Bluefin - Retro: "Here There Be Dragons"
Author’s Note: Re-imagining Star Trek, particularly The Original Series, is a hobby in itself. (Some would call it blasphemy!) A lot of bandwith on the internet has been burned discussing J.J. Abram’s version and there are several websites devoted to a re-imagined version of Kirk’s Enterprise.
I thought it would be fun to do the same for the captain and crew of the USS Bluefin. I’ve tweaked the story a bit, giving it a more “retro” feel. Even the cutter herself has been re-imagined (Think Gerry Anderson’s Stingray from the 1960’s. Yes, I know it was a submarine, but as a kid I always thought it looked more like a spaceship.) If you’ve read my other Bluefin tales, you’ll quickly pick up on both the similarities and the differences. This is not the Star Trek universe as has been portrayed in the United Trek stories. There are “Vulcanians” and the “Klingonese” and warp drive is replaced by the “Spin-drive,” subspace is replaced with null-space and other technologies and social moiré’s differ. It is NOT a politically correct ST universe. By the way, no Tellarites here (sorry!) Gralt is now a human CPO from Brooklyn. But he’s still all Gralt!
So read it if you care to. I thought I’d give you guys a chance to lob some over-ripe fruit and vegetables. That’s okay, though, this is a tough crew – no tears or introspection here! And no, I’m not replacing the Bluefin tales of the United Trek universe and time-line. This one’s just for fun!
Chapter One
22 October 2376
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Star Cutter Bluefin SGC 58
Captain Joseph Barabbas Akinola leaned against the rail of the gangway leading to his cutter, the Bluefin, and surveyed the massive internal docking bay of Echo station through a cloud of blue pipe smoke. He nudged the brim of his hat, tipping back the white officer’s lid (with the crown stiffener removed for a “crushed” look) and smiled as he regarded the approaching Chief of the Boat, Senior Chief Solly Brin. Brin was wearing a heavy pea-coat in the chilly atmosphere of the docking bay and muttering Orion curses to himself.
Akinola removed the pipe from his mouth, “What’s wrong, Boats?”
Chief Brin stopped and cocked an eye at Akinola. “Quartermasters!” he said, with obvious disgust. He removed his khaki chief’s hat and wiped the dark, red skin of his shaved skull. “This is a frakkin’ Star Guard base! You’d think the frakkin’ quartermaster would keep frakkin’ spare parts on hand for the frakkin’ cutters!” He put his hat on and produced a large, black cigar from his pea-coat. He rummaged around in the coat pockets and produced a silver lighter with the Star Guard insignia. Biting the end off the stogie, he applied flame until he was able to produce copious amounts of noxious smoke.
Akinola winced, “Gods, Solly, where did you get that cigar?”
“Ferengi trader. Hand-rolled, premium aged tobacco from the swamp-moon of Ferrangar,” he said, puffing contentedly.
“It smells like a swamp,” observed Akinola.
Chief Brin grinned around the cigar, showing his long, golden fangs. It always gave Akinola the creeps when Brin did that. He decided to get back to the original subject.
“So what was the problem with the quartermaster?” Akinola asked.
Brin’s grin faded. He snorted. “The usual. Some desk-bound paper-pusher is running the QM. Back when Commander Bristol was running it, we never had problems. Now we have to fill out forms to request other forms to be signed, sealed and shredded. All that for spare data-com screens, pressure seals, and flange clasps.”
Akinola nodded. “You got them, of course?”
Brin raised his eyebrows in mock indignation. “Hey! Skipper! It’s me! Of course I got them, plus a new coil for the reefer unit in the galley.”
“Did you have to hurt anyone?”
“Nah!” A pause and a thoughtful look. “Well, not too much. The kid in the warehouse will either get off of that hook or wiggle out of his pants before too long. He’s got a good set of lungs, I’ll give him that!” Brin rubbed his pinky into his ear for emphasis.
Akinola pulled a pocket knife out and scraped the now-cold tobacco leavings from his pipe into a waste bin. “Alright, you old pirate. Get on board before you get us all arrested.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. Say, why are you standing watch, skipper?”
“Just wanted some fresh air, Boats.”
Brin frowned in puzzlement. “But isn’t the air on the ship the same as the air on the station?”
“Let me enjoy my illusion, chief.”
