Star Trek: Yorktown #1 - Trials of War

[Rat Boy]

This story is voluntarily rated PG-13.

​

Based upon Star Trek created by​

Gene Roddenberry​

and the episode​

“Errand of Mercy”​

written by Gene L. Coon and directed by John Newland


​

This work is entirely of the author. You may not redistribute any of its contents without the express permission of the author. Star Trek and related properties are Registered Trademarks of CBS Studios Inc. registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office.


Cover image credits:

USS Yorktown by WileyCoyote

D7 by Rick Knox

Produced in Star Trek: Bridge Commander by Activision and Totally Games, Star Trek: Starfleet Command III by Activision and Taldren, and Adobe Photoshop








“In space, all warriors are cold warriors.”

- General Chang

Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country

To Herb Solow and Bob Justman for taking an idea and nurturing into a phenomenon…​

Author’s Note​

This has to be the hardest fan fiction project I have ever worked on, but your reading it now is proof that somehow I succeeded. Even as I write this it’s hard to believe that it’s finally done. This tale is the twenty-fifth draft (more precisely iteration or attempt) of this particular concept, but it goes further back than that. Strap yourselves in; this story could end up being as long as the one you’re about to read.

As some of you might know, my previous series, Star Trek: Venture, just seemed to fizzle out. Unfortunately, I didn’t like where the fifth story was going and after banging my head against the wall (something I’ve done quite a bit of during this endeavor) and after reading the fabulous Star Trek: Destiny trilogy by novelist, TV writer, and now TV talking head David Mack, I decided to end it without any fanfare. Both it and the previous Star Trek: Yorktown series were set in parallel with the novels published by Pocket Books and considering the sweeping changes in Destiny, I felt myself kind of painted into a corner. Nonetheless, when I started writing a new series to follow up Venture, I did try to write something set around the conclusion of Destiny. That lasted until I read A Singular Destiny by Keith R.A. DeCandido. Unfortunately, just as the paid novelists had trouble keeping up with the canon of television and film, I realized that trying to keep up with the books would be an exercise in frustration, especially since the follow-ups to those novels are only now hitting store shelves.

Also and admittedly, I probably should have cut Venture off after the “Chaos Theory” trilogy, since that provided a definitive beginning, middle, and end to the saga, but in writing the fourth story, “Raise the Star League!” I had my passion for the original Star Trek reignited. So, I resolved that my next series would take place in the 23rd Century. But, that wasn’t easy, either, and there were quite a number of times I rethought that premise. Another possible scenario moved the setting back to the 24th Century, specifically during the Dominion War as depicted on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, but that’s one of the most portrayed eras in fan fiction, so that idea went away after about a month. For a brief time, I decided to set it in the era around the game Star Trek: Online, but that too didn’t last long. I stuck with the 23rd Century, but exactly when varied wildly from the days before the original Star Trek series to the days of the first six feature films. Ultimately, I settled on the era of the five-year mission of Captain James T. Kirk, Mr. Spock, and Dr. Leonard McCoy. After all, those days are back in vogue thanks to J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek film from last year, not too mention a whole brand new slew of novels, comics, and merchandise based on an over forty year old television show.

Once the pieces were in place, it was time to get this sucker started, but even then my absurd need to get everything just right hampered my ability to complete it. Of course, there were other issues that got in the way, such as the usual real life stuff and a little thing called my San Francisco Giants winning the World Series the week before the beginning of this series. But, obviously it is done. Total time for what ultimately became “Trials of War?” About five months. Total time to get anything out? Over a year and a half. But, here we are, finally.

Obviously, a lot has changed during this process. Even the name of the series and the title of this story, both changed in the days leading up to the completion of the final draft. Of course, I’ve done another series titled Yorktown, but I felt that since the name carried more weight than any other I could come up with, I might as well use it again.What didn’t change (for the most part) are the characters. Almost every one of them has survived from conception to realization. I felt it important to have this series driven by strong, distinctive protagonists. Some are nice throwbacks to classic Trek archetypes, some are unique and new. But, it is my hope that this group will provide the main source of drama going forward. That isn’t to say that plot won’t be important, though.

So, let’s go over a few details before we get started. Since this story takes back to the old days of Star Trek, I figured it was fitting to release this the way a lot of fan fiction has been serialized over the years. Expect new chapters to be posted on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, though to kick things off you’ll be getting the prologue and the first chapter. Second, as I decided a while back, the only thing canon to these stories aside from the continuity I’ve developed will be the canon. All five television series and all eleven feature films, that’s it. Not that the licensed novels and comics aren’t excellent, it’s just that I found it more creatively freeing to not beholden to any one non-canon interpretations. You may see some an homage or two to such products in addition to fan works that I’ve taken a like to (particularly the great Starfleet Museum website by Masao Okazaki), but for the large part anything you see here depicted beyond the scope of canon is my invention. It was quite more enjoyable for me to flesh out some aspects of the Trek universe based on my own vision than anybody else’s. Hopefully you’ll enjoy these details, as well. Finally, although set prior to my previous works, it is not a prequel; as stated, this Yorktown stands within its own continuity.

Without further ado, I am pleased and proud to present to you…Star Trek: Yorktown – “Trials of War.”

 

[Rat Boy]

HISTORIAN’S NOTE

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This tale begins early in the Earth year 2267, shortly before the events of the original Star Trek episode “Errand of Mercy.”

PROLOGUE


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Office of the President of the United Federation of Planets
Paris, Earth

If there was one thing about this job that drove Admiral Jonas Leland to no ends of frustration were the time changes. As Chief of Starfleet Operations, the admiral’s office was of course at the organization’s headquarters in San Francisco, but also since Leland was the number two man in Starfleet, his presence was also required here from time to time on the other side of the world. While it was morning here in Paris, back in California, it was…quite earlier in the morning. Having been in Starfleet for decades, Leland was used to not having a normal sleep cycle, but having the sun shining through the curved windows of the president’s office wasn’t helping his internal clock.

The coffee he was now sipping helped fight the fatigue and the mixed signals his body was getting along with the severity of this conference. It was a so-called “Principles Meeting,” a gathering of some of the most important figures in the Federation to discuss pressing issues confronting the president, the government, and Starfleet. Ordinarily they were dry affairs in which no amount of coffee could keep Leland awake, but not today.

“And last night, our monitoring stations detected another task force mobilizing in the Cursa system,” stated Lieutenant Commander Alexander Nelson, Leland’s aide and the one who was saddled with handling today’s briefing, which he was conducting from a large view screen that showed a map of the border on the wall opposite of the windows. He was only a kid, practically; in his late twenties with slicked back dark hair. The admiral had no doubt that another five years or so of this and Nelson’s hair would finally start showing streaks of white that now dominated Leland’s scalp. But he was born for this kind of work, had a head for handling logistics and intelligence. On a bad day, Leland wouldn’t mind handing all of his duties off on the young officer. “That brings the total up to ten Klingon fleets now headed for the border regions.”

“Wasn’t there reports of a rebellion in the Rhodok system not too long ago?” asked Alistair Hawthorne, President of the United Federation of Planets, from behind his desk by the windows. A human male hailing from Earth in his late fifties, Leland was surprised by the president’s rapt attention for this briefing. Hawthorne’s main focus of his presidency was on domestic issues and social programs; trying to, as he put it, turn every world in the Federation into a paradise like Earth. Foreign policy issues such as tensions with the Klingons in particular didn’t seem to interest him. No, that perhaps wasn’t it; the president probably saw them as distractions from his real goals while in office. At least until now.

“Actually, Mr. President, that rebellion was put down over a week ago.” Leland had to give Nelson credit for keeping his composure while addressing his commander in chief; never once had his lecture been broken by awkward pauses and stuttering. And it wasn’t just Hawthorne in the room that could give any man a reason to feel unconfident.
Seated to Leland’s right was his direct and only superior within the Service, Fleet Admiral Richard Barnett, Commander Starfleet. A tall man with dark skin, he was probably considered imposing to anyone below the rank of commodore. That he hand-picked Leland came as somewhat of a surprise to the current Chief of Starfleet Operations, considering their ideological differences in what Starfleet’s mission was. But as he put it, he was an ideas man whereas Leland was good at execution. To date, the fleet admiral’s only major idea had been authorizing attempts to explore beyond the edge of the galaxy, which through no fault of Barnett’s own was foiled and nearly resulted in the destruction of the USS Enterprise. Still, it hadn’t been easy trying to get Barnett to see things the way Leland did up until this point.

