Star Trek: The Four Years War
Saratoga -"Into the Fray"
Saratoga -"Into the Fray"
Author's Note: I blame this on Bry Sinclair, Alec Peters and "Axanar," the Klingon Empire, and of course, Garth of Izar.
What, pray tell, is my beef with aforementioned? The war, of course. The damned FOUR YEARS WAR! Oh sure, I tried to avoid the drumbeat to arms, the siren song of another series to embrace, promises kept, broken, forgotten and ultimately cast into darkness (sorry, wrong universe).
*Deep breath*
Back to the point - recently I viewed "Prelude to Axanar," one of the best independent Star Trek films ever produced, imho. "Kudos," I thought. "Can't wait for the full movie, but you don't need to go down that road. It only leads to heartache and procrastination." So far, so good. I could enjoy it and go on with life. But then Bry Sinclair posts a short-story for the "Desperation" writing challenge for the fall. Darn you to heck, Bry! Your short story was gripping, entertaining, and yes, short! By the third syphilitic deity, I could jump into the 4YW with a short story!
This led to messages betwixt Bry and myself concerning ideas about the 4YW, ship classes, characters, scenarios, what Klingons eat for breakfast, etc. And now . . .. . . Here we are with the starship USS Saratoga, under the command of Captain Richard Robau (Dead, you say? Wrong universe, says I!) This is United Trek, firmly ensconced in the prime ST 'verse. No JJ-prise, no Nero, no Narada and no lens flare. Robau and George Kirk are alive and well, 9 years after the JJ-flick and now serving on the multi-mission capable starship Saratoga.
It's 2242 and the cold war with the Klingons is about to get hot!
TLR
“People sleep peaceably in their beds only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." -George Orwell
Stardate 2242.37
USS Saratoga
Ship’s Gymnasium
The two men faced off with bamboo swords at the ready, sweat glistening on faces hidden behind wire-mesh masks. Their bōgu armor provided scant protection from the painful blows of the stout shinai.
“Shall we proceed to Kakari-geiko?” asked the first kendōka. The second swore under his breath, steeling himself for the second-level attack. He was tired and sore but he nodded his assent.
“Hai.”
“Kiai!” With a burst of frenetic speed, Captain Robau moved in, the shinai whirred and slashed, striking his opponent’s sword, armor and limbs in staccato fashion.
Several crew members paused to watch their C.O. and First Officer do battle in the ancient art form of Kendo, wincing as a bamboo sword struck home against unarmored flesh.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” muttered a crewman.
“Nah, Mr. Kirk is just playing with him,” replied a second.
“Bull. Captain Robau is kicking his butt.”
In time-honored fashion, the crewmen were soon placing bets, waging credits against skill and bruised flesh as the two combatants continued their duel, their breath coming in gasps mixed with grunts of effort and pain.
Near exhaustion, George Kirk made a desperate gamble. He feinted a thrust, then swung wide and hard with the goal of knocking Robau off balance and off the practice mat.
But Robau had anticipated the ploy. He easily ducked the arcing blow and administered two quick strikes to the First Officer's forearms. Kirk’s sword clattered to the deck and he dropped to one knee as Robau dramatically placed his shinai alongside the First Officer’s neck. Some of the gathered crew applauded while others calculated their losses.
“Do you yield, Mr. Kirk?”
Chest heaving, Kirk replied, “Next . . . time . . . let's use . . . phasers.”
Robau grinned and extended a hand, helping Kirk to his feet. “Where’s the sport in that?”
Kirk retrieved his sword from the deck. “You call this sport? Keel-hauling has more appeal.”
“Your concentration was off this morning,” observed Robau as they entered the locker room. “Something on your mind, Number One?”
Kirk sighed. “It’s Jimmy. He’s been giving Winona a lot of grief lately and its gotten worse now that Sam’s gone off to university.”
Robau nodded. He had neither wife nor children but he knew that Kirk was a dedicated family man and understood the frustration that came with extended absences.
“You have quite a bit of accumulated leave time,” pointed out Robau as Kirk disappeared into the sonic shower cubicle. “Why not take a month and spend some time with your family?”
“That’s tempting, but with Chris Pike gone to Yorktown, I couldn’t leave you with a green-as-grass Second Officer to break in. Besides, it would take a week to get to Earth and a week to get back.”
“The offer stands, George.” Robau paused, “So what are your impressions of Commander Smythe?”
Lt. Commander Jasmine Smythe, a lovely and lithe brunette from the Isle of Wight had joined the Saratoga a month earlier, replacing Commander Christopher Pike as Intel and Second Officer. Since joining the crew, she had become something of a thorn in Kirk's side.