* * *
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Office of Admiral Morgan Bateson, Cutter Group 7 Commander
Rear Admiral (lower-half) Morgan Bateson looked at the young officer standing before him with a mix of amusement and irritation. He was having a hard time believing that the young, petite and very pretty young woman standing at parade ground perfect attention was a full lieutenant, despite the shiny railroad tracks on her collar. His amusement was tempered, however, by the orders she had presented to him.
“Have a seat Lieutenant Strauss,” he said as he glanced again at the file jacket of orders. “You’ll have to forgive me, but these orders are somewhat unusual.”
Inga Strauss sat stiffly in the proffered seat, obviously ill at ease under the admiral’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry, sir. I realize this is irregular, but Vice-Admiral Phan’s orders are quite clear. It is imperative that the instrument package in my care is delivered to these coordinates within the next two weeks. More than that, I am not at liberty to say.”
Bateson frowned. Admiral Tran Phan oversaw the scientific research arm of the Star Guard. The Federal Navy no longer conducted scientific missions. Phan was brilliant but also a bit eccentric and had a reputation for tilting at windmills.
“Your orders are clear in that regard, Lieutenant. What I don’t understand is why you need one of my cutters. Why not use one of your fancy research vessels?”
“Sir, none of our dedicated research ships are available at the moment.”
“None available? Bateson asked, skeptically, “What about the Endurance?
Strauss looked like she wanted to squirm in her chair. She cleared her throat. “The Endurance is, ah, missing, sir.”
“MISSING?” Bateson roared, “A 65 thousand ton ship with over 200 officers and crew? Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”
This time, Strauss did squirm in her chair. “She was on a classified mission.” She paused, took a deep breath, then continued, “The same mission that I have, sir.”
Admiral Bateson became very quiet as he stared at the young officer. Strauss felt a trickle of perspiration down her neck. When Bateson spoke again, it was in a quiet, dangerous tone.
“Lieutenant Strauss, before I task one of my cutters to your mission, you are going to tell me exactly what this mission entails, is that understood?”
* * *
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Star Cutter Bluefin SGC 58
Lt. Commander Dale McBride, Executive Officer of the Bluefin, reflexively ducked as he entered the tight bridge of the cutter. At 6 feet 3 inches, his head was uncomfortably close to the overhead ductwork, instruments and panic bars hanging from the overhead. He made his way to the Operations station which was manned by Lieutenant T’Ser, a Vulcanian who had been raised on Earth. McBride, normally easy-going and self-assured, often felt awkward and shy around the exotic and quite beautiful woman. He paused for a moment to take in her olive complexion, her long, dark hair, and her graceful, upswept ears.
Sensing McBride’s presence, T’Ser turned toward him with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile. She nodded her head slightly. “Commander,” she said in greeting.
McBride felt like a schoolboy caught in some infraction. “Lieutenant,” he responded. “What’s our status?”
She turned to him and recited easily from memory, “Ship’s internal systems are off-line and we remain on station power. Fuel loading was completed at 0948 hours. We are still in process of on-loading ship’s stores and weapons. Crewman Palendar slipped on a ladder and fractured his right wrist. Dr. Baxter is seeing to him. The captain has left the ship to meet with Admiral Bateson and Lt. Bane has the watch.”
McBride frowned. “The old man’s meeting the admiral? I wonder what that’s about?”
* * *
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Office of Admiral Morgan Bateson, Cutter Group 7 Commander
I wonder what this is all about? thought Akinola as he entered the anteroom to Admiral Bateson’s office. An aide-de-camp with a gold and blue shoulder cord stood as Akinola entered.
“Captain Akinola, you may go right in.”
“Thanks!” he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. Surely he couldn’t know about Chief Brin’s little “procurement” methods, could he? He tucked his hat under his arm and opened the door to the admiral’s office.
Bateson, a large, barrel-chested man with thinning chestnut hair stood from behind his desk and held out his hand in greeting. A blonde-haired woman in dark blue uniform also stood.
“Captain Akinola, thank you for coming on such short notice. Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Inga Strauss.”
Akinola turned from the admiral and was surprised to see that the young woman wore lieutenant’s bars. He had figured her for an ensign or jay-gee when he first entered the office. He shook her hand and was surprised by the firmness of her grip.
