And here I was going to point out how I like this pre-TNG era. A more innocent time before the Borg and the Dominion. Not the direction you're taking with this, I suppose. Still, it's a mostly unexplored time frame in fan fic and I like the way this is kicking off.
I'm hoping it'll prove interesting in that pre-TNG way as well. It's nice to have different uniforms etc to think about Thanks for reading CeJay
Chapter Two TWO NCC-669, USS JUNG SPACEDOCK SECTOR 001 Since its inception, Starfleet had thrived on the concept of multi-mission capable vessels although with the rapid progress made in manufacturing techniques, the ethic had changed slightly. Now the idea was not so much that a single class of vessel would perform multiple disparate tasks that the fleet might require; instead, the modular concept was instigated whereby a single class of vessel could be modified in dry dock with mission specific modules. These could range from engineering upgrades to science labs and even go so far as a customized bridge module. Occasionally, some of these custom adapted vessels became so useful in their specified task that a whole new sub-class would be based upon them. So it had been with the USS Jung. She had begun life as an Oberth class science vessel when commissioned in 2331 and then, some nine years later, her science hull was removed to be replaced by an inter-changeable engineering pod eventually creating the Angueria sub-class. In her current configuration, she was tasked with the deployment and maintenance of navigation and communication relay buoys. It wasn’t the high profile type of mission that was regularly carried out by Excelsior and Ambassador Class ships of the line, but it was one that was totally essential to the continued safe operations of both Starfleet and Merchant vessels throughout the quadrant. Captain Toby ‘Jug’ Martin had served aboard the Jung for eight years now and had eschewed the notion of moving to capital ship operations. The Jung had become his personal pride and joy and its crew of 80 Starfleet Operations Officers and 30 S.C.E. Communications Specialist were a loyal and tight knit team. Although fame and glory weren’t necessarily Jung’s stock in trade, when it came to visiting exotic locations at the Federation’s extremities she was generally at the head of the queue. The need for accurate communications and navigation facilities became intensely important as the boundaries of explored space were pushed ever outwards. The latest mission orders that Martin now perused in his ready room were slightly out of the ordinary even for Jung but Martin was more than happy with that. It stops the routine becoming…well, too routine, he mused and quickly followed it up with and I really need to work on those one liners. Placing the briefing PADD on his desk, he opened a channel to the bridge. “Go ahead Captain.” “Tamsin, could you ask all section heads to report to conference lounge one at 1400 for a mission brief please?” The young Alpha Centauri born comms officer acknowledged with that oddly wistful lilt in her voice that the AC colonists seemed to have nurtured. “Aye Sir, and I have an incoming audio only transmission from Spacedock Security for you Sir, reference Commander Gomez?” Martin placed both elbows on the desktop and allowed his head to fall into his hands. Truth be told, he’d been half expecting the call despite hoping it wouldn’t arrive. “Thank you Tamsin,” he sighed, “I’ll take it in here.” “Aye Sir, connecting now.” Over the audio only channel, Martin heard the calm unperturbed ambience of the bridge switch to the sound of frantic activity and frowned. “Jung, Captain Martin speaking.” “Sir this is Commander Jaxx of Spacedock Security. I’m contacting you…” Jaxx paused and Martin heard him call in the background to somebody else on site. “Speth, I need forensics in here like yesterday. Captain Martin, sorry, it’s a bit of a mess over here. I’m contacting you with reference to Commander Juarez.” Martin had known the fiery First Officer to get into ‘situations’ while on shore leave before which is precisely why he’d half expected the call. But forensics? Putting a touch of lightness into his tone, he replied “Does this mean I have to apologise to another base commander about my First Officer’s behaviour again?” He had already spoken to Maria Juarez about the fact that she was becoming too much a feature in shore patrols clean up reports. The trouble was that it was never anything serious and it was definitely offset by the fact that she was a damned fine First Officer. He’d just reached the point where he wished she would rein in her enthusiasm in off duty hours. “I’m afraid it’s slightly more serious than that this time Sir.” Martin’s train of thought derailed at that point screeching to a standstill as it left its metaphorical tracks. More serious? “Commander Juarez has been seriously injured during an incident aboard Spacedock Sir. It’s not fatal but I need to brief you in person as soon as possible.” Martin let out the breath that had frozen in his lungs when he heard the phrase ‘seriously injured’ and immediately rose from his high backed chair to head for Spacedock. “Thanks for the heads up Commander; I’ll be with you shortly. Jung out.” Quickly making his way out on to the small bridge, he pointed at Jung’s second officer, not pausing on his way to the turbolift. “Nick, you have the conn. I have to report to Spacedock but I’ll fill you in with the full details when I have them.” “Aye Sir.” Nick Simms, the young Lieutenant Commander, entered the handover details into the ship’s log and was left wondering just what it was that had gotten the normally placid Captain quite so perturbed. * * * As soon as he stepped into the intensive care unit, Martin was shocked to see just how many machines were monitoring Juarez’s pale, prostrate form. A subtle blend of beeps, clicks and buzzes announced that Juarez was still alive although if Martin had had to judge by sight alone he wouldn’t have reached the same conclusion. As he approached the bed in the semi-darkness of the ward he was torn between wanting to hug the woman who had become his closest friend and shouting angrily at her for getting into so much trouble it required the intervention of medical science. It was then that he realised that this probably wasn’t some shore leave prank gone wrong. It was only as he got closer to the biobed that he realised there was a Starfleet officer already sat beside her, his left arm in a stasis sling and wearing the gold undershirt of Starfleet ship’s services and security. The officer stood to greet him, holding out his uninjured hand. “Captain Martin?” Martin nodded and took the proffered hand noting the subtle nose ridges that marked Jaxx as one of the few Bajoran nationals currently serving with Starfleet although he wasn’t displaying the silver ear cuff and chain that Martin had seen most devout Bajorans wearing. “Commander Jaxx, sorry to meet you under such circumstances. What happened?” Jaxx tiredly took his seat again before answering in a slightly hoarse voice. “I hate to say it Captain but Commander Juarez was simply in the wrong place at the right time.” Martin drew up a spare seat and straddled it indicating that Jaxx should continue. In the twilight shadows of the ward, Martin thought he saw a look of guilt cross Jaxx’s tired face. “We’d been observing a Vulcan trader for two days following information received from Starfleet Intelligence that