Officer, “I need to see you immediately.”

Amorin looked for the Vulcan officer but couldn’t spot him. “I don’t see you Lieutenant.”

“I am in Green Section, aft. Just past the shield emitters,” he stated. The hold was divided into five colour-coded ten-meter sections, from brown at the front where Amorin stood, through blue, orange, purple and then green. He looked further back and noticed the Vulcan step out from behind a high stack of containers.

“I see you Lieutenant. I’ll be there in a few moments. Amorin out.”

He climbed down the ladder to the lower level and headed aft. There were four security guards moving through the bay, scanning each crate and taking note of what it contained, getting a full inventory of the contraband. They were all focused on the job at hand. Amorin smirked to himself (an expression hidden by his breather mask), at the mindset Syva had instilled into those under her command.

It didn’t take him long to reach the aft section of the hold, where Solvaar had ducked back behind the containers. Amorin’s natural sonar ability allowed him to focus in on the soft sound of his tricorder, despite the dark shadows of the hold. If the gravity was lower and the atmosphere was a mixture of carbon dioxide, argon, fluorine and oxygen, it might have reminded him of home.

When he reached the Vulcan customs inspector, he was working a PADD as he studied a series of containers. “What have you got Lieutenant?”

Without saying a word, Solvaar handed the PADD to him. Amorin looked over the data, and then went back over it again. After the second reading he looked back at Solvaar. “You’re sure?”

“Yes Commander. I would not have informed you of this without being certain.”

Amorin looked back at the PADD. It listed several items on it that could be found throughout the hold: phaser generators, torpedo launch activators, fifty torpedo casings (all still loaded), shield grids, armoured hull plating. But what made these items different was that they were all Starfleet hardware.

He tapped his combadge. “Amorin to Silverfin.”

“Go ahead Amorin,” came Leijten’s prompt response.

“Captain, we have a bit of a problem here.” He quickly outlined what they had found, and he could almost hear her mood change through the commlink.

“How on Earth is that possible?” she asked, her tone irritated.

Solvaar showed him the readings from his tricorder. “Lieutenant Solvaar has identified some of the vessel identification codes from several pieces, they do not match. They appear to be from several different ships.”

“Have the Lieutenant transfer the VICs to Ops immediately. We’ll begin trying to track down their origin. I’ll also inform SCIS, it looks like we may have a breach is security somewhere in the fleet. What about the rest?”

“No other Starfleet equipment. There is a couple of Klingon disruptor cannons, Nyberrite shield emitters, Ferengi tractor beams. Everything is from numerous species across the quadrant, no way to isolate it down to one location in particular,” he informed her, looking at the crates that were stacked from almost floor to ceiling. “I take it the crew aren’t talking.”

“Not a peep. Keep on it Commander, the Saginaw will be here in a little under two hours to take the freighter and her crew to Freedom. The SCIS can pick them up from there.”

The Pamlico-Class Saginaw had been diverted from tending to buoys and navigational markers for the next week or two, whilst the Border Service was trying to crack the smuggling operations in the region. Her powerful tractor beams would allow her to haul seized ships back to port, and a couple of her cargo bays had been rigged out as makeshift prison blocks for the incarcerated crews. The set up allowed the cutters on patrol to keep working, whilst the Starfleet Criminal Investigative Service would deal with the guilty.

“Understood Captain. I’ll keep you posted on any further developments. Amorin out.” When the channel was closed he looked back at Solvaar. “Let’s get these crates open and visually inspect what’s inside. There might be some clues as to where they’ve come from.”

***

Bridge, S.S. Mirage NTL-439
En route to Argaya System, Sector 16628

A flashing panel on the operations console caught his eye. Tillg jans Grak saw it as well and tapped it. The middle aged Tellarite woman scowled at the display and then her face became ashen. Captain Jeffery Mellor felt his stomach go tight, he had sat beside Grak for the better part of twenty years and had never seen her react like that—but then again they’d all been under a lot of strain in the last month.

“What?” he asked, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the silence of the cockpit.

“There’s a lot of underground subspace chatter. It looks like the Border Service has begun cracking down on smugglers. They are scanning and seizing ships acting erratically or trying to evade them,” she told him, only looking at him when she finished.

He felt sick at the news. The Mirage was tearing through space at her top speed, her engines already showing signs of strain—and they were still thirty-six hours away from Argaya II—if that wasn’t suspicious activity for a ship that belonged in a museum and not off the main shipping lanes.

“Are we near any of them?”

“The Xeros sent out a burst message, stating that they were about to be boarded by an Albacore-Class ship. They’ve gone silent now. The message came from this sector, not that far away from us.”