But, those frustrations paled in comparison to what was sitting across from him. They were members of the so-called “Founding Four,” the original signatories of the charter that created the Federation a century ago. There was Ambassador Tariq al-Faisal, representing Earth and Hawthorne’s successor at the post after the latter was named president two years ago; Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan; Ambassador Shras from the Andorians; and the Tellarite Ambassador Gav. Each of them wielded about as much clout on the Federation Council as the president who led it did. Though they held no more real power than any of the ambassadors from species that joined the Federation after its founding, one word from any of the Founding Four could kill a resolution dead in its tracks.

“It seems obvious to me why they’re doing this: the trade embargo,” Gav noted brusquely. The ambassador had a thick forehead, upturned nose, recessed eyes, and blonde colored hair and fur along with an arrogant disposition, though this wasn’t why he was particularly upset at the moment. The Tellarite Mining Guilds were one of the most powerful private entities in the Federation and had long coveted the resource rich worlds and asteroids along the disputed border with the Klingon Empire and thus had been a target of Klingon raids. Gav was long rumored to have been in those corporations’ pockets and had been an advocate for Starfleet to take stronger measures to protect Tellarite business interests.

“We obviously should have expected a response,” added Shras in his raspy voice. One of the oldest ambassadors in the room, the Andorian’s pale blue faces was rife with wrinkles and creases though his antenna stood ramrod straight as ever. Shras was soft-spoken, but he was also one of the strongest advocates for Starfleet’s defense mandate, likely to do with the fact that he hailed from a warrior culture with customs and traditions not too dissimilar to the Klingons. He was also right about the trade embargo and Leland too knew that the Empire would likely respond to it. Said embargo was imposed late last year in an attempt to punish further Klingon aggression in the disputed zone. Since their home systems were devoid of natural resources, the Klingons had to either conquer or trade to get what they needed to sustain their society. Shutting off the proverbial spigot obviously didn’t sit well with them.

“Have we any information on their intentions?” asked the president.

Leland was about to respond, but Barnett beat him to it. “The data doesn’t support any conclusion at this time, Mr. President. For all we know, it could be a training exercise.”

“Not to speak out of turn, sir,” Leland added, hoping his superior officer wouldn’t mind him stepping on his toes to make his point, “but I can’t help but think of the last time we watched the Klingons mass that many ships on the border.”

“You mean Donatu V?” asked Hawthorne with a raised eyebrow. The battle over that world was one in a series during a border conflict with the Klingons twenty-two years ago and was by far the bloodiest. Leland had seen it with his own eyes having served as a junior officer on a ship that participated in the conflict. The outcome was deemed inconclusive, but it was a devastating one that the present admiral was lucky to have survived. It had been a wake-up call to him and those who had been in uniform at the time as to the true threat posed by the Klingon Empire and brought up as an euphemistic metaphor whenever they were out to cause trouble, but Leland sometimes wondered if that call didn’t mean much to people these days. Of the people in the president’s office, the CSO was the only one there when it happened.

The president got up, tugged on his black and white robes of office, and paced a half a meter or so behind his desk before crossing his arms. “Thank you, Commander.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. President,” Nelson replied before he made his way to the leather chair to Leland’s right identical to all the others Hawthorne’s guests were seated in. After sitting down, he grabbed a glass of water from an end table and downed a copious mouthful.

“Suggestions?”

“Mr. President,” prefaced Mathias Roberts, Hawthorne’s chief of staff, who was hovering near the president’s desk. Leland wasn’t all that fond of him; even merely judging by his dark suit, meticulously combed hair, and anachronistic glasses one could tell he was an intellectual. He was a self-proclaimed master of statistics, probabilities, odds, and various other implementations of numbers and acted as if he was always the smartest man in the room no matter the company. From what Leland knew, Roberts worked for a private think tank before Hawthorne brought him to Paris. Think tanks were all well in good, but spit-balling ideas in a comfy office was a far cry from implementing those policies out in the field. “I concur with Fleet Admiral Barnett; it’s too early to assume anything about the Klingons’ intentions. Negotiations are still ongoing in regards to the disputed territory. I recommend we take no further action than what’s already been done.”

“And let an entire invasion fleet sit on the border unchallenged?!” Gav barked as he jumped out of his chair. “What if you’re wrong? If we don’t take steps to reinforce our side of the border, hundreds of worlds will be theirs for the taking!”

“I feel compelled to once again state that my government warned of these consequences when the trade embargo was first proposed last year,” noted Sarek in his calm, taciturn voice. That was putting it mildly; since the early days of the Federation, the Vulcans had been critical of Federation and Starfleet expansion towards the Klingon border, but Sarek’s implied disdain of Starfleet in particular seemed to border on the personal. However, getting a read on a Vulcan’s emotions through their façade of logic and dispassion was like trying to read a Klingon translation of Shakespeare. “The Klingons no doubt view this as a diplomatic attack and will respond in the only way they know how to.”

“Surely you’re not endorsing sending more of our ships to the border, Sarek?” asked al-Faisal. Clad in the traditional robes of important political figures from his native Saudi Arabia on Earth, humanity’s ambassador to the Federation Council was hard for Leland to figure out. Some times, he’d side with more aggressive power bases like the ones headed by Gav and Shras, other times with more pacifistic colleagues like Sarek. It was al-Faisal who first floated the idea of a trade embargo as a compromise between taking more aggressive action to deal with Klingon expansion versus doing nothing and hoping peace would one day come to fruition.

“I merely state that such a response from the Klingons is as logical now as it was when we began deliberations on the embargo. Caution is indeed warranted as we proceed with enforcement of this new policy as is being watchful of further escalation on the part of the Klingons.”

“Mr. Ambassador,” Roberts said politely, “if we were to deploy additional ships to the border, it is highly likely that they’ll interpret it as a further escalation on our part.”

“And if we don’t, they might interpret it as a sign of weakness,” Leland countered. “Even if this isn’t a prelude to military action, they’re likely going to gauge our response to these new deployments. If we do nothing, it’ll send the wrong message to the Klingons that we’ll back down if they start pushing us around.”

“Has their government issued any sort of statement about these deployments?” asked al-Faisal.

“Not yet,” said the chief of staff. “They’ve refused to comment on the issue ever since Starfleet noticed the first new deployments.”

“Admiral Barnett,” Hawthorne said firmly, “what is your recommendation?”

“I concur with Admiral Leland,” the fleet admiral answered. “While we don’t know the intentions of the Klingons, prudence demands that we match their ship deployments to discourage any aggressive move against the disputed star systems on the border.”

The president quickly sat back down. “Then let’s do it. Admiral, I hereby authorize you to reinforce Starfleet’s presence on the Klingon border. You are to only utilize enough forces to match the Klingons’ deployments, not exceed them. Discourage any thoughts of an attack, but do not give them a reason to send even more warships.”

“Aye, aye sir.”

“Then if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a meeting with the delegation from the Trill in an hour. Thank you all for coming.” Hawthorne’s guests, Leland, Nelson, and Barnett included, all filed out of the president’s office. After explaining a few pleasantries, the ambassadors filed off into various turbolifts while the CINC stopped the other two Starfleet officers before they could depart.

“I’m afraid I’m already running late for the ground breaking at Utopia Planitia. I want you to handle the new deployments, Jonas.”

“A shame I’m missing out on the party, Rich,” Leland lied. If there was one thing he hated more than these meetings was the various events and soirées that he was almost always invited to since taking this job. “But you know me; I’m more of a nuts and bolts kind of guy.”

“I’m sure you have a better handle on it than I do,” Barnett remarked. “Commander.”

“Admiral,” Nelson said as he stood at attention. The fleet admiral entered another turbolift while Leland and his aid waited for another one. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he was thankful for the meeting to be over with so he could go out there and do his job. It was always a struggle for him to keep his notorious temper in check, biting back the angry rebukes sitting in the back of his throat in favor of polite retorts. It made him wonder if there wasn’t a bit of Tellarite DNA in his ancestry.

One of the ‘lift doors opened and the admiral and Nelson entered. Once the doors were closed and the turbolift began to take them down to the transporter room that’d beam them immediately back to headquarters, Leland felt free to vent his true feelings.

“Fucking bureaucrats!” he cursed loudly. “How the hell do they ever get things done around here? The Klingons could have charged right across the border and they’d be sitting here with their thumbs up their asses deciding what to do. There’d be nothing left for us to reinforce the way they drag their heels!”

“I honestly don’t know how you put up with it, sir,” Nelson said calmly. “I was lucky I didn’t feint during the briefing.”

“Next time do what I do. Have a couple shots of Saurian brandy beforehand and picture them in their underwear.”

His aide’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Really, sir?”