identified him as an agent that had obtained classified data files from either a contact on the station or from direct hacking of the systems, we’re not sure yet.” A rather un-Vulcanlike profession mused Martin. Of course it wasn’t unheard of for a Vulcan to betray the Federation but ‘rare’ was an apt description for the likelihood. “So how did Commander Juarez get drawn into this?” he asked, gesturing to the waxlike officer on the biobed. Jaxx sighed and drew a hand across his face looking more haggard by the moment. “We were hoping the Vulcan would possibly lead us to his contact, or at least provide more leads that we could work with. As it turned out, his business aboard Spacedock was complete. We monitored and followed from a distance hoping that if we had to take him down we could avoid the more crowded sections of the station.” Jaxx paused as if reliving the events in his mind. “He ended up in one of the lower docking bays and we thought we had him until he disappeared from sight. The tailing officer moved in and was jumped. I think the only reason he wasn’t killed straight away was as insurance.” “And Commander Juarez?” prompted Martin quietly. “Hmmm?” Jaxx dragged himself back to the present. “Oh, right, sorry. The Commander here was in the docking bay when our target arrived and she witnessed him taking down our officer. I don’t know if she’s had tactical training Sir but believe me I’d be proud to have Commander Juarez at my back in a tight situation.” Martin silently seconded Jaxx’s assessment of Juarez having been in just such situations with her. He thought he saw where this story was going. “Commander Juarez took a shot at the Vulcan and wounded him in the leg but he managed to get off a return shot that wasn’t set to stun. Seeing the Commander go down, the Vulcan dragged himself over to where she’d fallen. It was fairly obvious he intended to leave no witnesses.” In his mind’s eye, Martin pictured the scene as reconstructed from security cameras. The Vulcan had loomed above her kicking her fallen phaser away and seemingly gloating over her impending demise. The assassin had underestimated Juarez’s fortitude however as she scissored her legs around his and twisted hard against the wounded leg. His aim had been thrown off by the surprise defensive manoeuvre but it was as she desperately tried to claw the weapon from his grip that it had discharged directly into her hand. That had been the moment that Jaxx and his team had arrived forcing the Vulcan to defend himself against superior numbers and also accounting for Jaxx’s wound. The Vulcan had died at the scene rather than surrender and Jaxx had immediately ordered a site-to-site transport for Juarez effectively saving her life. “Thanks for getting her to medical care so quickly Commander. I owe you one personally for that.” Martin reflected on the many times Juarez actions both in the line of duty and the pursuit of entertainment had landed her in hot water. There was no doubt that she was a woman who played as hard as she worked but he had never envisaged a situation where she would be laid low by a senseless act of violence. Jaxx shrugged off the thanks self consciously. “No thanks necessary Sir. Let’s just say it repaid the debt I owed her for letting the situation escalate to that stage.” Martin didn’t know how to respond to that without sounding unintentionally patronizing so instead he settled for shaking Jaxx’s good hand once more and watched as he left the ward. The doors didn’t have time to slide shut however before a medical officer entered and headed towards Juarez’s biobed. “Captain Martin I presume?” The doctor held out a hand that dwarfed his own making it look as if he were about to greet a mugato. In his long experience of medical staff, the majority had always seemed to have almost delicate hands, which considering their line of work wasn’t a bad thing. As his hand was engulfed by the doctor’s however, he revised his view. It was a firm, warm grip that conveyed a sense of both competence and confidence. Eventually Martin nodded in response to the query. “Doctor Anthony Winston. There’s a ‘Third’ that fits on the end of that but it always sounds like such a bloody mouthful.” The self-deprecating remark was delivered in a rich English baritone which strangely seemed to match the Doctor’s appearance. A thick wave of greying hair topped a somewhat craggy face whose prominent feature was a broken nose and although Martin wasn’t a slouch in the height department, he still found he had to look up to make eye contact with Winston. Wide shoulders and a somewhat melancholy demeanour added to the overall appearance of a slightly sad teddy bear. “Mizz Juarez is a very lucky lady Captain,” he continued, “and extremely plucky from what I hear.” Martin nodded at Winston’s assessment. “She never did know when to keep her head down,” he smiled. “What’s the prognosis Doctor?” Winston paused momentarily as he cast a professional eye across the displays on the medical arch that covered the majority of Juarez’s torso. “As it stands right now Captain, I wouldn’t expect the Commander to return to duty inside six months, and that has to be a conservative estimate.” He indicated one of the displays which displayed red circles superimposed on an outline of Juarez’s body. “Those phaser wounds caused damage to several important nerve clusters that will require time and extensive work to repair and regenerate. Then there’s the issue of her hand of course. Again there’s cellular regeneration and muscle and nerve retraining…” Winston shrugged slightly but placed a comforting hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that she will make a full recovery Captain, but it’s one that we can’t rush.” Martin managed a rueful smile and thanked Winston. “I’d appreciate all you can do for her then Doctor. It’s not going to be easy to replace somebody of Commander Juarez’s calibre.” Stepping towards the exit, Winston smiled again. “She’ll be in good hands Captain though they won’t be mine. I’m only serving here temporarily until I take my billet on the Viceroy later this week.” “In that case Doctor we’re likely to cross paths again.” Winston gave him a quizzical expression. “Really?” “Ah you’ve probably not heard yet. Viceroy will be heading out with my ship, the Jung, to the Hades Nebula at 0700 on Friday.” The big doctor twisted his face into a comical grimace at the news. “I’m guessing that by the inclusion of the term ‘nebula’ there won’t be much call for my Bermuda shorts then?” “I wouldn’t count on it Doctor, the Jung’s been known to throw some rather spectacular parties.” Winston’s face lit up as it returned to the genial expression it had worn before. “That, Captain, would be a most welcome diversion.” “Least I can do for the man who patched my First Officer back together. Speaking of which,” he continued with slightly less enthusiasm, “I’d better see what personnel is going to do about temporarily replacing her.” Winston nodded and left Martin in the muted lighting of Spacedock’s sickbay to stare somewhat helplessly at Maria Juarez. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder imparting the smallest of squeezes. “You’re still a total ass Juarez,” he whispered with a catch in his voice, “but there’ll still be a billet for you when you get through this.” Turning, he left the ward with the weight of an already disrupted mission on his shoulders and so never saw the faint smile that played across Juarez’s lips.