“Damn!” He looked at the navigational display, which highlighted their destination and the straight course they were taking to get there. Had they more time; he would have taken one that wouldn’t have attracted attention and would have kept his speed low. But they didn’t have any choice. Not with so much at stake. “Anything we could do to mask out warp signature?”

“Not at these speeds. Everything we’ve got is going into propulsion and the SIF. We can’t risk diverting power.”

“Okay. Let’s just hope that there are bigger fish out there for them to worry about.”

Mellor could feel the stress building, mixed with the lack of sleep and worry, he was skirting on the edge of a nervous breakdown. The Mirage rattled again, harder than the previous times. Something had to give soon, either his nerves or his ship, and when one of them did then he would lose everything.

***

Engine Room, U.S.S. Silverfin NCC-4470
Patrol of Sector 16628, Day 1

The U.S.S. Saginaw had arrived on scene a few moments ago. Soon they would take the Orion freighter under tow and head back to Star Station Freedom, but before they did Elak ko’Parr th’Shaan, the Silverfin’s Andorian Chief Engineer, wanted to find out where they had stolen the Starfleet hardware from. The engineer in him hated to see that tech being wasted; if he could identify its source then it could be returned to its rightful owner. But that was easier said than done.

Every starship, runabout, shuttle and escape pod in service had its own individual vessel identification codes ingrained on every piece of equipment and component. It allowed for debris to be identified or if something went missing it could be traced. However, Starfleet had a lot of ships and shuttles and the cross check would take a while—even with computers as fast as they were.

Th’Shaan sat at one of the consoles on the upper level, where he could oversee everything that went on in engineering, whilst also having relative peace and quiet to work. Since he’d taken command of engineering three years ago, he really hadn’t needed to change much to suit his methods and style, Commander Amorin (his predecessor) had assembled a good team and they had continued to perform above all expectations.

CLANG! It was the sound of a heavy piece of equipment being dropped onto the metal deck plating.

Well, there are always exceptions, th’Shaan thought to himself and looked in the direction of the noise. It was an EPS relay box that had slammed into the deck, no doubt denting it slightly. Next to it, just as he’d expected, was Ensign Feeznar. The diminutive Girinite looked around the room sheepishly, as the rest of the engineering crew scowled at him, before getting back to their own duties. Feeznar had graduated from the Academy last year and been assigned to the Silverfin, and ever since then he had proven to be more of a hindrance than a help.

Feeznar grappled with the EPS relay box again, lifted it off the deck, wobbled uncertainly for a second, and then headed off to section nineteen where the replacement was needed. The small, rough-skinned, beady-eyed alien was stronger than he looked and could manage the heavy lifting, but he was clumsy and often quite lethargic, and didn’t like to do any mundane or routine tasks that they all had to in order to keep the Silverfin running smoothly. Th’Shaan was all for giving people a chance—after all, Amorin had taken him on as assistant chief with only two years experience onboard the Sabre-Class U.S.S. Claymore under his belt—but the Girinite engineer continued to disappoint him, and he was considering transferring him out to another assignment. The problem was; would anyone else have him?

A tour onboard a Pamlico-Class might sort out his attitude, he mused to himself. The buoy tenders were at the bottom of the Border Service hierarchy, though they did an important job, it was routine and very mundane most of the time. The experience would either give Feeznar the kick in the pants he needed, or would force him to resign.

The computer beeped and th’Shaan turned his attention back to it. He had a hit on two of the VIC numbers that the boarding party had found. One of the phaser generators and three of the phaser emitters belonged to the Miranda-Class U.S.S. Majestic NCC-31060, whilst two torpedo launchers and twelve of the photon torpedoes had come from the Akira-Class U.S.S. Aramaki NCC-62780. However next to each ships name and registry number was a brief notation: Destroyed, stardate 51226. Operation Return.

Th’Shaan uttered an old Andorian curse and tapped his combadge as he set the computer to focus on ships lost during the war. “Th’Shaan to Leijten.”

“Go ahead Lieutenant.”

“I’ve identified two ships from the VICs sir,” he said sombrely.

“I take it that it’s not good news.”

“We’re dealing with grave robbers sir. The Majestic and the Aramaki were destroyed in 2374 during Operation Return.”

“These vultures went in a cleaned the carcases of ships lost in combat,” Leijten said, more to herself than to him. Th’Shaan gave her a moment of reflection. “Good work Lieutenant. See if you can trace the rest of the tech, they might have hit more than one debris field.”

“Already on it Captain.”

“I’ll notify Starfleet. Leijten out.”

Th’Shaan turned back to his console as another name popped up on the display, then another—both lost in the war, during the mission to retake Deep Space 9. With the refined search parameters the computer would get through the list of VICs a lot quicker. Four down, only five more to go.