“She’s smart . . . seems to know her stuff. She’s also cocky as hell and stubborn.” Kirk exited the cubicle, a towel wrapped around his waist. Robau noted the bruises he had administered to Kirk’s arms and side.
“You might want to stop by sickbay and have Dr. Tharn look at those.”
Kirk shook his head as he began donning his duty uniform. “I’ve had worse. Besides, they’re a reminder to keep my head in the game.”
“Sage advice,” agreed Robau as he stepped into the sonic shower. The ultra-sonic vibrations soothed his own aching muscles, though he had far fewer bruises to show from their contest. “Continue with your evaluation of Commander Smythe. Have you spoken to her about her attitude?”
“Not yet.”
“Giving her enough rope to hang herself?”
Kirk chuckled. “No sir. In fairness, she’s handled every task I’ve sent her way. I have no complaints regarding her abilities. It’s just that, well . . . she has this smug attitude about her.”
“Her countrymen would call it ‘being cheeky.’”
“Well, she can be a pain in the cheeks, if that’s what you mean.”
They were interrupted by the bosun’s whistle over the intercom. “Bridge to Captain Robau.”
The Captain padded to a nearby intercom. “Robau here, go ahead.”
“Lt. Fabrice here, Sir. We’ve lost contact with the Theta Hyronis Colony.”
The Captain and First Officer exchanged glances of concern. Theta Hyronis was their destination with a population of nearly 20,000 beings. “Clarify, Lieutenant. Is the problem technical or something else?”
“I cannot tell for certain, sir. Our subspace transceiver is working; I’ve run diagnostics on our end twice. Either their comm system has failed or something is jamming the signal.”
“Very well. Tell helm to increase our speed to warp factor seven. Set alert status to condition yellow. Mr. Kirk and I are on the way to the bridge.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Robau, out.” The Captain quickly dressed and they exited the locker room en route to the turbo-lift. As the doors to the lift closed, Robau turned to the First Officer.
“Mr. Kirk, have the senior staff ready to meet in the briefing room in one hour. It’s time to make contingency plans.”
Kirk studied the Captain’s face. Robau’s expression was composed but there was a glacial coolness to his eyes and a tightness to his mouth that Kirk knew all too well.
“The Klingons? Dear God . . .”
“Too early to tell, Number One, but it’s time to get some mileage from our new Intel Officer. Perhaps Commander Smythe can provide more than suppositions and sensationalism.”
* * *
“Captain’s Log, Stardate 2242.373. While en route to Theta Hyronis III we have lost contact with the Earth colony that is based there. It is possible that it is merely a technical glitch but with their proximity to Klingon space I have ordered us to maximum warp and raised our alert status to condition yellow. There are nearly twenty thousand colonists on that planet with minimal defenses and we are the only Starfleet vessel within a day’s journey. We must now plan for the worst-case scenario . . . an attack by hostile forces.
Briefing Room
Captain Richard Robau and Commander George Kirk entered the briefing room and settled into chairs around the tri-cornered conference table. Robau noted that Lt. Commander Jasmine Smythe was engaged in animated conversation with their Tactical Officer, Lt. Akash Singh. The two officers were a study in contrasts both in temperament and physical presence. Smythe was slender, animated, and fair-skinned, she punctuated her words with gestures and tosses of her long pony-tail. Singh was an imposing figure, broad-shouldered with dark features and piercing eyes. He wore the traditional turban and beard of a devout Sikh, and was soft-spoken and reserved in manner. They broke off their conversation (argument?) as the Captain and First Officer entered.
Dr. Tharn, a middle-aged Tellarite female, glanced up from her data slate and snorted. “I hope this won’t take long; I’m busy working up crew health profiles and don’t have time for another long staff meeting.”
Robau regarded her quietly. “It seems we have a serious situation to address, Doctor, so your health profiles will have to wait.” He glanced around the table with annoyance. “Where are our Chief Engineer and Science Officer?”
The doors to the Briefing Room slid open, admitting Chief Engineer, Lt. Commander Alexi Andropov. He took his customary seat and inclined his head in apology. “Sorry I’m late, we were in the middle of flushing the deuterium feed lines when you ordered us to maximum warp.”
“Problems?” queried Robau.
“No sir, just routine maintenance. We had to button everything up to get the primary pumps on-line but we can easily maintain warp 7.2 for at least 18 hours.”
“Good, we’ll need every bit of our speed to . . .”