This was certainly interesting even though we seemed to have learned a great deal about a character who is unlikely to reappear in this story again, seeing that she's now going to be out of commission for a few months. No matter, we also learned plenty about her CO and that his small ship will join Viceroy in her upcoming adventure. Two is better than one, I'll always say.
Ah, but perhaps we NEED to know about Juarez you see? Only time will tell my friend As always, glad you're enjoying!
I've mentioned it before and I'll say it again....Sorry! Health is an issue once more having just defeated the spaceborne virus F.L.U. It's slowed down my synaptic responses, decreased joint mobility and overall made me feel like something Data screams when he sees a planet rushing towards him. However... Next chapter should be up today or tomorrow along with supporting artwork Thanks for your patience guys and girls, and thanks for your custom. I don't have the most rapid output, but I hope you're enjoying it?
I have to say, there is something appealing and graceful about the Ambassadors clear lines and hard angles. Great stuff.
Completely agree CeJay. I actually chose the Ambassador class more for the fact that it defined a period but grew to love it as I wrote! And once again, I get to use a small amount of artistic licence as we know so little about the ships involved Chapter Three arrives today
The USS Jung, an Oberth-Angueria communications tender, is mated with the main comms pod. Shortly the vessel will be departing Earth to join the USS Viceroy in exploring the Hades Nebula...
Chapter Three THREE THUMANN’S RENCOR SYSTEM SECTOR 7211 In its long and chequered career, Thumann’s had carried many names. It began, almost seventy years previously, as Thumann’s Interstellar Trading and Cargo Hub. This lasted only as long as it took Sebastian Thumann, the diminutive owner and proprietor of said establishment, to realise that the acronym spelt TITCH and subsequently sack his entire PR staff. Much to his chagrin, the appellation stuck with him personally though the multispecies station would go on to be known variously as Thumann’s Folly, Thumann’s Freeport, Thumann Station, Agrelax Holdings – during a dubious and quite likely illegal exercise in tax adjusting – and finally to everybody’s relief, simply Thumann’s. Whatever it’s somewhat shadowy history, however, Thumann’s provided a necessary service to both interplanetary and interstellar commerce. Docking and servicing operations combined with entertainment, administration and accommodation facilities in an area of space that had become a crossroads for major military and merchant routes. As a Freeport, Thumann’s owed allegiance to no government or sponsor, which is precisely the way Thumann had planned it when he began the business. All visiting vessels were welcomed equally with one single proviso; anybody damaging the station, the fragile status quo or Thumann’s personal reputation would receive a lifetime ban from the station and (unwritten of course) would probably encounter a serious accident in the very near future. Only once had this been put to the test when a particularly vile Klingon Captain by the name of Klath approached the station requesting facilities for a victory celebration. The entire crew, many of whom were half drunk on bloodwine already, had been allowed to beam across to the station. Despite the warning against bellicose behaviour – or perhaps, knowing the Klingons, because of it – Klath’s crew took one too many liberties. When ordering them to leave the station proved fruitless (and altogether too dangerous to the station itself), trickery and improvised provocation succeeded in luring the crew en masse to a docking bay allegedly containing a tribble trader with a bad attitude towards Klingons in general. When the empty bay ‘accidentally’ depressurised, the problem of Klath’s crew was solved. It was a measure of the Klingon High Council’s respect for Thumann’s ‘open arms’ policy that they demanded no reparation for the loss of Klath and his crew. Repairs to the station itself were paid for by an anonymous benefactor through several layers of financial go-betweens and the incident had become famous as the warning not to bite the hand that feeds. It was a warning that had served its purpose ever since. High in the central core of the large station, Thumann sat in his expansive office surrounded by a plethora of sensor screens that gave him views from all over the station and images of the ships docking there. He was currently in the midst of receiving the morning briefing from his chief operations manager. Thumann didn’t fit the generic image that usually went with a high profile entrepreneur. His clothes were expensive but not gaudy, any jewellery he wore was equally affluent but discrete. In fact it would have been possible to pass him in one of the station’s corridors and have no suspicion whatsoever that he was the owner of a multi-million credit business. His senior ops manager was equally well attired in an understated way and softly spoken at all times. It was known only to a select few, however, that the polite yet genial Bolian, Froll, was an acknowledged expert in much more physical aspects of his job than simple administration, skills that had gone a long way to securing him the position in the first place. “So, no issues with the Orions then?” “Absolutely not Sir,” Froll replied. “Docking fees are up to date including surcharges for extended pylon stay. Shipmaster Lerix has already provided us with extensive amounts of very valuable intelligence. It seems,” he grinned amicably with perfect white teeth, “that your decision to extend prolonged docking rights was spot on as usual.” Thumann nodded as if the statement was self evident. What he didn’t mention to Froll was that he and Lerix went back quite some time and the Orion already owed Thumann a debt of gratitude that was unlikely ever to be discharged considering its origin. Thumann didn’t overtly use the debt by way of control over Lerix because it was only one of many markers that he held. If the time ever came where he really had to call them in, Thumann’s would be an ex-business and he would be in desperate need. “Promenade business?” The outer ring that connected all four docking pylons was lined from end to end with bars, shops, gambling establishments and other entertainment venues. It was said, quite accurately, that if there was a legal form of entertainment or cuisine that the promenade couldn’t cater for then Thumann himself would authorize free docking rights for a year as well as ensuring that the missing item would quickly be added to the list of services offered. He’d never yet had to follow up on the offer. Nothing was ever mentioned about some of the more borderline legal services. “Busy and profitable,” continued Froll. “The fire in Hondray’s Holo-suites caused us one or two minor headaches but the section is now back in operation again.” Thumann ticked that one off his mental to-do list. In any spacebound business operation, fire was the most