“Have a seat Captain, Lieutenant,” instructed Bateson as he settled back into his own chair. He steepled his fingers and regarded the two officers with a frown. “Joseph, it seems you are about to get a new officer, at least temporarily.”
“Sir?” Akinola was puzzled.
Bateson tossed the red file jacket across the desk toward Akinola. “You’ve got new orders. You depart within 24 hours headed toward the Molari system to deploy a special scientific instrument package, along with other tasks outlined there. Lieutenant Strauss, here, will serve as mission specialist and oversee the payload and deployment.”
Akinola frowned. “Sir, the Molari system is right on the border of Klingonese space. They may not take too kindly to our nosing around there. Besides, the Bluefin isn’t well suited for scientific missions – we don’t have any labs and precious little extra space for instrument packages.”
Bateson clasped his large hands together and leaned on the desk. “I’m well aware of that, Captain. For the record, I don’t like it either. But you have your orders and I expect you to carry them out to the best of your ability. And while you’re out there, you’ll keep an eye out for the Endurance. Apparently she’s gone missing. . .” He gave a meaningful look in Strauss’ direction. “while on the same mission you’ll be undertaking.”
Akinola turned to face the young woman. “What is of such great interest in the Molari system, Lieutenant? Besides the Badlands, a bunch of asteroids and a couple of mining colonies, I mean.”
“The package we will deploy will help detect ion storms before they can form. If the experiment is a success, it will lead us to develop more effective early warning systems for marker buoys and starships. The Molari Badlands, as you know, are notorious for its dangerous ionic activity,” said Strauss.
Akinola thought the speech sounded a bit too canned and rehearsed, but he refrained from comment. “Okay, Lieutenant. Admiral? If that’s all, I’d like to finish up the re-supply and get the lieutenant’s gizmo on board.”
“Just one more thing, Captain. Tell Chief Brin that hanging a crewman up by his belt-loops is unacceptable behavior for a senior NCO, regardless of the inefficiency and general mule-headedness of the quarter master’s office. If it happens again, I’ll reassign Brin to a remote refueling station.”
“I’ll . . . pass that along, sir.”
“Good. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”
* * *
Lt. Strauss hurried to keep up with the much taller captain. He had a long stride and tended to cover ground quickly. Akinola glanced back at the young officer.
“So, Mr. Strauss, what ship are you coming from?”
“Actually, sir, I was stationed at the Klaamat IV Stellar Meteorology Station,” she said.
“What ships have you served on, then?”
“Well . . . I did my cadet cruise on the Eagle.”
Akinola stopped and turned, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. He reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out his well-worn pipe. “Lieutenant,” he said, pausing to light his pipe and exuding billowing clouds of fragrant smoke, “do you mean to tell me that you have no shipboard experience?”
“I made A’s in all of my classes at the academy in navigation, operations and propulsion systems,” she said, proudly.
“Uh-huh,” said Akinola as he re-lit his recalcitrant pipe. “That’s nice, Lieutenant, but the Bluefin is a working cutter, understand?” He gestured at her with the stem of his pipe. “Let me make this clear – under no circumstances are you to interfere with any of my officers or crew as they carry out their duties. You are a passenger on this little trip to the Badlands, and you will be a passenger once you’ve launched your little gizmos. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly!” she said, stiffly.
Akinola turned and resumed walking. Momentarily, they passed a large Asteroid-breaker and the Bluefin came into view.
Strauss liked what she saw. The ship was a Stingray-class fast cutter, 120 feet in length. It had lines typical for star cutters – a long, tapered hull with a secondary dorsal hull and raised bridge area. Two dorsal fins stood out at angles. Strauss guessed (correctly) that they were shield generators. Two small wings angled downward near the bow, but their function eluded her. Twin ion-mass engines were faired in low along the port and starboard ventral hull while the “Spin-drive” was housed at the stern for jumps into Null-space where the speed of light could be exceeded. She noted twin torpedo tubes near the bow and a single phase cannon mount topside. The ship was painted a gleaming white with diagonal lines of blue and red near the bow. The ship’s number – 58, and name, Bluefin, were painted proudly along the hull below the bridge.
“What a beautiful ship!” Strauss exclaimed.
Akinola turned, eyebrow askance, but he recognized the sincerity in her voice. He chuckled. “That she is, Mr. Strauss, that she is.”