“Relax, kid, I’m joking, at least about the underwear. All right, obviously we’re going to need a lot of frigates, destroyers, and support vessels heading out there ASAP but I want some of the big Connies on the border, too; I don’t care how much hell Barnett raises about pulling them off exploratory missions. Any on the border right now?”

“Just the Constellation, sir,” the commander replied as he checked his notes on a data slate. The Constitution-class of starship was the premier vessel in the Federation’s arsenal so naturally Leland wanted as many as he could get out there to counter the Klingons. Now if only Barnett would listen to me more than once a year and get that dreadnaught design that’s been sitting on the drawing boards the last two decades up and running! “Standard border patrol mission.”

“Tell Matt Decker to stick around; I’m sure he won’t mind,” Leland concluded. “Do we have anymore that can get there within the next few weeks?”

“The Exeter and the Kongo, both on colonial support missions.” Their respective commanding officers, Captains Tracey and Cartwright, were solid, dependable combat veterans who could handle a job like this just as the commodore in command of the Constellation. But even that wasn’t enough in the admiral’s eyes.

“Send orders to them to head to the border on the double. I’d still prefer one or two more just to be safe.”

“That’s going to take a little more time, sir,” Nelson said. “The Enterprise is cleaning up the mess on Cestus III after that business with the Gorn. The Hood, Potemkin, and Excalibur are so far out there on exploration missions that it’d take months for them to get back. The Lexington and Intrepid are on the coreward end of the Romulan Neutral Zone keeping an eye out for further incursions, the Constitution’s patrolling for Breen privateers near Izar, the Farragut is…”

“Fine, I get it, kid,” Leland said tersely. As Chief of Starfleet Operations, he knew most of the disposition of the forces at his (and Barnett’s) command, though not with the instant recall his aide did. Aside from the ships Nelson had mentioned, there were two more that the admiral knew of. One of them, the Defiant, was still under construction and months if not a year away from being ready. That just left one that they had both initially overlooked. “What about the Yorktown?”

“Still undergoing a refit at the San Francisco Yards, sir. The yard superintendent says she can be ready in as little as a few weeks, but she’s still short a command crew, let alone a captain.”

Leland had enough of this and let his aide know it. “So let’s find one, for Christ’s sake! Get me a list of the top candidates for her center seat and tell the yard boss to start cracking the whip. The Yorktown is going to be crewed and ready to fly in two weeks. Clear?”

“Perfectly, sir,” the commander replied, not flustered by the admiral’s outburst, much to his credit. It wasn’t exactly the ideal situation that the Federation found itself in, but those were the cards that had been dealt and it was Leland’s job to play them and win with them. Whatever poor bastard’s going to take command of the Yorktown better know what the hell he’s getting into…

 

[Rat Boy]

One


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Starfleet Headquarters
San Francisco, Earth

Can we just get this over with? thought Captain Doug Mason of the USS Forrester as he disembarked an air tram inside the main travel terminal of Starfleet HQ. It was a bustling hive of activity, with fellow Starfleet officers and a few civilians heading off in varying directions. Why the destroyer captain was here, he had no idea; Mason’s ship was docked for an overhaul following a three-year cruise. Seldom was it that someone like him was ever called into Starfleet Command, let alone to meet the Chief of Starfleet Operations, Admiral Leland. Unless I screwed up and don’t know about it yet. Of course, he had some inkling as to why one of the highest ranking officers in all the fleet wanted to see him and that made the trip up to the higher levels of headquarters all the more unbearable to Mason. Of course, he also wouldn’t mind being able to get some time off; five years was a long time and he had some personal matters to attend to.

He got onto an escalator and ascended into the headquarters building proper and immediately felt out of place. On top of the austere trappings such as marble floors, statues of great Starfleet figures, and historical relics on display, practically everyone in the central lobby were at commander rank or above. This certainly isn’t the crowd I’m used to running with. Acknowledging the presence of anyone commodore or higher ranking only slowed his progress down and from what Mason had heard through the rumor mill, Admiral Leland was a man who did not like to be kept waiting.

After being cleared through building security and guided by a receptionist to the appropriate turbolift, the captain found himself on the second to highest floor of the building, carpeted but with same high-end décor as the ground level. A sign pointed him in the direction of the Chief of Starfleet Operations office, the reception area of which had a desk on the opposite side with an attractive red-headed female yeoman and two doors to either side of her, the large wooden one with Starfleet insignia on it obviously belonging to the admiral and the plain looking one presumably for a member of his staff.

“May I help you, Captain?” the secretary asked with a pleasant smile. I guess being in the top brass has its perks.

“Doug Mason to see Admiral Leland,” he replied evenly, trying not to sound as impatient as he felt.

“One moment, sir.” She tapped an intercom button on her desk. “Admiral, Captain Mason has arrived.”

“Fine, send him in,” an angry male voice answered, which wasn’t a good sign.

“Right this way, Captain,” the yeoman stated as she got up and led Mason to the office with the wood doors. They parted and immediately he was overwhelmed with the distinct smell of tobacco, a product hardly ever used anymore due to its addictive and toxic properties. Then there was what he heard the second the doors opened which put him on edge.

“I don’t care what Commodore Mendez says!” barked a man behind an opulent wooden desk with white hair and golden admiral stripes on the cuffs of his gold uniform tunic; obviously Leland. Standing at attention in front of the desk in the same color shirt was a younger officer with the rank of lieutenant commander. “I want the Venture out of Starbase 11 yesterday! You tell Jose that’s a god damn direct order!”

“Yes sir,” the young man answered crisply. Nervously, Mason ran his hand through his dark brown hair.

The yeoman gave Mason a sympathetic glance before turning back to her boss and clearing her throat. “Sir, the captain.”

“Thank you, Ms. Chambers.” Leland quickly sprang up from his desk chair, setting down what appeared to be a cigar in a crystal ashtray before heading over to Mason with an extended hand. “Jonas Leland.”

“Doug Mason, sir,” he answered as he shook the admiral’s hand; his grip being firm but not overpowering.

Gesturing to his aide, the admiral added, “This is my right hand boy, Lieutenant Commander Nelson.”

“Captain,” he said with a polite nod.

“And you’ve met Ms. Chambers,” said Leland. “Thank you, you two, that’ll be all.”

“Aye sir,” Nelson said and both he and Yeoman Chambers exited the office.

“Have a seat,” the admiral said, gesturing to a couple of chairs across from his desk. It was then Mason noticed the picture window behind where Leland sat that looked out over the San Francisco Bay Area and its iconic Golden Gate Bridge. If the admiral’s bluster wasn’t enough to rattle the captain, the luxury he surrounded himself did. While Mason took a seat, Leland headed over to a shelf where there were glasses and bottles of various beverages. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Water’s fine, sir.”

“I wasn’t offering water.” Instead, he poured two glasses out of what appeared to be a long bottle of Saurian brandy. True, last time Mason checked it was around 1100 hours, but he was in no position to complain. He accepted the glass when Leland offered it to him and after the admiral took his seat, they raised both of them in a silent toast before taking a sip, though in Leland’s case it was more like a gulp. After letting out a pleased sigh, the CSO said, “Sorry if this little get-together came out of the blue. I understand the Forrester only put into port last night.”

“It’s all right, sir,” the commander remarked.

“Don’t get too comfy, Captain,” the flag officer said with a smirk. Almost as soon as the Forrester docked, rumors quickly spread throughout the crew that Starfleet was initiating a massive mobilization effort and that they’d soon be departing yet again. “How’s your ship holding up?”

“She’s a good ship, sir,” Mason said formally. Still, if this was a meeting telling him that the Forrester was being turned around for rapid deployment, then why with Leland? There were about a dozen links in the chain of command between Mason and the CSO; one would have thought the orders would have been handed out by at most a sector commander, let alone the commodore in charge of his destroyer squadron. Unless Leland has other plans, he thought grimly. “My chief engineer says that we should have her turned around in a month.”

“I see,” Leland commented dryly, grabbing his cigar and taking a few puffs of it before firing up his desktop monitor. “I take it you’ve been keeping up on the rumors lately?”

“I have.”

“Well then, I’ll make this simple for you. The Klingon Empire isn’t reacting all that well to the trade embargo. Over the last week, they’ve been amassing ships along the disputed zone. I’m of the opinion that they’re not out there on some training exercise. Negotiations have been slowing to a halt; every time we submit a reasonable compromise, they come back demanding more. Something’s definitely up.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, sir,” Mason stated bluntly. “They’ve been spoiling for war ever since Donatu V and all they’re waiting for is the right time and the right place.”