destructive and lethal emergency to deal with. Even decompression – unless catastrophic – allowed time for people to be evacuated or areas sealed off. To his credit, Thumann had ensured that the safety aspects of the station were state of the art knowing full well, of course, that he spent as much time here as the patrons did. “Security has nothing major outstanding,” continued Froll. “The usual pickpockets, holo-scams and drunken scuffles that give our little corner of the universe a roguish tinge of colour.” Thumann chuckled at that. On the whole, the station was a legal operation that abided by the majority of laws that any spacefaring community was required to do. Thumann saw that as a positive because he was making a good profit from doing so. Even so, anything that fostered an air of Casablanca style intrigue certainly didn’t harm business. Somebody had once quoted in a trade magazine that Thumann’s was not unlike Risa or Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet would be if they ever carried a concealed weapon. “Thank you Froll,” he concluded closing the report screen on his monitor. “I’d like you to keep an eye on that Ferengi Marauder out there, and particularly its owner. I have no proof that Mr Brok is conducting business that would be detrimental to Thumann’s but it certainly won’t do any harm to let him know that we’re watching him.” He paused, mentally scanning the to-do list once more. “Oh yes, remind the staff in Prime’s that we have a Yamagata vessel in today. They’re good credit.” Froll made a note of that on his PADD knowing that any Ganjitsu native – especially an employee of Yamagata industries – was indeed good credit considering the number of contracts that Yamagata put their way. Ganjitsun’s were from a colony world settled around the turn of the century who had restored the customs and traditions of Japan as it had been centuries before and practiced them offworld wherever their travels took them. Thumann’s main transient crew mess was known as Prime’s and would certainly need to be made aware of the hauler’s arrival. “If there’s nothing else then Sir, I’d better get back belowdecks.” Thumann nodded. “By all means Froll, and thank you.” Thumann was happy that Froll was aware of his place in the hierarchy on the station, but he was never anything other than polite to the loyal man who kept the wheels of the business turning for him. Froll, meanwhile, had checked in with the staff in his own office for any updates he might need to know about though he was certain had anything arisen in his absence, he would have been paged. Once he’d determined that things were running smoothly he turned his attention to the matter of Brok, the Ferengi courier, who would shortly be docking at the central core. Tapping his wrist communicator, he outlined the plans for the intentionally annoying overt observation of Mr Brok. * * * The concept of freedock at Thumann’s was an expansion of the literal meaning of the word free. In one sense, it was freedocking as the Yamagata vessel White Heron was far too large to attach to a docking pylon or enter the cavernous interior of the station itself and so sat within the protective shelter of the station’s deflector shields, free of any physical connection. This of course meant that the ship required no umbilical utility services from Thumann’s and thus was not charged a docking fee, thereby utilizing the second meaning of the word free. In the case of the White Heron, this wasn’t a major concern as Yamagata was one of the wealthiest and most successful of the Federation’s mining and haulage companies. Yamagata excelled in both primary roles and was widely perceived as one of the premier employees in those fields. Staff welfare and care were always priorities with the company encouraging employees to remain with them throughout their working lives, and such was the case with Assistant Chief Engineer Shoza Koyama. The position that Koyama held aboard the White Heron earned him both the respect and financial remuneration that a career engineer deserved and, until recently at least, had been a man happy in his work. That had changed in a split second. Because now he was heading homewards to Ganjitsu to arrange the funeral of his beloved mother and father, an act that would have broken the heart of any family man. That he was doing so in the knowledge that their deaths were the result of a senseless, drunken hit and run filled him with equal amounts agony and anger. It did little to assuage his desperate and conflicting emotions that the offworld perpetrator was in custody and awaiting trial. He felt some small measure of retribution in seeing justice served but it could never bring back his parents. All he could do was return home and bear witness to their lives, their accomplishments and the abyss that their loss had torn in his life. When he had first transported over to Thumann’s less than ten hours ago, he’d had no clear idea of why he was doing so. The majority of his crewmates would be spending their hard-earned credits on gambling or one of a dozen other forms of entertainment and relaxation but Koyama simply could not stand the glare of the bright lights on the promenade in his current state of mind. Instead, lost and very much alone, he had eventually found a quiet and secluded bar that was more than happy to provide the soul numbing effect of genuine alcohol that he desperately sought as long as he continued to supply the credits. Five hours of solid, solitary drinking had done absolutely nothing to temper the anguish or fury that burnt deep inside him. Even in the relative solitude of the darkened booth, he found the quiet chatter of the bar’s patrons beginning to intrude upon his thoughts and sour his mood even further. In fact as his alcohol intake had increased so his tolerance levels had decreased until he had eventually reached the tipping point where every overheard innocent comment or misinterpreted glance pierced the bubble of his rapidly deflating control. It was good, therefore, that he still retained enough of his senses to realize that now would be a good time to leave. Making a scene would not sit well with his employers and besides, Koyama simply wasn’t the type of man to allow his emotions to rule his actions even under such terrible circumstances. He rose unsteadily to his feet, the unaccustomed effects of the alcohol causing the room to spin around him. He clumsily grabbed the partition that separated his booth from the adjoining one and steadied himself, taking a moment to locate the exit before launching himself towards it. Despite the relatively short distance he had to cover, he found himself apologising semi-coherently to patrons as he bumped their tables or nudged their elbows. In his alcohol induced haze he mistook understanding nods for accusatory stares and his buried indignation burned incandescently. He reached the safety of the small vestibule and then staggered out into the cooler and sweeter air of a night-dimmed corridor. Selecting an arbitrary direction, he attempted to navigate