Gordon Stark was once a star pupil at the academy. His skills in engineering were being compared to the likes of the legendary Montgomery Scott. But his love of engineering was equalled by his love of booze, and a drunken brawl with the wrong officer soon put his career on downward spiral. In what seemed like no time, Starfleet had slung him out on his ear. A few more bad decisions made with the likes of the Maquis and even the Orion Syndicate had made Stark a wanted man, by all the wrong people...
Raised by his lone father on a Surplus Supply depot at the edge of the Beta quadrant, Stark knew that his father would accept him back home, in body at least. It was months before they even exchanged words, and when they did, Stark knew that his father felt partially responsible for his son's failures, mainly due to his own love affair with alchohol.
"Well, as long as yer here, yer'l might as well make yerlself useful", his father said, in his heavy Glaswegian accent. "Let's see what yous can do with that".
His father gestured towards the broken, battle damaged hulk of an old Daedalus class ship, floating amongst the rest of the debris at the depot. One of its nacelles was missing and it's characteristic spherical hull looked more like a shattered moon than the hull of a starship.
"If yous can fix that, yous can fix eneythen . Besides, it'll keep you busy and keep you's from hangin' around the station here. Your'l makin' the place look untidy, and even the Klingons think you smell bad. Now git off!"
Taking his father's gesture to heart, Stark began work on the old wreck. It was a place for broken things and Stark felt like it was the only place in the galaxy where he belonged. The Dominion War had been a terrible blow to everyone in the alpha quadrant, but here, for Stark, it was a welcome influx of newer tech. Newer parts. The old spherical hull was beyond repair, so Stark had had to completely sever it from the main body. A few months later, a small frigate had engaged it's emergency saucer separation during a battle with the Breen. So Stark now found himself with a handy primary hull for his ship. Finding a matching nacelle for such an old design would have been far too difficult, besides, the remaining one was practically unusable. Again, Stark's resourcefulness came to the fore and he managed to fashion two replacements almost from scratch. It took him five long years, salvaging parts from other ships that, by some act of misfortune, had now found their way to the yard.
Stark's father never lived to see the ship reach completion, but deep down, he knew that his dad would have been proud. The main bottle-shaped engineering hull was virtually the only part of the ship that Stark had kept. He desperately wanted to keep at least one part of the original ship that his dad had chosen for him. It was the least damaged and, ironically, ended up being the sturdiest and most versatile part of the whole ship. The rest, was either replaced, repaired or fashioned by Stark himself. It was now a hodge-podge of different ships, blended together into a completely unique vessel. Stark had mainly used Federation parts, as those were the ones he was most familiar with. But his life in the Beta quadrant had meant frequent run-ins with the Klingons, so some of their technology had also ended up in Stark's 'new' ship.
Finally, the day came when the ship needed to be named. A few names bounced around Stark's mind...'The Flying Scotsman', 'The Second Chance', 'The Frankenstein' to name a few. But finally, Stark settled on the 'Glasgow'. It was his father's place of birth on Earth and although Stark had only ever visited there a handful of times in his life, he felt a big part of his past was formed there. It now seemed fitting that it should form some part of his future also...
The depot was now in the hands of a Tellarite merchant who was a friend of his fathers. Now, with nothing to keep him there, it was time to venture out into the galaxy at large. With so much cargo space and a few nifty tricks up her sleeve, the 'Glasgow' would make an ideal light freighter. He hoped that the heat from his days in the syndicate would have died down enough to venture back there and look up a few old friends. He still had quite a few favours to call in, if he had to. Stark set course to the infinite blackness of space and engaged at full impulse power. "Shite", he thought suddenly. "I'ma gonne have te find me a crew..."
Raised by his lone father on a Surplus Supply depot at the edge of the Beta quadrant, Stark knew that his father would accept him back home, in body at least. It was months before they even exchanged words, and when they did, Stark knew that his father felt partially responsible for his son's failures, mainly due to his own love affair with alchohol.
"Well, as long as yer here, yer'l might as well make yerlself useful", his father said, in his heavy Glaswegian accent. "Let's see what yous can do with that".
His father gestured towards the broken, battle damaged hulk of an old Daedalus class ship, floating amongst the rest of the debris at the depot. One of its nacelles was missing and it's characteristic spherical hull looked more like a shattered moon than the hull of a starship.
"If yous can fix that, yous can fix eneythen . Besides, it'll keep you busy and keep you's from hangin' around the station here. Your'l makin' the place look untidy, and even the Klingons think you smell bad. Now git off!"
Taking his father's gesture to heart, Stark began work on the old wreck. It was a place for broken things and Stark felt like it was the only place in the galaxy where he belonged. The Dominion War had been a terrible blow to everyone in the alpha quadrant, but here, for Stark, it was a welcome influx of newer tech. Newer parts. The old spherical hull was beyond repair, so Stark had had to completely sever it from the main body. A few months later, a small frigate had engaged it's emergency saucer separation during a battle with the Breen. So Stark now found himself with a handy primary hull for his ship. Finding a matching nacelle for such an old design would have been far too difficult, besides, the remaining one was practically unusable. Again, Stark's resourcefulness came to the fore and he managed to fashion two replacements almost from scratch. It took him five long years, salvaging parts from other ships that, by some act of misfortune, had now found their way to the yard.
Stark's father never lived to see the ship reach completion, but deep down, he knew that his dad would have been proud. The main bottle-shaped engineering hull was virtually the only part of the ship that Stark had kept. He desperately wanted to keep at least one part of the original ship that his dad had chosen for him. It was the least damaged and, ironically, ended up being the sturdiest and most versatile part of the whole ship. The rest, was either replaced, repaired or fashioned by Stark himself. It was now a hodge-podge of different ships, blended together into a completely unique vessel. Stark had mainly used Federation parts, as those were the ones he was most familiar with. But his life in the Beta quadrant had meant frequent run-ins with the Klingons, so some of their technology had also ended up in Stark's 'new' ship.
Finally, the day came when the ship needed to be named. A few names bounced around Stark's mind...'The Flying Scotsman', 'The Second Chance', 'The Frankenstein' to name a few. But finally, Stark settled on the 'Glasgow'. It was his father's place of birth on Earth and although Stark had only ever visited there a handful of times in his life, he felt a big part of his past was formed there. It now seemed fitting that it should form some part of his future also...
The depot was now in the hands of a Tellarite merchant who was a friend of his fathers. Now, with nothing to keep him there, it was time to venture out into the galaxy at large. With so much cargo space and a few nifty tricks up her sleeve, the 'Glasgow' would make an ideal light freighter. He hoped that the heat from his days in the syndicate would have died down enough to venture back there and look up a few old friends. He still had quite a few favours to call in, if he had to. Stark set course to the infinite blackness of space and engaged at full impulse power. "Shite", he thought suddenly. "I'ma gonne have te find me a crew..."