“Nelson out there’s been saying the same thing,” Leland said and suddenly Mason felt a shiver of dread go up his spine. Dear God no; is he trying to recruit me for a job? Destroyer captains very rarely ascended to command of larger ships. The only other job opportunities afforded to them were starbase posts or even worse, staff positions with admirals, acting as tactical advisors while being tied to a desk. Perhaps this was the reason why he had been called in so soon after returning to Earth; Leland wanted the captain to work for him. Mason had only one tour under his belt as the Forrester’s captain, before that one as commander of the escort Charger, and he wasn’t going to give up the center seat without a fight. “He seems to think like you do, that the Klingon Empire has been building up for war over the last twenty-two years and that we haven’t done enough to get ready for it.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that, sir.”

“Really?” the admiral asked sarcastically. “Aren’t you the one who authored that paper on the subject while you were at Advanced Tactical School, the one that said we needed to take greater defensive measures in the face of Klingon aggression?”

“I did,” Mason admitted. Great, he does want me on his staff. I just know it.

“And didn’t you also say that ships like yours are inadequate against their Klingon counterparts?”

“I did,” he said uneasily. While he loved the Forrester like a woman or a child, she had a few shortcomings. She was fast, but didn’t quite have the engine power for long term and sustained patrols. She was well armed, but still outgunned by larger cruisers that the Klingons deployed by the dozens. Still, a ship was a ship, even if she wasn’t the best in the fleet. He’s going to have to drag me kicking and screaming from her. “Frankly, Admiral, she’s underpowered for a destroyer or whatever Starfleet wants to call her. Her shields don’t last long in a fight, her phaser output is substandard compared to Klingon disruptors, and her engines can barely sustain warp seven without wearing out. The only reason we made it back from this patrol in one piece was because I have a good crew.”

“And your crew has a good captain,” noted the admiral. “We’ll be putting all of you in for the usual commendations and the like at the next review period.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mason said formally. Trying to butter me up, Admiral?

“So,” Leland said in a leading tone as he placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, “I also suppose you’re wondering why you’re here, meeting with me of all people.”

Here we go, thought the captain. “I have.”

“I put a hold on your record pending reassignment,” he stated, and that all but confirmed it for Mason, “one which you’re free to decline, of course.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Mason prefaced, “I would prefer to remain in command of the Forrester.”

“Just hear me out, Captain,” the admiral said. “I’m of the mind that good officer should be put in places where they’ll do the most good. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes sir,” he replied reluctantly, “but…”

“If you’ll let me finish,” Leland said to cut him off. He got up from his desk and leaned against the side of it casually. “You and I both know that this situation with the Klingons is going to come to a head and soon they way they’re acting. Your analysis when you were at tactical school was spot-on; we haven’t been doing enough to ready ourselves in case the Klingons attack in full force. We’re stretched thin across the board thanks to the Romulans reemerging and those Gorn the Enterprise ran into. We need to start changing the way we do business around here or else an entire Klingon war fleet is going to get halfway to Deneva before we know what hit us. Weapon refits, increased battle drills, redeploying more ships to hotspots; that’s about all we can do unless this drags out long enough to start building more starships.

“I know our mandate is one of peaceful scientific exploration, but there comes a time when we have to put that mandate aside. God knows I’ve been trying to do that since I took this job. Sadly, with all the red tape and bullshit I’ve had to put up with, the best I’ve been able to do is authorizing weapon refits and getting these new uniforms. But, we’re running out of time and I have to use what’s at our disposal. Right now we need the best people serving where they’re needed most and for you that place is not the Forrester.”

“Respectfully, sir, I disagree,” Mason said.

“I don’t have a lot of patience, Captain, and I’ve got a hell of a lot of other meetings left today,” the admiral said sternly as he returned to his desk. “Now, your records show you to be a very talented if independent minded officer. You were tops in your advanced tactical training class. Admiral Mallory said you were one of the best executive officers he ever had and you’ve done fine work in command of the Charger and the Forrester. With a file like this, I think keeping you in charge of a destroyer is a waste of your talents.”

“A waste?” he asked angrily as he stood up rapidly. Mason had enough of Leland’s game; if the admiral was determined to pull him off the Forrester, then he was going to fight this decision all the way up to the commander of Starfleet himself. “Sir, with all due respect, I worked very hard to get a ship of my own. I believe that that the best use of my talents is as captain of the Forrester.”

“I don’t,” Leland said bluntly.

“Then I’ll fight this, sir,” Mason vowed. “I belong out there; I won’t be chained to a desk or serve as one of your damn lackeys and so help me, I’ll…”

He stopped his rant when the admiral’s eyes went wide and Mason’s ire suddenly turned to confusion when Leland’s face lit up with a bright smile, followed by something the captain thought he’d never hear coming from someone like him: hearty laughter. “You thought…you thought I was going to give you a staff position?”

“What else would you give me, sir?” he asked in an even though confused tone. “I mean, you put a hold my record, you kept talking about finding the best place for the best people, you went on about what I wrote at Starfleet Tactical…”

“Captain, sit down before you fall down,” Leland said and Mason took it more as an order rather than a suggestion. “Judging by that tirade you just went through, you wouldn’t last a week here at headquarters and you’re right, you’re not suited for a desk job yet. Most officers don’t get as far as you do, not without catching a break here and there or knowing somebody high up the chain of command on a first name basis. You got this far because you pushed yourself twice as hard as the next guy without getting any favors or preferential treatment. You do belong out there; you’re a captain and that’s the best place for you, just not on your present command. I was thinking more along the lines of something else. The Yorktown’s nearing the end of a refit and she’s going to need someone to take command. I believe that person is you.”

“Thank you sir,” Mason said, trying to bury his surprise and excitement as best he could. That certainly wasn’t the new assignment he thought he’d be getting based on how Leland had been acting. Constitution-class starships like the USS Yorktown were first launched twenty-three years ago as Starfleet’s flagship of exploration and defense. The men and women who served on and commanded them were the ones out there right now blazing new trails across the final frontier while protecting the Federation from its enemies. And now Mason had one of his own. “With respect, I don’t even think I considered for one moment that I’d be getting a command like this. Destroyer captains like me don’t get this kind of opportunity.”

“Let’s just say I favor talent over credentials and I like to take risks,” the admiral explained. “Aside from the refit, the Yorktown’s also going to need a new command crew. As soon as she’s done in two weeks, I want you out there on border defense in case this gets even uglier. We’ll be sending her to Sector 018; not a lot out there, but it’s possible that the Klingons might start going after our settlements and mines in the area. I know two weeks not a lot of time, but that’s all we can give you”

“I see, sir.” Whatever enthusiasm he had about his next possible assignment had been tempered by what Leland had just told Mason. War was indeed an ugly prospect in any situation and one against the Klingons doubly so. They were vicious and brutal in battle, often fighting to the death if need be.

“I know they didn’t have constant border patrol in mind when they built the Yorktown,” Leland added, “but right now the best place for her is sitting on the Klingons’ doorstep with someone like you as captain. Your tenacity and ability to get things done no matter the cost is what we need right if and when things come to a head with the Klingons.” Leland took a breath before leaning back in his chair. “But, if you’re happy in your present command, then you’re free to decline and remain on the Forrester, no questions asked, though there’s no other candidate more qualified than you are. So, still interested?”

Mason allowed a smirk to finally cross his face. “You’re damn right I am, sir.”

 

[CeJay]

I like this. There aren't many original Trek fics set in this era and for that fact alone I'm very interested in this new series of yours. It also helps that this time around, knowing Trek lit is not a prerequisite.

I'm very curious to see what kind of characters will make up the crew of the Yorktown and where you will take this plot wise.

Off to a good start here.

 

[admiralelm11]

I agree with CeJay. You're off to a great start.
I think my favorite parts of Star Trek are TOS and TNG and I have to say that I am really enjoying this story. I can't wait to see what else you do with it.
I also read 'Chaos Theory' and your other Yorktown series and I loved them. Didn't read your other Venture stories but I liked some of the crewmembers you presented in that.
Keep up the work.

 

[Rat Boy]

Glad you both are enjoying it. For more TOS era fan fic 'round these parts, I recommend reading Bry Sinclair's "Star Trek Challenger" and TheLoneRedshirt's "Star Trek: Steel-Edged Grace", though unfortunately the latter is incomplete. I stumbled across them while I was in the middle of writing this, so I quickly junked the old "colony in distress" idea.

 

[admiralelm11]

Glad you both are enjoying it. For more TOS era fan fic 'round these parts, I recommend reading Bry Sinclair's "Star Trek Challenger" and TheLoneRedshirt's "Star Trek: Steel-Edged Grace", though unfortunately the latter is incomplete. I stumbled across them while I was in the middle of writing this, so I quickly junked the old "colony in distress" idea.