homewards though in truth, he neither knew nor much cared where he might end up. It was only when he reached a complete dead end in an obscure part of the station core that he realised just how far off the beaten track he’d managed to wander. He leaned against the cool wall and blinked in confusion in the dimly lit corridor. There were no signs or direction markers in view and even if he’d been in a fit state to operate one, he couldn’t see a public terminal either. Slowly he began to retrace his steps until he reached the last branch in the corridor where he had turned. On the opposite side of the junction he spotted an open door beyond which he was sure he’d just seen the electrical discharge of equipment in use. He staggered forward and almost fell through the open hatch, catching himself just in time against a large and somewhat dilapidated cargo container. As he blinked owlishly in the half light, he saw that the rest of the room was in pretty much the same shape. He could only assume that it was one of the lesser used small docking bays that lined the core of the mighty station filled as it was with more containers, apparent spare parts and stanchions all of which cast deep shadows intermittently across the deck. In fact the bay’s one saving grace was the low sound of somebody grumbling just beyond the cargo crate that was currently supporting him. Moving forward into the bay, his only thought now was to find somebody – anybody – who could guide him back to the transporter stages. Just ahead he thought he saw movement and blearily made his way into the shadows. Despite it being an alien language, whoever was moving around was not happy causing him to momentarily reconsider asking them for directions. Retreating and finding his own way back might be a better idea unless, of course, he became lost or passed out in which case he could well miss the boarding recall and…no, he would ask for help. What he saw as he moved between shadows sobered him with the same speed as a bucket of ice cold water. On the floor ahead lay a large Deltan, the front of his uniform shirt burnt away and the skin beneath blackened and charred. If Koyama had needed further proof that the big man was dead, it was provided by the sightless eyes that stared lifelessly at the overhead. Crouching over the dead man and clutching a small dark wood box was a diminutive Ferengi, his face screwed into a feral grimace that radiated malevolence. Koyama gasped involuntarily and the Ferengi looked up in shock realising he had been discovered. To Koyama’s horror, the face of the Ferengi contorted into an evil smile as he lifted a heavy duty phaser, its muzzle pointing directly between his eyes. In a drunken panic he threw himself sideways hoping to spoil the Ferengi’s aim. It was the last act that Assistant Chief Engineer Shoza Koyama would ever voluntarily perform. * * * Froll stood silently and stared at the scene before him showing no emotion nor giving any clue to his thoughts. It had been Froll himself who had personally assigned the young Deltan officer to observe the Ferengi knowing full well that discretion wasn’t the object of the chase. But then neither was death. It had been, as Thumann had stated, the simple inconvenience of constant observation. The Deltan’s fate was inextricably linked to Froll’s decision. What he couldn’t truly fathom was had Brok been genuinely involved in something worth killing for? And if so, how had he managed to stay below the impressively tight security radar that Thumann employed? He turned his attention away from the gruesome sight and waved over the sergeant in charge of the crime scene. “Initial report please Sergeant.” The security officer gestured at the crime scene as he replied matter-of-factly. “It would seem that Constable Char may have underestimated the situation Sir. He must have been taken by surprise because he never even had a chance to call in his report.” He pointed to a darkened corner of the room. “Brok had managed to rig the security monitors in here but obviously forgot about the weapons sensors which I’m guessing meant he had no intention of using one.” Froll’s brow creased. “No Sergeant, I don’t think so. Brok doesn’t strike me as the kind of…operator who carries a weapon and then forgets to disarm the sensors.” He made several entries into his personal PADD before indicating that the sergeant should continue. “We received the first sensor report in central at 2342 hours. A team was dispatched immediately but there was a second discharge three minutes later, according to the sensors, from Constable Char’s phaser.” Froll considered the information that the sergeant had given him and tried to form a mental image of what could have led to the deaths of the two men in this room. From the timings of the shots and the final positions of the two bodies… “It would appear that Brok was caught unawares by Char engaging in some form of illegal activity. This prompted Brok to react without thinking and take a hurried first shot. If that was the case then I can only assume the Ferengi must then have been distracted because Char evidently had enough life left to take down Brok.” He looked at the still body of the Ferengi courier that lay not far from that of Constable Char. A neat and very accurate hole disfigured his face directly between his eyes disturbing a slightly shocked expression. “Appearances can of course be extremely deceptive Sergeant.” It appeared that Froll had reached his own conclusions though he didn’t share them with the Sergeant. “Get a full forensics and deep scan team in here please and contact me directly as soon as you have an update.” “Yes Sir. Erm, are we looking for anything in particular Sir?” The Bolian smiled although it was one that didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. “Oh yes Sergeant, there most certainly is. We’re looking for the truth.” Froll left the puzzled Sergeant to carry out his orders and felt some sympathy for the man. The evidence, both actual and circumstantial, pointed to the two men killing each other at the scene but Froll had spent much of his career at Thumann’s heading up the station’s security department. Something about this was just wrong and he couldn’t pin it down. The simple fact remained; although he was no longer directly involved in security, deaths had occurred on his watch and that was something he would not tolerate. Until he had the elusive truth that he sought, Froll would not rest.
I actually have a quick apology to make to all the other writers who check out my (amateurish) drivel. I often work so many bloody hours that between work and writing, I get very little chance to read THEIR work on here. I swear I'm not being ignorant, simply old, overworked, overtired and useless. So dash out RIGHT NOW and check out the other superior work on here, and tell em I sent you! Apologies fellow scribes
Ok, you're really taking this one into directions I didn't expect. Now we've got a murder mystery on our hands as well? And an odd one at that. Curious to find out how all this ties in with each other.