The doors slid open again to admit a harried Lt. Chen Wu. The normally punctual Chief Science Officer juggled a data slate and a stack of data cubes as he quickly took a seat. He nearly bowed toward the Captain, embarrassed by his tardiness.
“My sincere apologies, Captain. I was getting the latest updates from stellar meteorology.”
“We’re not running from an ion storm, Mr. Wu,” pointed out Commander Kirk with a suppressed grin.
“No sir, but with the loss of comm traffic with Theta Hyronis, I wanted to rule out ionic interference or other cosmic causes.”
Robau nodded approvingly. “Good thinking, Mr. Wu. What were your findings?”
Wu plugged in a data cube and the three-way viewer on the table came to life, displaying varying graphs and a condensed sector map. “As you can see, there are no significant ionic events of level 2 or greater within a five light-year radius. Coronal ejections from nearby stars are at a low ebb and there are no gravitational anomalies within scanning range. In short, there are no cosmic reasons to explain the loss of communications with Theta Hyronis.”
The senior officers absorbed this information as Captain Robau scanned the table, his gaze coming to rest on the Intel Officer. “Commander Smythe, please give us your assessment of the Klingons. Do you think they are poised to attack the Federation or, indeed, already committed to such action?”
Jasmine Smythe leaned forward, clasping her hands together in anticipation of sharing her wisdom. She cast a sidelong smirk toward Lt. Singh. The Sikh Tactical Officer maintained a neutral expression, merely folding his arms and focusing on a spot on the conference table some centimeters away.
“Captain, there has been no unusual comm chatter, no bluster from their diplomats, and no border incursions to speak of in months. In short, there has been a glaring lack of saber rattling from the Klingons. In fact, there has been a perceptible thaw in the cold war of late, fewer complaints from Ambassador K’Jarn and even progress in the Vulcan’s efforts to renew face-to-face negotiations over the disputed Molari sector. In short, talk of a Klingon invasion is simply tilting at windmills.”
She directed the last comment toward Lt. Singh, who was now shaking his head slowly.
“You disagree, Mr. Singh?” queried Robau.
Singh cut his eyes toward Smythe before answering. “There is an old saying, ‘an unsheathed sword makes no noise.’” Smythe rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly. Kirk frowned but refrained from comment.
“While I am familiar with the saying," replied Robau, "I would appreciate something a bit more concrete, Lieutenant. Why do you disagree with Commander Smythe’s assessment?”
“The Klingons are a warrior race. Diplomacy is merely a tool they employ to bide their time and seek advantage in an attack. If they sense that they have the advantage, they will attack in force.”
“Forgive me,” interrupted Smythe, “but that sounds terribly paranoid.”
“Not to me,” said Kirk, his exasperation apparent. “Everything Lt. Singh has said is true. The Klingons aren’t like us, they give no quarter and their language has no word for ‘peace’ or ‘surrender.’ Look at what they did to the Orions when they went to war.”
“Respectfully, sir, that was over a century ago,” argued Smythe.
“A short time for a Klingon,” observed Robau, “considering they have life spans comparable to Vulcans. Commander Smythe, Lieutenant Singh, thank you both for your contributions. We will proceed with the worst-case scenario in mind. Mr. Kirk, I want damage control drills run by all duty shifts until we reach the Theta Hyronis system.”
“Aye, sir, I’m on it.”
“Dr. Tharn, I want us prepared for mass casualties. Get your team ready.”
The Tellarite began making notes on her data slate. “We’ll need to use the forward parts of both landing bays for triage, I’ll need a list of all species in that system so we can synthesize blood, and I may need to pull science specialists including Lt. Wu to assist . . .”
The Captain nodded. “Whatever you require, Doctor. Mr. Singh, how are we prepared should we face a combat situation?”
“We have a full load-out of photon torpedoes, phaser banks are all functional and we can divert power from ancillary systems to boost shields to 120%.” He paused, “I just wish we had a fighter wing aboard.” Saratoga had twin landing bays and could serve as a carrier in times of war. But this was peace-time and the only small-craft aboard were unarmed shuttle craft. A dozen fighters would not only give them sharper teeth but add an additional defensive layer.
“Let’s hope those fighters won’t be necessary. Mr. Wu, continue to work with Lt. Fabrice in attempting to open a comm channel to the colony. Commander Smythe, I need to know if there is anything about that planet or system that the Klingons want or need . . . minerals, strategic advantage, some religious significance . . . anything.” He looked around, “Any questions? You have your assignments, dismissed.”
As the officers filed out, Robau gestured toward Lt. Commander Smythe. “Commander? A word with you, please.”