I liked Bry's Challenger story. It was great, though I has some trouble keeping up with it sometimes because it seemed like it was either during the Motion Picture timeline or before the Enterprise launched with Kirk in command.
'Steel-Edged Grace', I definitely liked. Like Challenger, they both had a great set of characters and a well-written story. I finish it would finish soon.

 

[Gary7]

Nice work, RB. Has a good feel to it, the time period alongside the active stations of other captains we've come to know, like Decker and Tracey. Also, Errand of Mercy was a good story with plenty of room for filling in the background behind it.

That's one thing I really missed seeing in TOS--more screen time with other starship captains.

 

[Rat Boy]

Two

​

Shuttlecraft Washington
San Francisco Shipyards, Earth Orbit

High above Earth, cradled within a scaffold-like docking structure and surrounded by small craft that comparatively looked like insects was one of Federation Starfleet’s proudest examples of the word “starship;” a titan of space. Her hull shimmering in the sunlight, with a circular main primary like the flying saucers of old Earth myth, a strong but thin neck below it connecting to a cylindrical secondary hull with a large dish on the front end and a hangar bay for smaller craft at the rear. Held aloft to either side from this engineering section on long, thin pylons were two cylindrical pods; that of the warp drive nacelles, which could propel this vessel far faster than the speed of light. Proudly emblazoned across the front end of the saucer hull in large lettering was the ship’s name, USS Yorktown and her registration number with Starfleet, NCC-1717. She could take her crew of 430 souls anywhere in the cosmos; the only limit being their imagination.

And this Constitution-class starship belonged to Doug Mason, who peered out of the forward portal the shuttlecraft Washington like a jockey inspecting a thoroughbred racehorse. Or perhaps more like a child beholding his gift on Christmas morning even though Mason officially took command of the Yorktown a week ago. Supervising the end of the refit and getting a new crew assembled had occupied his constant attention during that time and meant a lot of long hours, though likely not as arduous as the man who sat next to Mason in the shuttle’s cockpit.

“I never get tired of this view,” mused Lieutenant Commander Francisco Cortez, the Yorktown’s overworked chief engineer. He was one of the few holdovers from the ship’s previous commanding officer, though the captain did note that Cortez’s salt and pepper hair seemed to be a bit more “saltier” than when they first met. Considering the crew turnover following a five-year mission, the captain was quite lucky to retain an engineer of Cortez’s skill and experience. Mention any ship class in the Fleet that had been in active service during his career and nine times out of ten he’d say he had served on at least one of them. “Just wish they made the windows on this thing bigger.”

“Me too,” Mason remarked. The three windows at the front of the Class F shuttle were barely large enough to get a sense of what was out there, meaning that the captain was only given slight glimpses of his new ship. He had served on many ships in his twenty plus years in Starfleet; cruisers, frigates, escorts, and destroyers. Each of them was special in their own right, but none of them held a candle to a starship like the Yorktown.

“It sure was worth all the work, though,” the engineer added. “Only way we’re getting the hull any cleaner is if we go out there with toothbrushes.”

“Let’s not go that far, Commander.” In a week, Mason would be taking the Yorktown out for the first time as its captain though obviously not on a mission of exploration. Don’t dwell on it; enjoy the view.

“Oh, by the way, Dr. Gertch and Commander Duclare reported aboard this morning,” said Cortez, respectfully referring to the ship’s new chief medical officer and science officer. “One word of advice on the doc: do not get on his bad side, assuming he has any other side.”

“He’s a Tellarite; most of the one’s I’ve encountered are a little argumentative.”

“A little? My staff’s fielded five complaints from him about everything from the humidity in his quarters to sickbay smelling funny. I’d hate to see his bedside manner.”

“He’s also one of the best exobiologists in the Fleet,” Mason added. True, taking on a combustible Tellarite like Dr. Gertch was a risk, but the man could allegedly tell the difference between a Rigelian kidney and a Vulcan liver with his eyes closed.

“Well I hope you don’t mind if I hold off on getting my physical for a while,” the engineer noted.
“I’d be careful with that if I were you. He sounds like the type who’d use a phaser to drag you into sickbay.” Both men chuckled grimly and sat in silence as the shuttle drifted slowly beneath the Yorktown’s secondary hull. “Anything I should know about Duclare?”

“Don’t tell my wife this,” Cortez replied, “but I’m starting to think Starfleet had the commander in mind when they issued the new uniforms.”

“Noted, Commander,” he said, though whatever his subordinate was implying about the captain was dismissed out of hand. However, one of Admiral Leland’s few accomplishments as CSO hadn’t gone unappreciated by Mason. “How were the last reactor tests?”

“Nominal, but I wouldn’t mind a little more time to go over the starboard PTC. If Starfleet wants to bump up our launch date again, we’re good to go, but I’m no particular hurry to leave, sir.”

“I understand.” Though the wait had been aggravating for Mason, he knew that Cortez had his reasons for wanting to prolong the Yorktown’s departure for as long as possible outside of the usual engineering concerns. He was married with three children; his family living just outside of Maracaibo. Even if Mason had such ties on Earth, he would have still been itching to take the Yorktown out almost as soon as he received command. When not elbow deep in supervising the refit and getting the crew roster in order, the captain had been in meeting after meeting with Starfleet Command along with being invited to almost every major soiree and party the Fleet had on Earth. As an admiral said at one of the latter functions, We’ve given you the big seat, now it’s time to pay the piper. “Anything else I should know?”

“Not really,” Cortez replied. “Just that everyone’s still wondering when our new XO will arrive. And what exactly are orders are, sir.”

“Be patient,” Mason said. Finding someone to serve as his first officer wasn’t easy for the captain, but then again selecting one wasn’t supposed to be. A captain had to find someone whom he or she could work with, but someone whom God forbid was able to take over for him or her if the time came. He or she not only had to be loyal to the captain, but willing to stand up to him when he or she thought he was wrong (and happened to be right about it). Mason hoped that he had found such a person in his XO. Then there was the little matter of the Yorktown’s current assignment, but he had decided on holding off on informing the senior officers about it until they were all assembled. They needed to focus on getting the ship ready, not on what they were getting the Yorktown ready for. “Are you always such a nag, Commander?”

“If you think I’m a nag, sir, you should see my wife.”

The captain chuckled as he pressed a few controls to begin the automatic landing maneuver. Enough gawking, time to go to work. Though he was a qualified pilot, he wasn’t especially skilled and thus for safety’s sake set the shuttle’s controls on automatic. Mason wouldn’t get on his engineer’s good side by scratching the hull of the Washington or the Yorktown. The shuttle ascended and turned, banking as it slowly made its way towards the hangar bay. A scant few seconds later, it gently touched down on the deck and Mason could feel the hangar doors rumble close. After a few seconds, the shuttle’s computer announced, “Pressurization sequence complete.”

“We should do this again some time,” Cortez mused as they both powered down and secured the Washington.

“We certainly don’t have much longer,” said the captain.

The port hatch opened, revealing the Yorktown’s cavernous hangar deck, upon which they emerged. Mason and his engineer barely got out of the shuttle before they were quickly besieged by three members of the ship’s current senior staff, all rather young but all talented at their respective positions. The most senior of three was the Yorktown’s helmswoman, Lieutenant Tavas, an Andorian with light blue skin, white hair, and a general disposition as cold as her home planet. To her left was her counterpart on the bridge, the navigator and weapons officer Lieutenant Cody Hall. The light brown haired young man was cocky, to the say the least, likely stemming from his family’s multiple generations of Starfleet service, including his mother, a commodore in command of a starbase. Finally was the communication’s officer, Ensign Wolfram Schneider, a blonde haired man who was a fresh from the academy graduate. About the only thing they all had in common at the moment was that they all carried data slates and were all fighting for the captain’s attention verbally. This is what I get for ducking out on an inspection tour first thing in the morning.

“All right,” he said forcefully to quiet the sudden onslaught of overlapping questions. “One at a time.”

“Sir, I…” Tavas started to say.

“Captain, we’ve got…” Hall also began to say at the same time.

“Starfleet’s sent over…” Schneider said with his thick German accent simultaneously with the other two.

“I said one at a time!” As the three officers were quickly silenced, Mason noticed out of the corner of his eye that Cortez was smirking behind him, perhaps knowing the reception that was awaiting him aboard ship. After firing off an annoyed glance to the engineer, the captain added, “Tavas, you first.”

“The duty rosters for today need signing,” she replied, holding out the appropriate slate.

“Fine,” Mason said as he took the device from the Andorian and signed his name on the appropriate lines. If his choice of XO had been here by now, then said XO could have handled it. “All right, Mr. Hall; you’re next.”