Unexpected directions indeed CeJay, but the conclusion of this story (still a ways off) is already planned and plotted which wil lead finally into Book III and thereby will come the gift; a brand new play area! That's all in the future though. With a dead Deltan, a dead Ferengi and an already slightly disrupted mission, the threads will soon begin to merge
Chapter Four FOUR MCKINLEY STATION EARTH GEOSTATIONARY ORBIT SECTOR 001 While not on the same scale as Utopia Planitia or 40 Eridani A, McKinley Station was equally well known. However, where the major yards were involved in large scale construction of starships McKinley was more involved with repairs and upgrades to vessels already in service. In the midst of the busy yards, the Type 6 shuttle Jupiter eased steadily towards the huge drydock at its centre. In the co-pilot’s seat, Alexia Stevens craned her neck in anticipation of catching sight of Viceroy. Six months ago, she had been battered and bruised following action at the conclusion of the Federation-Tzenkethi conflict. Viceroy had been instrumental in the signing of the peace accords before her return to Earth for repair and crew reassignment. Even after six months, the image of Viceroy’s fallen being repatriated to Earth was both clear and saddening to Stevens’ heart. She was not new to command and so could well understand the depth of emotion such loss could stir in any crew, but the effect it had had on Viceroy’s crew morale was beyond that by some degree. Strangely it had been the Command officers aboard who seem to have been hit hardest by this turn of events and, along with other crew members who felt they could no longer serve aboard the valiant ship, they had been reassigned to new postings. The after action report had revealed nothing more than combat stress and exhaustion but Stevens couldn’t shake the feeling at her core that something more was at play. Still, that was no longer her problem. Her duty now was to take this refitted ship and her largely fresh crew and forge a new relationship between the two. In its wisdom, Starfleet had foreseen the need to ease this process by allocating the Viceroy an exploratory mission. In the post-war era of attempted reconciliation, Starfleet was once again turning its attention outwards and the mission of exploration had been given a new lease of life. Stevens embraced the challenge with a passion. Exploration had been her primary reason for joining Starfleet after all. The chance to walk on the surface of planets never before visited by a human had been a lure from her childhood and an opportunity that she would not pass up. She had to date been involved in three first contact missions, each one unique and thrilling to her. The fact that she was taking a relatively untried crew out into the unknown hadn’t fazed her either. It was her belief that a new era of exploration would benefit from a fresh crew. As the Jupiter closed in on the drydock, Stevens’ eyes roamed across the powerful, stocky lines of Viceroy and she was reminded just how far starship design had advanced in the past few years The Ambassador class had been the first major ship of the line design since the Excelsior class and her subsequent variants. Even then, the class had become a stop gap until the new and much larger Galaxy class had been introduced into service ten years previously. Stevens was somewhat ambivalent about entire families living aboard starships. In her mind, at least, it complicated a captain’s decisions about how much risk he could put a ship in balanced against the civilian lives on board. Jupiter slowed at the aft end of the drydock and began a turn to port to approach Viceroy’s main shuttlebay. “Jupiter, this is Viceroy. Shuttle controls are now slaved to bay control. Confirm transfer.” The pilot beside Stevens touched a contact on the right side of her panel before acknowledging the transfer. She sat back in her seat and smiled as automatic guidance brought the shuttle in towards the slowly opening clamshell doors. Stevens couldn’t help but notice the air of fresh faced eagerness about the young woman. “I’m assuming you’re looking forward to your posting aboard Viceroy Ensign?” She found the woman’s smile infectious and her dark eyes twinkled with enthusiasm. “Yes Captain. Sorry if I sound like an Academy freshman but it’s only my second tour aboard a ship and the first was cargo hauling in-system.” She waved her hands at Viceroy’s pristine form that now filled the forward screen. This is a whole new ballgame for me.” Immediately warming to the pilot, Stevens held out her hand which the pilot took in a firm grip. “Nice to have you with us Ensign…?” “Oh, sorry Captain. Jelan, Ensign Berra Jelan.” “Well I hope the rest of the crew shares your obvious enthusiasm Mr Jelan. It looks like being an interesting ride.” Passing through the atmospheric shield that retained the shuttlebay’s atmosphere, the Jupiter rotated 180° and settled precisely on the pad nearest to the fore bulkhead. Stevens stood and thanked Jelan for the smooth journey before stepping between the seats and heading for the slowly opening rear hatch. It eventually formed a ramp which she descended. Outside, standing on either side of the bay centreline, was an honour guard consisting of eight security officers and the ship’s heads of departments, all attired in dress uniform for her arrival. Stevens took a moment to compose herself before stopping at the base of the ramp and coming smartly to attention. The two tone shrill of the bosun’s whistle greeted her and she turned to face the head of the security detail. “Permission to come aboard Lieutenant?” The security officer kept a remarkably straight face as he gave her permission to board her own ship and as she stepped to the deck the reception committee burst into applause. Stevens had the modesty to blush slightly at the welcome and took her applause gracefully. “Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Your appreciation is noted.” Stepping away from the shuttle with her entourage in tow she exited the shuttlebay and stopped outside in the ante-room. “Might be an idea to save the applause until such time as I’ve done something to deserve it though.” “How will we know when that is Captain?” The question was delivered with Vulcan aplomb from the thickset Commander standing to her right. With a shock of red hair and freckles to match, Commander Simon Taggert seemed permanently on the verge of doing something naughty and despite the fifteen years that Stevens had known him, she still felt the ludicrous need to search him for catapults and stink bombs. Mirroring the mischievous twinkle in his bright blue eyes, she replied, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you know when Commander.” Stevens turned once more to the lieutenant in charge of the security detail. “Nice turn out Lieutenant,” she acknowledged. “Thank you. Dismiss the team; I’m sure they’d appreciate the chance to get out of dress uniform.” “Thank you Captain.” There was obvious approval in his tone as he realised that Stevens wasn’t the type of officer to prolong ceremony unnecessarily. “The men will appreciate it.” Nodding, she dismissed the security party before gathering up her senior management team with a glance. “Seriously, thank you for the greeting. Now,” she continued as she led them towards the turbolift, “I’ve got the senior staff from the Jung joining us in the main conference lounge at 1500 hours so I’d like to meet with you all beforehand to clear up any outstanding issues. 