They waited until the room was empty. “Yes sir?”
“I noticed some friction between you and Lt. Singh. Is there a problem?”
“No sir, no problem. Just a difference of opinion.”
Robau nodded. “I see. While I encourage healthy debate amongst my officers, I expect such debate to be respectful at all times. It seemed to me you were rather condescending to Mr. Singh just now.”
One of Smythe’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. “I assure you, Captain, that was not my intent.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You may outrank Lt. Singh but he is a department head and an experienced Tactical Officer. You may not always agree with him but I strongly suggest you hear him out. I’ve found that he is right far more often than he is wrong.”
Smythe's green eyes flashed with indignation but she wisely swallowed her retort. “Understood, sir. Is there anything else?”
He held her gaze a moment longer. “No, Commander. You’re dismissed.”
* * *
Bridge
Captain Robau watched the star field stream by on the main viewer, silently urging a degree more speed from Saratoga’s warp engines as they streaked through subspace.
The bridge was a hive of quiet activity with the helmsman and navigator both engrossed with their controls. Lt. Wu huddled with Lt. Fabrice as they continued to hail the Theta Hyronis Colony without success. Commander Kirk and Lt. Singh spoke in quiet tones, collaborating at the tactical station. One of the junior engineers, Ensign Montgomery Scott, sat at the normally vacant engineering station engrossed in multiple readouts. Apparently Commander Andropov was taking no chances as they pushed the engines to the limit.
“Captain? Here’s the report you requested.” Commander Smythe approached with a data slate in hand.
Robau scanned the slate. “Your analysis please, Commander.”
“There’s nothing of material value to speak of in the Theta Hyronis system,” she began. “There are deposits of nickel, cadmium, iron ore, all common as rocks in an asteroid belt and certainly nothing to warrant an invasion. While the Klingons do revere certain sites and relics, those seem to all be located within Imperial space.” She paused. “However, there is a strategic consideration I had overlooked.”
Robau glanced up. Smythe’s discomfiture was apparent. “Overlooked? Care to elaborate, Commander?”
She cleared her throat and continued. “The system itself is not particularly valuable, but its location is. Scroll to page three and you’ll see what I mean.”
Robau did as asked and perused the star map on the screen. He frowned as he realized the significance of her findings. The ramifications were disturbing.
“If the Klingons were to take Theta Hyronis, they would be positioned to cut off our access to the Molari Dilithium mines and also be within three days’ striking distance of Andor and Tellar.”
“Yes sir, that’s my conclusion as well. I . . . apologize for not being more thorough. It won’t happen again.”
“Captain?” Lt. Fabrice’s voice rose above the competing noises on the bridge. Her Standard was tinged with a faint Parisian accent.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Sir . . . we’ve just picked up a badly garbled signal, but running it through the enhancement protocols . . .” She hesitated, obviously distressed.
Robau rose and moved to the comm station. Lt. Wu was visibly shaken and Lt. Fabrice’s face was ashen.
“Tell me.” pressed the Captain.
“Sir, it’s a priority alpha signal from USS Ares. Deep Space Station I-7 is facing an imminent attack from multiple Klingon vessels.” She paused, pressing the transceiver to her ear. “Also receiving reports of attacks in the Akerin and Tregoss systems.”
Robau did a quick calculation in his head and grimaced. They were much too far away to provide assistance. It would take them many hours at maximum warp to reach Deep Space I-7 and days to reach Akerin or Tregoss.
Kirk appeared by Robau’s side as did Jasmine Smythe. Kirk’s face betrayed anger while Smythe’s registered shock.
“Anna,” Robau began quietly, his voice calm as he addressed the shaken communications officer. “Contact Starfleet Command. Inform them we are continuing to Theta Hyronis unless countermanded. Confidence is high that the system has come under attack by the Klingons.”
“Yes . . . yes sir. Right away.” She turned to her task.
“Your orders, sir?” asked Commander George Kirk, his voice tight but steady.
“It seems we are at war, Mr. Kirk, and my orders are to engage and defeat the enemy at every opportunity,” replied Robau.
* * *
to be continued
) indicate that Kirk was a Lt. Commander when he got the brief and fatal promotion to C.O. of the Kelvin. Figuring him to be a shiny new First Officer in 2233 (generally accepted date for the Kelvin scene in ST '09) he could reasonably seen as a seasoned XO and full commander nine years later. Yes, this will be explored more fully in time but part of it is his reluctance to accept a command because of family issues and maybe a tad of Riker Syndrome. Or something. 
Well-played, well-played!