“Need your approval to accept a load of photon torpedoes, Captain,” he said.

“I see,” Mason said, taking the data slate from the navigator and quickly signed on the appropriate line. We’re going to need him where we’re going. “Ensign?”

“Just the latest message traffic sir,” Schneider replied. While his English was sometimes hard to understand if one wasn’t paying attention, the communications officer was fluent in Klingonese and the Orion trade languages and apparently without any accent whatsoever. “Nothing out of ordinary, at least the non-classified ones.”

“I’ll be sure to look them all over when I get the chance,” the captain concluded. He started to lead his officers out of the hangar deck, asking, “How are our new co-workers settling in?”

“Dr. Gertch and Commander Duclare are both inspecting their departments,” answered Tavas. Well, nice to know that they believe in getting down to business.

“And what about Commander Zhang?” Mason asked, referring to an old friend of his from the academy that he was attempting to recruit as his chief of security. However, even all these years later, Li Zhang was as elusive as ever. “Have you found him yet?”

“His deputy chief at the Vulcan embassy said he was still officially on leave, sir, but he hasn’t reported back or checked in at all.”

“Figures.” While he was happy to possibly have his old friend at his side on his new command, there were obvious drawbacks. Mason would gladly admit that he used to have a rebellious and reckless streak, but he at least grew out of it as opposed to Zhang who apparently never did. “Find him. I don’t care what you have to do, but just get in contact with him. If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow, I’ll find someone else.”

“Aye sir.”

“In the meantime, return to your posts,” the captain said. “And I’ll be making the rounds to check in with the new officers later. But for now, if anyone needs me, I’ll be in my quarters. Dismissed.”

“Captain,” Cortez said as he and the other members of the senior staff headed off in varying directions. Mason found a nearby turbolift and ordered it to take him up to deck five, where his quarters were.

A short time later, he exited and walked a short length of the wide corridor, exchanging nods and greetings with members of his crew who happened to be strolling through the hallway, before he reached the door to his cabin. The door hissed open and he entered, finding it much how he left it.

Mason took a seat at his desk and turned on his computer terminal with a flick of his thumb. Judging by the titles of the messages sitting in his inbox, Schneider hadn’t been kidding about how mundane they were, but since they were addressed to the captain, someone must have felt that they demanded his attention. Mason had wanted this job for as long as he could remember; he just never realized from when he was a young boy with wide-eyed dreams of going where no man had gone before to the driven junior officer dedicating his sole focus for a command that this role would involve so much minutiae. Then again, nothing about his career up to now had been what he had expected.

Needless to say, the captain was very enthusiastic about his present assignment. Getting one of the Big Twelve at the age of 40 was rare (even rarer was James T. Kirk getting the Enterprise at thirty, but those were under unique circumstances) and there were a lot of great expectations put on Mason’s shoulders. The only regret he had about it was the situation with the Klingons, which hadn’t improved all that much in the last week.

He shook his head to return his focus to the present; any concerns about the mission would wait until the crew was fully assembled and the Yorktown was ready to go. After scrolling through a few minor messages about the ship’s status and a few more that had been accidentally forwarded to him, Mason sighed and shut off the monitor. The only constant from the Charger, Forester, and Yorktown had been the paper-pushing, and since the Yorktown was double the size of his previous command, it meant double the clerical work. However, it was far more desirable to be doing that at a desk on a ship than at a desk in an office building as he had feared he would have been facing when he first entered Leland’s office. Mason pushed himself back from his desk. He didn’t have time to drown in mundane details for much longer. After all, he had new members of his crew to greet…

(Continued below...)

 

[Rat Boy]

* * *

​

“By the furry ass of a Krognik demon!” Doctor Gertch cursed aloud and quite angrily. Such outbursts weren’t uncommon for him, but his current tirade in his office just off of the Yorktown’s sickbay was motivated by an affront to his professional sensibilities. He had only been on board the USS Yorktown for a few hours and already he was actively considering transferring to someplace else considering the idiocy that was now surrounding him. Bad enough that he had to get things orderly for the ship’s departure in just under a week, but making matters worse was that sickbay seemed to have been stocked by an imbecile and not a physician. “Who organized this place?!”

“It’s…” his duty nurse, Ramakrishna Singh, tried to explain nervously. Like most of the humans Gertch knew, he was painfully thin and clean-shaven. They’re so frail and vulnerable; how did they even get to where they are now? “It’s just how the surgical tools have always been organized, sir. Doctor Carter always kept it like this.”

“Well what was my predecessor’s specialty?! Proctology?!” he snapped once more. “This sickbay is barely adequate! We’re going to lose critical care patients while we fumble around like idiots trying to find the right tools.”

“We could always reorganize it, sir, Doctor,” the human said.

“You’re damn right we’re going to reorganize it, Nurse,” Gertch said coldly. “I want a full inventory of what we have on hand and then we’re going make this sickbay something resembling functional even if it takes all night. Now get going!”

“Yes, Doctor!” Singh shouted in a panicked voice before he rushed out of Gertch’s office. But before he entered the corridor, the nurse almost slammed into an officer in a gold uniform. “Captain, I’m sorry…”

“Forget about it,” the man said tersely. Judging by the rank stripes on his cuffs and the obvious fact he was addressed as such, it was Captain Mason. He was taller than Gertch but not as tall as some humans the doctor had seen, with dark hair with streaks of gray, dark eyes as well as being awfully thin, awfully pale, and lacking a proper beard. “Carry on.”

“Yes sir!” After Singh ran out of sickbay, Mason entered and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Catch you at a bad time, Doctor?”

“I’ve inherited a sickbay run by a fool, sir,” said Gertch harshly. The one main complaint he had about serving in Starfleet (and did he have quite the number of them) was the imposed “civility.” Always feigning politeness and biting one’s tongue didn’t strike the surgeon as particularly healthy. Better to air everything out in the open rather than let rage and frustration build up quietly. It was how his species managed to overcome internal wars and conflicts by turning physical violence into mere (and arguably frequent) verbal altercations. Perhaps it was also why there was so few of his kind in the Service; comporting to Starfleet rules of decorum was difficult for him and likely impossible for most other Tellarites.

“Well, I never met your predecessor, so I wouldn’t know,” the captain said as he extended a hand to him. “Doug Mason. Welcome aboard, Doctor.”

“Thank you,” the doctor grumbled as he accepted it, almost choking on his words since they were so vile for a Tellarite to say to someone they hardly even knew. “What do you want?”

“Just wanted to check in with you, see how you were getting ready for our launch next week.”

“If you want to make friends, try someone else,” Gertch said gruffly as he sat down at his desk and placed his hands on top of his rounded stomach. “I prefer to keep my focus on my job. It keeps me busy enough.”

“I can understand that, Doctor,” Mason said as he circled around the office, “but you just got here. How busy can you be?”

“Since I came aboard this morning,” he replied, “I’ve treated someone for a crushed leg after an accident in the lower cargo hold, a crew member for a concussion after someone else struck him in the head while moving a GNDN conduit, and one case of anaphylactic shock after the galley accidentally put peanuts in her lunch. Luckily nothing serious, otherwise this insanely inadequate sickbay might as well need a bigger morgue.”

“All right, you made your point,” said the human, sounding a little annoyed. “You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a Tellarite medical officer in Starfleet, let alone many being in it in the first place. Most Tellarites I’ve met are engineers or work for one of the mining consortiums.”

“My species wouldn’t have gotten very far without doctors, would we?” Gertch questioned indignantly. Tellar’s prime industry and opportunity for space travel was through the aforementioned mining corporations. But, that sort of career had no appeal for him. “Trust me; I’ve heard that more times than I cared to. That’s like expecting all Vulcans to be scientists or all humans to be arrogant starship captains.”
Mason chuckled. “I’ll freely admit that I’m a little arrogant from time to time.”

“Seems to be a trait of your species. You humans seem to have a sense of what you call Manifest Destiny about the galaxy and yet you act surprised when you run across people who don’t agree with you.”

“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that.”

“Then how would you put it?” the doctor asked. “Take the Klingons for example. For almost fifty years your kind has been grabbing up every square light-year you can before the Empire could. It’s any wonder that war hasn’t broken out already.”

“It’s not just humanity,” Mason countered, “it’s all been done under the auspices of the Federation. We’re all in this together.”

“Are we?” Gertch leaned back in his chair and stroked his light brown beard. “Tell me, Captain, how many non-humans command starships like the Yorktown? How many serve as admirals at Starfleet Command? How many even serve, period? Like it or not, humanity is the dominant species in both Starfleet and the Federation, so don’t pretend otherwise when the rest of us try to hold you accountable for actions taken under your leadership.”