1300?” There were nods and smiles all round and at that moment, for some reason that Stevens couldn’t readily identify, she suddenly felt slightly more comfortable at the thought of occupying Viceroy’s centre seat. She had of course vetted all the senior staff posts herself and had even had a hand in the choice of many others. While she had made it a clear rule in her career never to micro-manage, she had felt that this was one area where she could exert Captain’s Privilege. Stevens was no stranger to Viceroy having served aboard her before years ago as a lowly lieutenant, but she’d also spent the last two months of the ship’s time in drydock acquainting herself with the new layout and upgraded systems. One of her guilty pleasures during that time had been taking a stroll during ship’s night, uncomplicated and uncluttered by engineering staff and equipment. The only sound on her late night wanderings had been that of the air circulation system and her own footfalls against the carpeted deck. She knew it could never be the same as an earlier sea captain might have walked the decks of his new command. For instance she would never hear the comforting creaks and groans of settling bulkheads – at least not without contacting engineering in a hurry. She did like to imagine, however, that she could hear the soul of the ship breathing gently, its recently tested warp core thrumming like the beat of a giant heart many decks below. Having made her way into officer’s country, she palmed the access plate by the door of her quarters. It had by now taken on the familiar feeling of home with souvenirs and mementoes gathered from around the quadrant during her Starfleet career placed discretely on shelves and walls. On one shelf, sealed in a cube of plexiglass, sat an innocuous looking rock. It would have had no intrinsic value to anybody but Stevens because this small charred meteor had almost ended her life at the Academy. A small, open wooden case sat beside the cube displaying the medal she had been awarded for her actions during the incident that day. No more medals though, she prayed silently. The memory that people had still died despite her best efforts was one that would never leave her. On the wall that separated her living area from her bedroom hung some of her more precious belongings. From holos of friends and colleagues to citations and plaques from previous postings. It was a wall whose memories she hoped to be adding to for some years yet. Breathing in deeply, she unfastened the collar and top of the new uniform that she had been issued. Gone were the maroon jackets and colour coded undershirts of previous years to be replaced by an all in one duty uniform or the thigh length tunic of the dress uniform she wore now. They were definitely more practical and in most cases more comfortable. If only they weren’t so damned form fitting she thought. At a tad over five feet tall, Stevens was both physically fit and trim but still retained the centuries old fear of parts of her anatomy appearing larger than they should in anything close to tight. Chiding herself for her paranoia, she sat down at the corner desk in her quarters and began to work on supply requests and duty rosters to fill the time before her scheduled meeting with her heads of departments.
Chapter Four (cont) She arrived at the conference lounge ten minutes early, pleased to see that all of the department heads had arrived before her and were being served beverages by a young yeoman. She also couldn’t help but notice that he was obviously finding the new uniform slightly difficult to adjust to as well if his movements were any clue to his discomfort. “Please,” said Stevens as they began to rise, “stay seated ladies and gentlemen. Protocol when necessary but right now I’d like to get the meeting underway.” The officers returned to their seats placing their drinks of choice on the coasters before them as the yeoman withdrew to the bridge. “Now, I’m sure you’ve all been introduced but just in case anybody’s been missed out, I’ll take a tour round the table and get a department review at the same time.” She indicated the tall, broad set figure in teal sat to her left. “Doctor, the stage is yours.” “Thank you Captain. Lieutenant Commander Anthony Winston III, though I usually advise people to forget the numerical disclaimer.” Nods and smiles were exchanged amongst the gathered officers. “Previously served aboard the Wellington and the Camberwick as well as a spell at Starfleet Medical, I’ll be the one chasing you up on your medicals every six months though I’m sure I can rely on you all to set a good example to your staff.” Stevens was amused to note that there were one or two uncomfortable looks around the table but was happy that Winston had made the point early that leading by example was a good thing. “How’s sick bay Doctor?” “Very much improved and enhanced by that new starship smell thank you Captain. The staff are all aboard and no issues with equipment. One thing I did notice is that we have a Callasian crew member shipping out with us and we don’t have the correct supply of medication for their skin.” “Will that be an issue Doctor?” Stevens had read up on the reclusive race when she saw that a member of the Callasian race would be aboard. One of the things she recalled from the Starfleet brief was the requirement for a full skin purge every five to six weeks, a procedure that only lasted a day but required specific medicinal aid. “I’ve already chased it up with Starfleet Medical Captain. Supplies should be with us before we cast off.” Stevens mentally ticked off Medical on her list and moved on to the striking blonde woman sitting to Winston’s left. “Lieutenant Commander Victoria Cameron, Chief of Security.” Tall, almost Amazon in appearance, her ice blue eyes nevertheless conveyed an air of warmth and it was obvious that her full lips were used to smiling. “Just transferred in from Embassy security on Andor and previously served aboard the Wyomingand Redbrook.” She turned her gaze back to Stevens and continued her report. “Security reports staffed and ready for departure Captain. Weapons checks are complete and I’d like to request security drills at least twice a week that involve the crew please Captain.” Stevens was impressed though not surprised. Cameron had been a difficult officer to secure for the ship, her popularity making her a much sought after security chief. Her record, with the exception of one blemish far back in her career, was impeccable and Stevens was fortunate to have persuaded her aboard. “Is that annoying glitch in brig three sorted Commander?” Cameron nodded with a smile of respect that her Captain was obviously on top of things. “Yes, thank you Captain. Apparently the short was behind the fresher panel.” “Nice. Well if it’s fixed I’m happy. Let’s hope we don’t have to use it.” “The fresher or the brig Captain?” Stevens chuckled and moved along before the humour was reduced to toilet level jokes. To the left of Cameron sat a typically stoic Vulcan, although Stevens knew otherwise. He was certainly Vulcan from his gracefully pointed ears and upswept eyebrows to his apparent