***

Bridge, U.S.S. Silverfin NCC-4470
Patrol of Sector 16628, Day 1

Ensign Jose Tyler the Fifth looked over the numerous monitors and readouts on the Tactical console. Currently the computer was running a routine diagnostic of the shield emitters, the ordnance crew were checking a glitch in torpedo tube one—nothing serious but it did deviate from the optimum operating guidelines—and Tyler was studying their sensor sweeps, as well as monitoring the incoming tactical data from the Hercules—that had just seized a Ferengi ship themselves.

Like the rest of the bridge crew, he had heard the report from Lieutenant th’Shaan as to the origin of the Starfleet technology. Operation Return had been almost six months before he entered the Academy, but he had read up on it during his studies just as he had done with every other major engagement in the Dominion War. He looked at the Jem’Hadar’s style and tactics, as well as absorbing every bit of information he could on the design and capabilities of their ships. He had wanted to do his duty and had hoped to get a field assignment so he could do his part, but the war had ended in late 2375 and he wasn’t even half way through his second academic year. But Tyler—like everyone else in San Francisco at the time—had been involved in the war, when the Breen attacked Earth. On campus the gymnasium had collapsed after taking severe structural damage, and Tyler had been inside the building. He had managed to survive, though he’d punctured his left lung, and dug out fourteen classmates and three instructors with his bare hands, before he himself had needed to be taken to the medical centre.

He couldn’t quite believe that someone would go through all that wreckage—a lot of which had become tombs to the crews that had served those ships—and pick them clean. What made it worse was that they had gone for the weaponry. Technology used to defend the ship and safeguard others, was available on the black market to be purchased by the highest bidder and used for who only knew what.

Feeling his irritation and anger at the situation grow, he tried to calm himself. He looked over his shoulder at Operations on the other side of the bridge, and was a little relieved that Lieutenant Commander Daezan wasn’t there to sense his feelings. Daezan’s replacement, Lieutenant Innis Kalm (which sounded similar to Callum), sat looking into the scope. The Bajoran’s face was in profile, his earring catching the light anytime he moved his head.

The night before, after they had left Star Station Freedom, the Captain had called together all the senior staff so that they might meet the two temporary officers over dinner. Tyler had followed this order, and been at the ward room for exactly 1800 hours. He still found the over-familiarity among the crew to be a little unsettling, and something he wasn’t particularly comfortable with, but he was there to meet the newcomers and so he introduced himself to Nurse Jenka. The Rigellian seemed pleasant though a little distant, but on a temporary assignment he suspected that to be quite normal. Also in the ward room was the Captain who was talking with Lieutenant Innis and Master Chief Syva, whilst Commander Amorin joined Jenka and himself.

Lieutenant’s th’Shaan and Llewellyn-Smyth came in last. When the Conn Officer saw Innis, she let out what could only be described as a squeal of excitement. They hugged and then, realising that everyone was looking at them, she explained that they had been in the same squad at the Academy.

During their meal, he had sat opposite Innis whilst Llewellyn-Smyth sat next to the Bajoran. She introduced them to one another, and when Tyler offered his hand, he was surprised the man’s firm grip. As he listened to them reminiscing and answering a few questions that the newcomer asked him, he noticed that the Bajoran kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. The look was very subtle, and had Tyler not been a keen strategist, taking in and analysing all the information that he could, he might have missed it. He had tried to shake it off and focus on the conversations that were going on around, but since he’d was aware of it, he kept noticing, and it made him a little uncomfortable for the rest of the evening.

After the Captain had dismissed them he had excused himself and returned to his quarters, where he changed and then hit the gym. All the while he couldn’t stop thinking about the Lieutenant’s odd behaviour.

He looked at the dark-haired Ops Officer, with his sharp cheekbones, slim jaw, and delicately ridged nose, for a moment longer before Innis looked up and glanced at him. He flashed an easy smile. Tyler quickly turned back to his console. There was definitely something about him that made Tyler uncomfortable, he just couldn’t quite figure out what.

***
 
The plot thickens! Truly disturbing that scavengers raided debris fields left from the major battles of the Dominion War. It makes a perverse kind of sense, though. During the war, Starfleet would only have salvaged ships worth repairing, lacking the time and personnel to retrieve all of the parts and pieces of the destroyed ships.

The obvious questions are - who were the scavengers and who are the customers? Several possibilities come to mind for both questions.

And is Tyler merely over-sensitive or is he on to something? Hmmm.
 
New Maquis? Will you visit the possibly that one of the Maquis from Voyager joined them?
 
If you are not already a member then please register an account and join in the discussion!

Sign up / Register


Back
Top