“I can see you don’t buck your species reputation for political discourse.” Mason leaned up against the wall opposite of where Gertch’s desk was. “If you feel that way, why’d you join Starfleet?”

“Because I got tired of private practice back on Tellar,” the doctor replied. “Seeing how most species have a stick up their ass when it comes to normal conversation, it’s not as big of a tourist trap as your Earth is. Frankly, it’s hard to study exobiology when no aliens show up at your office and if you think having a Tellarite as a surgeon is unbearable, imagine what it’s like having one as a patient.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Mason said with a chuckle.

“So then I’ll ask a question of my own: why’d you ask for me?”

“You said it yourself; you’re an expert on exobiology and you applied for starship duty. Why do you ask?”

“You clearly have your own opinions about my species,” Gertch said, “and you must have read my record.”

“I did,” the captain conceded, “and I was curious as to how you made it through your last posting without a reprimand from your CO.”

“Contrary to appearances, Captain, we do find that your species is very adept at the art of the debate.” Gertch found himself smiling a little. “Oh, we had quite the few arguments, a couple even dragged on for hours. Philosophy, ethics, history; any time you thought you had the upper hand in a discussion, Commodore Enwright would quickly turn the tables and pick your entire point apart before you knew what happened.”

“Sounds a little like you’re going to miss him.”

“Bah!” he responded dismissively. “I have little use for sentimentality.”

“Well, I was never on any debate team, but I’ve been known to have a good fight or two. Just remember who’s in charge of this ship at the end of the day.” The human stood up straight and tugged on his uniform shirt. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, Doctor?”

“Just an orderly sickbay and for engineering to make sure my mud bath is always hot,” Gertch muttered in annoyance.

“Why do I have the feeling that your patients make quick recoveries thanks to your…tender bedside manner?” Mason joked. “I hope I don’t have to field a lot of complaints.”

“They shouldn’t complain about free health care. You get what you pay for.”

“Then carry on, Doctor.” The captain exited sickbay and Gertch accessed his desktop computer terminal to finish up some paperwork, grumbling to himself again about how disorganized his sickbay was. He was forced to admit that Mason wasn’t as coddling or courteous as most other humans he had worked with in the past. A part of him was almost willing to say that he looked forward to arguing with him, but such feelings were never spoken aloud among his kind.

It wasn’t long before Nurse Singh returned with sweat glistening on his forehead, his breath raspy, and a data slate in his shaky hands. “Doctor, here’s the inventory log for the medical department.”

“Give it to me,” Gertch said. He looked it over and was quickly appalled by what he saw. Herbal remedies, acupuncture needles, healing crystals, various other holistic (and idiotic, in the doctor’s opinion) treatments. “What is this? A sickbay or an apothecary?”

“Uh sickbay, sir?” the nurse asked anxiously.

The doctor made a few notations on the slate before giving it back to Singh. “Take all that and get rid of it. There will be sane medicine practiced under my watch.”

“Get rid of it?” he asked. “How?”

“Send it back to Earth, dump it into space, sell it for all I care. Just make sure none of these witchcraft supplies are in our inventory by the end of the day! Clear?!”

“Yes, Doctor,” Singh said before rushing out of sickbay once more.

Gertch turned back to his monitor, pulling up a requisition order for proper medical supplies for his sickbay. He only hoped that the captain didn’t scrutinize the pathetic state of the doctor’s domain too much before he had a chance to make it something at least appearing professional. This job is going to give me a heart attack if it keeps up like this…

* * *

​

I don’t know whether I should like this job or hate it completely, thought Lieutenant Commander Kristen Duclare as she got her main science lab organized, albeit alone. Within hours of arriving, she had thrown herself into preparing her department for departure in a week, finding out that most of her staff was on leave and the science section barely touched since this part of the ship’s refit had been completed months ago. The Yorktown had fourteen labs dedicated to the sciences, which meant she had a lot of work ahead of her. Making matters worse was that when she entered the general purpose laboratory, she found that when the supplies and equipment had been delivered, no one had bother to unpack them and store them, so the counters and tables were covered with boxes that she was in the process of unpacking now. But, I wanted this job; call it another cost of doing business.

Aside from a stint on a scout vessel, she had spent most of her career working in the labs of various starbases before finally getting another starship assignment aboard the Yorktown as science officer. Finally Duclare now had the chance to do the job she had entered Starfleet for: to conduct experiments in the field and study new life forms and new anomalies instead of only doing an analysis on them months after they were discovered and hundreds of light years away at a space station or outpost. This was an exciting opportunity and she didn’t want to do anything that could screw it up, let alone on her first day. Of course, taking an assignment aboard a starship about to set out on a five year mission didn’t come without its costs, in her case personal ones, but that was the life she chose to lead.

Duclare continued to put away various lab supplies, including instruments and chemical containers, occasionally brushing her shoulder length raven-colored hair out of her face. Just as she started to move a large analyzer, she felt her arm graze up against a flask. Before she knew it, the open container splashed its contents onto her blue uniform. Though the chemical wasn’t acidic, it was known to react with the material used in Starfleet uniforms and left an ugly purple stain if not washed away immediately. After silently cursing herself for her carelessness, Duclare stripped out of her clothes and raced over to a nearby sink. Since she was alone, she didn’t mind running around the lab in only her underwear, but it would have been far more embarrassing for her to head back to her quarters with a large blob on her clothes.

After filling up the sink with water, Duclare immediately submerged her uniform to let it soak; the water would neutralize the chemical before did any permanent damage. Drying it would be another issue, but she could just dump it off at the ship’s laundry. She walked over to a cabinet to get a blue jumpsuit just as door to the corridor behind her opened. More startled by the sudden intrusion than her lack of attire, Duclare let out a surprised yelp and spun around to see a rather attractive man standing there with a bemused expression on his face.

“Whoa,” he said as he quickly glanced away. The stripes on his uniform clearly indicated that he was Captain Mason and already Duclare had given him a somewhat unique first impression. “I seem to have the habit of barging in at the wrong time today.”

“I…” she started to say as she hunched over and opened up the locker. She grabbed the jumpsuit and slipped into it, finding it to be about a size too big for her but it was enough to conceal her features. “It’s all right, sir.”

“Sorry about that,” the captain said as he finally looked back in her direction.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Duclare asked, though she immediately wanted to roll her eyes at how she phrased it.

“See you?” he asked in confusion, clearly catching the double entendre. As his face started to flush red in embarrassment, Duclare started to chuckle. Considering what she knew about starship captains and how gung-ho they could be, it was a little (but only a little) refreshing to see that one still could be so easily disarmed by the sight of an attractive woman wearing nothing more than a bra, panties, and boots. He shook his head as if to dismiss whatever carnal thoughts were going around in his mind. “Look, let’s start over. I’m Captain Doug Mason.”

“Kristen Duclare,” she replied before they shook hands.

“Welcome aboard, Commander,” he added, glancing around the room. “I can see you’re already making yourself at home.”

“Sir?” This time, it was Duclare who was feeling embarrassed and Mason who was grinning over her discomfort. “Sorry, I’ve just been trying to get this place organized.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Commander. You still have a week and I’m not one of those people who goes over everything with a fine-tooth comb, at least not on your first day.”

“I sure hope not, considering what a mess things are around here.”

“And your uniform?”

Nodding towards the sink, she added, “Just spilled some chemicals on it; had to soak it before it got stained.” Then she smirked at him again. “What, did you think I like running around my lab half-naked?”

The captain returned her smile. “If you did, I’d hope you’d have the sense to lock the door.”

Duclare crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I was about to put this on before you came charging in.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders. “All right, so I’ll knock next time. Anything else I should know about you before we ship out?”

But before she could come up with some way to answer that loaded question, the intercom whistled.

“Bridge to Captain Mason,” the voice of the communication’s officer, whom Duclare only met briefly when she came aboard, announced.

The captain sighed as he walked over to a wall mounted com panel and pressed the activation stud with the side of his hand. “Mason here.”

“We’ve located Commander Zhang, sir.”

“And where is he?” the captain asked.

“You…probably won’t like it, sir,” he answered nervously.

“Where. Is. He?”

“Detained, sir.”

“DETAINED?!” Mason asked before letting out a very loud and very frustrated sigh. “I’ll be right up; Mason out.”

“Something wrong, sir?” she asked after he shut off the intercom.

“If you mean our prospective chief of security, let’s just say he’s already talking his way out of a job,” he said coldly before turning back to her. “I guess some things don’t change.”