dearth of a sense of humour, but she had served with him before. “Lieutenant Commander Sevrak, Chief of Engineering.” His speech was surprisingly lilting for a Vulcan despite its basso quality. “The ship is ready to depart drydock from a purely engineering standpoint Captain. All systems are currently operational within 0.7% tolerances.” A frown descended over Stevens face at that statement. “0.7% tolerances Mr Sevrak? That’s somewhat disappointing.” She noticed that several discrete looks of consternation were exchanged around the table at her comment. To have a vessel operate at those tolerances would be the dream of most captains making Stevens’ disappointment strangely out of place. “Might I remind the Captain,” replied Sevrak evenly, “that for the past six months this fine ship has been infested by” – and now his face screwed up in distaste – “starbase engineers.” Stevens quickly covered the emerging smile on her face with her hand. “I can assure you that once we are clear of their clumsy clutches the ship will be in much safer hands Captain.” “Excellent Mr Sevrak, in which case I withdraw my previous comment. I was just a little concerned that you might be losing your touch.” One eyebrow slowly elevated on the saturnine face and Stevens wondered whether the others sat at the table would catch the twinkle of suppressed amusement in his eyes. It did little to shore up her crumbling composure. “With respect Captain, even were I to suffer an unfortunate engineering catastrophe that left me lobotomized and bereft of one arm, I would still be listed in the top five of Starfleet’s engineers.” And finally Stevens broke as, with a belly laugh, she replied, “That you would Mr Sevrak. Welcome aboard.” It was only now that she turned to the others and explained that she and Sevrak had served together before “under somewhat stressful and unusual circumstances.” She left it at that although it was obvious that there was a tale to be told at some point concerning their previous service. Stevens finally introduced the last department head at the table, Lieutenant Commander Chandra Narasimha, who was the head of Sciences aboard Viceroy. “It is a pleasure to be here Captain, doubly so considering our destination. If I may?” He gestured to the wall mounted screen on the starboard bulkhead and Stevens indicated that he may continue. He touched the LCARS interface and an image appeared that would become very familiar to them all over the course of their mission. Painted in fiery colours that ran from the deepest red to a yellow that was almost white was an image of the Hades Nebula. From a distance it resembled a Hadran flame flower in full bloom. It was clear from the first moment that the image appeared that Narasimha was excited about their mission almost bouncing from foot to foot as he continued. “This, as I’m sure you are all aware, is the Hades Nebula. Until now, due to the distractions of conflict and the nebula’s distance from standard subspace routes, it has remained unexplored if not unobserved.” Although Stevens had seen all of these images before, she still felt entranced by the shifting, wavering colours that made it appear as if the whole nebula was aflame from within. Hades is quite the appropriate name for it she mused. “At present, the scientific community has no explanation for how this nebula formed nor how it is being sustained. The discovery of answers to these questions will be our primary goal on this mission.” Narasimha paused momentarily as if to catch his breath. “You must forgive me Captain, ladies and gentlemen. This will obviously be covered in the main mission brief later.” He blushed slightly at the attention he had drawn to himself and smiled somewhat self-consciously. “As you can no doubt tell the prospect of unravelling a cosmic mystery that has stymied my peers for so long is a somewhat exciting one.” Retaking his seat at the table, he concluded with a slightly more subdued “The science departments are ready for departure Captain.” Stevens stood and walked slowly towards the viewer in silence. At last, she turned and faced the assembled officers. “There it is ladies and gentlemen, our very first mission. Starfleet deemed it in our best interests to begin this lady’s career gently and give us all a chance to ease into our respective posts.” She smiled and in her eyes shone the excitement of a true explorer. “Let’s use the opportunity to show what we can do wisely.” “Captain?” Stevens looked at her first officer who had remained silent throughout the introductory session. “Ah yes. It would have been slightly remiss of me to not introduce our second in command, Commander Simon Taggert, although I get the feeling he’ll be well known to you already?” Taggert rolled his eyes in amusement. “We are acquainted Captain and the fact that I so easily slipped from your mind is…understandable.” Taggert stood to join her with a covered, rectangular object underneath his arm. “This, however, would have been unforgivable if forgotten.” He handed her the covered package and she exchanged a puzzled glance with him. “Starfleet have authorised a new dedication plaque Captain. After the refit and redesignation of the ship, they agreed that it would sit nicely besides the original.” She gingerly lifted the cloth and revealed a beautiful bronze plaque detailing the ships name, registry and yard of refit. Below that were listed all the relevant names of those involved in the project from Starfleet HQ down to the Yard Chief, and finally, at the bottom, ran two lines of verse; The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way: But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labour lies. [RIGHT][RIGHT] Virgil (70 BCE - 19 BCE) [/RIGHT] [/RIGHT] “Authorised specifically by Admiral Stockard, Captain.” Stevens was touched and pondered Virgil’s words from the Latin epic poem The Aeneid. With their destination being the Hades Nebula, she wondered just how much coincidence there was in this choice of verse and decided, knowing Stockard, that there was none. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I think with the exception of the mission brief, Viceroy is ready to fly. I’d like to thank all of you for accepting my request for your services because it’s going to make my job so much easier. Dismissed.” Filing out of the briefing room, the officers dispersed to their allotted departments and Taggert was the last to leave. “Congratulations Captain. I’d best take that before you drop it. Very bad omen that would be.” “Thanks Simon. And despite your antics, I’m especially glad to have you here too.” “Wouldn’t be anywhere else Captain.” He smiled and headed for the door stopping just outside of its sensor range. “Strange…” “What is?” “I never thought I’d feel quite so excited about flying through Hell’s Gates.” He stepped through the doors leaving Stevens to observe the continuous activity of McKinley Station through the wide observation port. Me neither Simon. Me neither.
I liked the little details here, like the inspiring dedication plaque and the old spandex uniform jumpsuits. If I remember right they looked pretty good on the ladies. God forbid you're but an ounce overweight though. Worse case scenario, you can always wear the mini-dress or skant for the fellas. Gotta have the legs though. And about the wallpaper ... way cool.