* * *
Author’s Note: Re-imagining Star Trek, particularly The Original Series, is a hobby in itself. (Some would call it blasphemy!) A lot of bandwith on the internet has been burned discussing J.J. Abram’s version and there are several websites devoted to a re-imagined version of Kirk’s Enterprise.
I thought it would be fun to do the same for the captain and crew of the USS Bluefin. I’ve tweaked the story a bit, giving it a more “retro” feel. Even the cutter herself has been re-imagined (Think Gerry Anderson’s Stingray from the 1960’s. Yes, I know it was a submarine, but as a kid I always thought it looked more like a spaceship.) If you’ve read my other Bluefin tales, you’ll quickly pick up on both the similarities and the differences. This is not the Star Trek universe as has been portrayed in the United Trek stories. There are “Vulcanians” and the “Klingonese” and warp drive is replaced by the “Spin-drive,” subspace is replaced with null-space and other technologies and social moiré’s differ. It is NOT a politically correct ST universe. By the way, no Tellarites here (sorry!) Gralt is now a human CPO from Brooklyn. But he’s still all Gralt!
So read it if you care to. I thought I’d give you guys a chance to lob some over-ripe fruit and vegetables. That’s okay, though, this is a tough crew – no tears or introspection here! And no, I’m not replacing the Bluefin tales of the United Trek universe and time-line. This one’s just for fun!
Chapter One
22 October 2376
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Star Cutter Bluefin SGC 58
Captain Joseph Barabbas Akinola leaned against the rail of the gangway leading to his cutter, the Bluefin, and surveyed the massive internal docking bay of Echo station through a cloud of blue pipe smoke. He nudged the brim of his hat, tipping back the white officer’s lid (with the crown stiffener removed for a “crushed” look) and smiled as he regarded the approaching Chief of the Boat, Senior Chief Solly Brin. Brin was wearing a heavy pea-coat in the chilly atmosphere of the docking bay and muttering Orion curses to himself.
Akinola removed the pipe from his mouth, “What’s wrong, Boats?”
Chief Brin stopped and cocked an eye at Akinola. “Quartermasters!” he said, with obvious disgust. He removed his khaki chief’s hat and wiped the dark, red skin of his shaved skull. “This is a frakkin’ Star Guard base! You’d think the frakkin’ quartermaster would keep frakkin’ spare parts on hand for the frakkin’ cutters!” He put his hat on and produced a large, black cigar from his pea-coat. He rummaged around in the coat pockets and produced a silver lighter with the Star Guard insignia. Biting the end off the stogie, he applied flame until he was able to produce copious amounts of noxious smoke.
Akinola winced, “Gods, Solly, where did you get that cigar?”
“Ferengi trader. Hand-rolled, premium aged tobacco from the swamp-moon of Ferrangar,” he said, puffing contentedly.
“It smells like a swamp,” observed Akinola.
Chief Brin grinned around the cigar, showing his long, golden fangs. It always gave Akinola the creeps when Brin did that. He decided to get back to the original subject.
“So what was the problem with the quartermaster?” Akinola asked.
Brin’s grin faded. He snorted. “The usual. Some desk-bound paper-pusher is running the QM. Back when Commander Bristol was running it, we never had problems. Now we have to fill out forms to request other forms to be signed, sealed and shredded. All that for spare data-com screens, pressure seals, and flange clasps.”
Akinola nodded. “You got them, of course?”
Brin raised his eyebrows in mock indignation. “Hey! Skipper! It’s me! Of course I got them, plus a new coil for the reefer unit in the galley.”
“Did you have to hurt anyone?”
“Nah!” A pause and a thoughtful look. “Well, not too much. The kid in the warehouse will either get off of that hook or wiggle out of his pants before too long. He’s got a good set of lungs, I’ll give him that!” Brin rubbed his pinky into his ear for emphasis.
Akinola pulled a pocket knife out and scraped the now-cold tobacco leavings from his pipe into a waste bin. “Alright, you old pirate. Get on board before you get us all arrested.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. Say, why are you standing watch, skipper?”
“Just wanted some fresh air, Boats.”
Brin frowned in puzzlement. “But isn’t the air on the ship the same as the air on the station?”
“Let me enjoy my illusion, chief.”
