Starfleet Border Cutter Bonsai
November 2378
“There are reports of nomads hitting Romulan space,” announced Ramos Richard.
“Nomadic fleets, Richy,” intoned Commander Thomas Mallard, an eyebrow raising in anticipation as the young Filipino bristled slightly. “The Hirogen are nomadic, they aren’t.”
“Still bad though, right?” queried Tracey Walkington from where she sat.
Mallard gave the medical officer a side glance. Okay, Walkington was more nurse than a medical doctor, but her nursing doctorate ensured that the border cutter had adequate medical care aboard. “You’ve read the same reports as I have, Doc,” announced Richards, which was true enough.
Starfleet had sent ships and a hell of a lot of resources to ensure the incoming alien fleets bypassed both quadrants, with the admiralty desperately trying to prevent the same fate for the Federation and her neighbors as the one faced by the far-flung Nyberrite Alliance.
As the go-to people for border security, the various squadrons, and detachments of the Starfleet Border Service were provided regular intelligence.
“So, it’s bad,” stated Walkington.
“Potentially.”
“Shouldn’t we be doing something about them?”
Mallard considered his medical chief―officer, whatever. “We go where we’re told,” he responded, frowned, and gave Ramos a dirty look. “As much as I appreciate the big picture, Major, we’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. Kalla Tenna, what do we know about it?”
“It borders Bajoran and Cardassian space,” announced Ramos dismissively. “Until a few years ago, it was nothing more than a staging point for Cardassian and Dominion military assets. Ever since, who really knows. We suspect that there are settlers there, Cardassians mostly and a few of their allies who were too slow to board evacuating ships.”
“So, it’s a Cardassian colony?” asked Master Chief Petty Officer James Dalton.
“If it makes you feel any better, then sure, why not,” replied Ramos.
Mallard breathed out slowly, not wanting to get into semantics with Ramos. “As Kella Tenna was a staging point during the war, I understand that there is a chance that Cardassian loyalists are still using it.”
And Mallard was not referring to the newly formed Cardassian Border Guard. There were still entire formations of Cardassian forces still loyal to Central Command and the Dominion and were very active against Starfleet and Klingon forces.
“That is correct,” agreed Ramos. “We would have sent a ship, but with the news coming in from the frontier, Bajoran High Command believed that our ships would be better suited on a more defensive assignment.”
Or, as Mallard interpreted; with all the nomadic fleets due, the Bajorans are keeping their small fleet of ships within reach of their homeworld. Nonetheless, the Bajoran High Command had ensured that their interests were still represented onboard Starfleet vessels. For the Sequoia-class border cutter Bonsai, that meant Major Ramos Richard.
“The last thing we need is Cardassian insurgents at Bajor’s doorstep.” He grimaced and glanced over at Dalton. “Despite the major being our guest, Starfleet has agreed that he will take on first officer duties during this assignment. I need you to familiarise Major Ramos with our phasers and small-unit tactics.”
“I’m well familiar with small-unit tactics, Commander, I was Starfleet once,” objected Ramos.
Mallard had about enough. “Then I'd expect you to adhere accordingly, and it’s ‘Captain’.”
Ramos just blinked in surprise.
Mallard had no patience now. “We have forty-eight hours until we reach Kella Tenna,” he stated while rising. “Major, Master Chief, you’re dismissed. Doc, a moment please.”
Looking as if he had just swallowed lemon or its Bajoran equivalent, Ramos quickly vacated the small briefing room aft of the bridge. Master Chief Dalton looked on in amusement, rubbed his hands together, and followed.
“So, Captain.” Walkington crossed her arms, and deliberately emphasized his rank. “Are you going to have another dummy spat?”
“Hardly,” replied Mallard. “You may just send me to timeout.”
November 2378
“There are reports of nomads hitting Romulan space,” announced Ramos Richard.
“Nomadic fleets, Richy,” intoned Commander Thomas Mallard, an eyebrow raising in anticipation as the young Filipino bristled slightly. “The Hirogen are nomadic, they aren’t.”
“Still bad though, right?” queried Tracey Walkington from where she sat.
Mallard gave the medical officer a side glance. Okay, Walkington was more nurse than a medical doctor, but her nursing doctorate ensured that the border cutter had adequate medical care aboard. “You’ve read the same reports as I have, Doc,” announced Richards, which was true enough.
Starfleet had sent ships and a hell of a lot of resources to ensure the incoming alien fleets bypassed both quadrants, with the admiralty desperately trying to prevent the same fate for the Federation and her neighbors as the one faced by the far-flung Nyberrite Alliance.
As the go-to people for border security, the various squadrons, and detachments of the Starfleet Border Service were provided regular intelligence.
“So, it’s bad,” stated Walkington.
“Potentially.”
“Shouldn’t we be doing something about them?”
Mallard considered his medical chief―officer, whatever. “We go where we’re told,” he responded, frowned, and gave Ramos a dirty look. “As much as I appreciate the big picture, Major, we’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. Kalla Tenna, what do we know about it?”
“It borders Bajoran and Cardassian space,” announced Ramos dismissively. “Until a few years ago, it was nothing more than a staging point for Cardassian and Dominion military assets. Ever since, who really knows. We suspect that there are settlers there, Cardassians mostly and a few of their allies who were too slow to board evacuating ships.”
“So, it’s a Cardassian colony?” asked Master Chief Petty Officer James Dalton.
“If it makes you feel any better, then sure, why not,” replied Ramos.
Mallard breathed out slowly, not wanting to get into semantics with Ramos. “As Kella Tenna was a staging point during the war, I understand that there is a chance that Cardassian loyalists are still using it.”
And Mallard was not referring to the newly formed Cardassian Border Guard. There were still entire formations of Cardassian forces still loyal to Central Command and the Dominion and were very active against Starfleet and Klingon forces.
“That is correct,” agreed Ramos. “We would have sent a ship, but with the news coming in from the frontier, Bajoran High Command believed that our ships would be better suited on a more defensive assignment.”
Or, as Mallard interpreted; with all the nomadic fleets due, the Bajorans are keeping their small fleet of ships within reach of their homeworld. Nonetheless, the Bajoran High Command had ensured that their interests were still represented onboard Starfleet vessels. For the Sequoia-class border cutter Bonsai, that meant Major Ramos Richard.
“The last thing we need is Cardassian insurgents at Bajor’s doorstep.” He grimaced and glanced over at Dalton. “Despite the major being our guest, Starfleet has agreed that he will take on first officer duties during this assignment. I need you to familiarise Major Ramos with our phasers and small-unit tactics.”
“I’m well familiar with small-unit tactics, Commander, I was Starfleet once,” objected Ramos.
Mallard had about enough. “Then I'd expect you to adhere accordingly, and it’s ‘Captain’.”
Ramos just blinked in surprise.
Mallard had no patience now. “We have forty-eight hours until we reach Kella Tenna,” he stated while rising. “Major, Master Chief, you’re dismissed. Doc, a moment please.”
Looking as if he had just swallowed lemon or its Bajoran equivalent, Ramos quickly vacated the small briefing room aft of the bridge. Master Chief Dalton looked on in amusement, rubbed his hands together, and followed.
“So, Captain.” Walkington crossed her arms, and deliberately emphasized his rank. “Are you going to have another dummy spat?”
“Hardly,” replied Mallard. “You may just send me to timeout.”