* * *
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Office of Admiral Morgan Bateson, Cutter Group 7 Commander
Rear Admiral (lower-half) Morgan Bateson looked at the young officer standing before him with a mix of amusement and irritation. He was having a hard time believing that the young, petite and very pretty young woman standing at parade ground perfect attention was a full lieutenant, despite the shiny railroad tracks on her collar. His amusement was tempered, however, by the orders she had presented to him.
“Have a seat Lieutenant Strauss,” he said as he glanced again at the file jacket of orders. “You’ll have to forgive me, but these orders are somewhat unusual.”
Inga Strauss sat stiffly in the proffered seat, obviously ill at ease under the admiral’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry, sir. I realize this is irregular, but Vice-Admiral Phan’s orders are quite clear. It is imperative that the instrument package in my care is delivered to these coordinates within the next two weeks. More than that, I am not at liberty to say.”
Bateson frowned. Admiral Tran Phan oversaw the scientific research arm of the Star Guard. The Federal Navy no longer conducted scientific missions. Phan was brilliant but also a bit eccentric and had a reputation for tilting at windmills.
“Your orders are clear in that regard, Lieutenant. What I don’t understand is why you need one of my cutters. Why not use one of your fancy research vessels?”
“Sir, none of our dedicated research ships are available at the moment.”
“None available? Bateson asked, skeptically, “What about the Endurance?
Strauss looked like she wanted to squirm in her chair. She cleared her throat. “The Endurance is, ah, missing, sir.”
“MISSING?” Bateson roared, “A 65 thousand ton ship with over 200 officers and crew? Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”
This time, Strauss did squirm in her chair. “She was on a classified mission.” She paused, took a deep breath, then continued, “The same mission that I have, sir.”
Admiral Bateson became very quiet as he stared at the young officer. Strauss felt a trickle of perspiration down her neck. When Bateson spoke again, it was in a quiet, dangerous tone.
“Lieutenant Strauss, before I task one of my cutters to your mission, you are going to tell me exactly what this mission entails, is that understood?”
* * *
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Star Cutter Bluefin SGC 58
Lt. Commander Dale McBride, Executive Officer of the Bluefin, reflexively ducked as he entered the tight bridge of the cutter. At 6 feet 3 inches, his head was uncomfortably close to the overhead ductwork, instruments and panic bars hanging from the overhead. He made his way to the Operations station which was manned by Lieutenant T’Ser, a Vulcanian who had been raised on Earth. McBride, normally easy-going and self-assured, often felt awkward and shy around the exotic and quite beautiful woman. He paused for a moment to take in her olive complexion, her long, dark hair, and her graceful, upswept ears.
Sensing McBride’s presence, T’Ser turned toward him with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile. She nodded her head slightly. “Commander,” she said in greeting.
McBride felt like a schoolboy caught in some infraction. “Lieutenant,” he responded. “What’s our status?”
She turned to him and recited easily from memory, “Ship’s internal systems are off-line and we remain on station power. Fuel loading was completed at 0948 hours. We are still in process of on-loading ship’s stores and weapons. Crewman Palendar slipped on a ladder and fractured his right wrist. Dr. Baxter is seeing to him. The captain has left the ship to meet with Admiral Bateson and Lt. Bane has the watch.”
McBride frowned. “The old man’s meeting the admiral? I wonder what that’s about?”
* * *
United Federation Star Guard Base – Echo Station
Office of Admiral Morgan Bateson, Cutter Group 7 Commander
I wonder what this is all about? thought Akinola as he entered the anteroom to Admiral Bateson’s office. An aide-de-camp with a gold and blue shoulder cord stood as Akinola entered.
“Captain Akinola, you may go right in.”
“Thanks!” he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. Surely he couldn’t know about Chief Brin’s little “procurement” methods, could he? He tucked his hat under his arm and opened the door to the admiral’s office.
Bateson, a large, barrel-chested man with thinning chestnut hair stood from behind his desk and held out his hand in greeting. A blonde-haired woman in dark blue uniform also stood.
“Captain Akinola, thank you for coming on such short notice. Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Inga Strauss.”
Akinola turned from the admiral and was surprised to see that the young woman wore lieutenant’s bars. He had figured her for an ensign or jay-gee when he first entered the office. He shook her hand and was surprised by the firmness of her grip.
“Have a seat Captain, Lieutenant,” instructed Bateson as he settled back into his own chair. He steepled his fingers and regarded the two officers with a frown. “Joseph, it seems you are about to get a new officer, at least temporarily.”
“Sir?” Akinola was puzzled.
Bateson tossed the red file jacket across the desk toward Akinola. “You’ve got new orders. You depart within 24 hours headed toward the Molari system to deploy a special scientific instrument package, along with other tasks outlined there. Lieutenant Strauss, here, will serve as mission specialist and oversee the payload and deployment.”
Akinola frowned. “Sir, the Molari system is right on the border of Klingonese space. They may not take too kindly to our nosing around there. Besides, the Bluefin isn’t well suited for scientific missions – we don’t have any labs and precious little extra space for instrument packages.”
Bateson clasped his large hands together and leaned on the desk. “I’m well aware of that, Captain. For the record, I don’t like it either. But you have your orders and I expect you to carry them out to the best of your ability. And while you’re out there, you’ll keep an eye out for the Endurance. Apparently she’s gone missing. . .” He gave a meaningful look in Strauss’ direction. “while on the same mission you’ll be undertaking.”
Akinola turned to face the young woman. “What is of such great interest in the Molari system, Lieutenant? Besides the Badlands, a bunch of asteroids and a couple of mining colonies, I mean.”
“The package we will deploy will help detect ion storms before they can form. If the experiment is a success, it will lead us to develop more effective early warning systems for marker buoys and starships. The Molari Badlands, as you know, are notorious for its dangerous ionic activity,” said Strauss.
Akinola thought the speech sounded a bit too canned and rehearsed, but he refrained from comment. “Okay, Lieutenant. Admiral? If that’s all, I’d like to finish up the re-supply and get the lieutenant’s gizmo on board.”
“Just one more thing, Captain. Tell Chief Brin that hanging a crewman up by his belt-loops is unacceptable behavior for a senior NCO, regardless of the inefficiency and general mule-headedness of the quarter master’s office. If it happens again, I’ll reassign Brin to a remote refueling station.”
“I’ll . . . pass that along, sir.”
“Good. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”
* * *
Lt. Strauss hurried to keep up with the much taller captain. He had a long stride and tended to cover ground quickly. Akinola glanced back at the young officer.
“So, Mr. Strauss, what ship are you coming from?”
“Actually, sir, I was stationed at the Klaamat IV Stellar Meteorology Station,” she said.
“What ships have you served on, then?”
“Well . . . I did my cadet cruise on the Eagle.”
Akinola stopped and turned, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. He reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out his well-worn pipe. “Lieutenant,” he said, pausing to light his pipe and exuding billowing clouds of fragrant smoke, “do you mean to tell me that you have no shipboard experience?”
“I made A’s in all of my classes at the academy in navigation, operations and propulsion systems,” she said, proudly.
“Uh-huh,” said Akinola as he re-lit his recalcitrant pipe. “That’s nice, Lieutenant, but the Bluefin is a working cutter, understand?” He gestured at her with the stem of his pipe. “Let me make this clear – under no circumstances are you to interfere with any of my officers or crew as they carry out their duties. You are a passenger on this little trip to the Badlands, and you will be a passenger once you’ve launched your little gizmos. Are we clear?”
“Perfectly!” she said, stiffly.
Akinola turned and resumed walking. Momentarily, they passed a large Asteroid-breaker and the Bluefin came into view.
Strauss liked what she saw. The ship was a Stingray-class fast cutter, 120 feet in length. It had lines typical for star cutters – a long, tapered hull with a secondary dorsal hull and raised bridge area. Two dorsal fins stood out at angles. Strauss guessed (correctly) that they were shield generators. Two small wings angled downward near the bow, but their function eluded her. Twin ion-mass engines were faired in low along the port and starboard ventral hull while the “Spin-drive” was housed at the stern for jumps into Null-space where the speed of light could be exceeded. She noted twin torpedo tubes near the bow and a single phase cannon mount topside. The ship was painted a gleaming white with diagonal lines of blue and red near the bow. The ship’s number – 58, and name, Bluefin, were painted proudly along the hull below the bridge.
“What a beautiful ship!” Strauss exclaimed.
Akinola turned, eyebrow askance, but he recognized the sincerity in her voice. He chuckled. “That she is, Mr. Strauss, that she is.”
* * *
Hope the plot overcomes the weirdness.