“Friend of yours, sir?” Duclare asked with a smirk.

“That remains to be seen,” Mason commented. “I trust you don’t get into trouble while on shore leave.”

“Depends on how you define ‘trouble,’ sir.”

“Well jail time certainly counts.”

“Then I’ll try not to, sir,” she said with another smile.

“Very well,” he concluded and that seemed to be that. “It was good meeting you, Commander. I’d say carry on, but you might take it the wrong way.”

“Uh, aye sir,” Duclare said uneasily in response to that notion as Mason left the lab. She headed over to the sink to retrieve her now completely soaked uniform while thinking, That was odd. She wasn’t sure what to make of her talk with the captain, but at least it seemed that once they got past the initial awkwardness of him walking in on her half-naked, things seemed…normal, at least. Any other subtext to that talk, Duclare dismissed out of hand. There were too many reasons for her not to think that way.

 

[CeJay]

This promises to be a fairly diverse and entertaining crew. A sexy science officer is good, a gruff Tellarite CMO with zero bedside manner is even better. I liked his conversation with Mason and it made his being there actually quite plausible. Not to mention that his observations on a human-dominated Federations seemed quite astute.

I also liked the captain's encounter with his (half-naked) science officer. Funny how he was more embarrassed by the encounter than she was.

And now we get a security chief who seems to be as familiar with the inside of the brig than the outside? Now that sounds like just the right person for the job.

 

[Rat Boy]

This promises to be a fairly diverse and entertaining crew. A sexy science officer is good, a gruff Tellarite CMO with zero bedside manner is even better. I liked his conversation with Mason and it made his being there actually quite plausible. Not to mention that his observations on a human-dominated Federations seemed quite astute.

I also liked the captain's encounter with his (half-naked) science officer. Funny how he was more embarrassed by the encounter than she was.

And now we get a security chief who seems to be as familiar with the inside of the brig than the outside? Now that sounds like just the right person for the job.

Glad you enjoyed it. I must admit I was a little worried that the Duclare scene might be a little over-the-top, but I wanted something that'd get the reader's attention and start their interactions off in an interesting manner. Hadn't exactly planned on Mason being the one more nervous about it, but it fits.

Gertch's scene was mainly born out of the desire to have him say "They shouldn’t complain about free health care. You get what you pay for." in honor of his namesake, Trek BBS' own Gertch. His political observations were born out after I "divorced" myself from licensed Trek literature and based upon the fact that other than Spock, there were no aliens serving on the Enterprise during TOS. True, that was mainly due to budgetary limitations, but just as ENT mined the Klingon make-up changes for that 4th season two-parter, so too did I do the same with this aspect, one that'll be developed further in later chapters and episodes.

As for Li Zhang and the still-unknown executive officer, stay tuned for Friday.

 

[milo bloom]

Okay, liking it so far. I'll keep reading. Nice to see something in this era.

 

[fleetcaptain]

Nice to see you writing again RB. Loving this story so far. Need more on the old Yorktown for sure.

 

[Rat Boy]

Three

​

Police Headquarters
Hong Kong, Earth

Perhaps even worse than waking up with a hangover was waking up with absolutely no recollection of how said state of malaise occurred and how one ended up in the location that they were presently in. At least that was how Li Zhang felt when he forced his eyes open only to shut them again as he found them pointed in the direction of bright, overhead ceiling lights. That wasn’t to say that the lingering symptoms of his hangover weren’t unpleasant; Zhang felt sick to his stomach and his head throbbed like it had been thrown against a wall with every pulse of his circulatory system feeling like further blows to his skull. This bender’s definitely one for the scrapbook.

With his eyes still closed, he tried to move around on whatever he was laying upon, finding it to be a sturdy and thus uncomfortable bench. His head throbbed and he brushed the back of his hand against his goatee and moustache, finding both slightly damp from drool. Zhang summoned what strength he could to lift his head and crack his eyelids open just a sliver; he saw that he was still in the civilian clothes he had on from the night before. Well, I guess nothing that interesting happened. He immediately took note of the drab, gray walls that surrounded him, suggesting that he was in some sort of government facility and once he became aware that the buzzing in his ears actually were coming from an external source, he trained his head over to his left to see the source: a force field. He was in jail. That’s just great.

And then it all suddenly came back to him. Earlier (he didn’t know exactly how earlier) he had been at his favorite watering hole in one of the alien-occupied districts of Hong Kong. And by “watering hole” he meant “one of the worst dives on Earth.” Few Starfleet officers, let alone those in security, would even dare venture there, but it was perfect for someone like Zhang who wanted to just disappear and not be found by his superiors for a night. Fights there were common, but he managed to always stay out of them. At least until this time.

He was into his third glass of Saurian brandy, trying to ignore the backwards-talking freighter captain with the large ears and feather-like quills attempting to talk his ear off. “Very worth your while, deal is. You want anything, deliver can I! Place you name, money I name…”

Zhang had enough. Bad enough he was being enticed into taking part in a grossly illegal scheme, but the annoying inverse grammar and dead-fish like smell made it worse. “Look, pal,” he started to say as he whipped around, but his right shoulder struck something to his other side. Something big. Zhang heard sound of a glass breaking and turned around to see three aliens standing beside him, large ones of a species he didn’t immediately recognize (exobiology wasn’t his strongest suit). They had broad shoulders, thick skulls, wild manes of hair, and what appeared to be tusks around their mouths.

“Watch where you’re going, human!” the one with a drink all over his thick jacket said in a voice so deep that it made Zhang’s back teeth vibrate.

“Maybe you should find yourselves a table,” he said, mainly because he was drunk. “Bar’s a little crowded, you know.”

“Maybe you should find a human bar!” the alien said, jabbing a thick index finger into Zhang’s chest. He then noticed the other two starting to tense up; they were clearly spoiling for a fight and if Zhang didn’t figure out a way to talk his way out of it, he’d be in for one hell of a bout.

At least that would have been the sensible thing to do. On top of the three Saurian brandies, Zhang had consumed a couple of beers and a shot of some godawful Rigelian whiskey beforehand. “You do know you’re on Earth, right? Birthplace of humanity? Full of humans? Oh, my mistake; you three don’t look bright enough to even know what sector you’re in.”

“I only see one human here and three of us!”

“More than enough for the likes of you, shit for brains,” Zhang countered with a smirk. He saw a quick flash from one of the other aliens; a motion to grab a bottle for use as a weapon and that was when Zhang made his move. He grabbed the first alien’s offending digit and pulled it back towards the large person’s hand, feeling a satisfying snap. As the alien howled, Zhang used his right foot to shove him into his friends, toppling all three of them. Even in his drunken haze, Zhang had thought that the little display of his prowess would have been enough to convince the aliens to back off. He was wrong.

All three of them quickly got back their feet and let out gorilla-like roars. “Hurt not Grignak!” the dimwitted freighter captain yelled. The area around the bar quickly cleared out, giving Zhang and his opponents plenty of space to work with. The first alien lunged at him and though Zhang was intoxicated, his advanced Starfleet hand-to-hand combat training was ingrained in him so well he could fight in his sleep if need be. They might have been stronger, but Zhang was crafty. He sidestepped the alien’s charge, grabbed him from behind, and used his momentum to slam the alien’s forehead into the edge of the bar. He slumped to the floor quickly.

Zhang felt a second brawler come up from behind and managed to duck out of the way of his high punch. He went to the floor, used his two feet to grab one of the alien’s ankles, and pulled the alien’s leg out from under him, sending him tumbling backwards. The third came at Zhang quickly and he planted his hands, using them to propel his boots into the alien’s chin while back-flipping into a standing position. Alien #3 was still standing and tried to come after Zhang again. Effortlessly, the security officer dodged the first punch, grabbed the second incoming fist, twisted the arm, slammed an elbow into the alien’s elbow to damage the joint, and used his leverage to toss the alien over his shoulder and onto the ground.

One of the other two (#1 or #2, he couldn’t remember) grabbed him from behind, locking his chest within a vice-like grip. Zhang could feel his ribcage start to buckle under the pressure; he only had a few seconds before the life was squeezed out of him. Again, with both feet, he kicked backwards and thankfully the alien’s anatomy was similar to most humanoid species; Zhang was not above hitting someone in the testicles if he had to. The alien released him and immediately dropped to his knees. Zhang finished him off with an elbow to the back of the alien’s head, which dropped him to the floor completely sprawled out and completely out cold.

#3 and his remaining companion were now on their feet again, though their footing was wobbly. Zhang had tired of this sport by this point and immediately went after #3. A few well-placed punches to weak-points such as the knees, nose, and ribs put 3 on the ground and a roundhouse kick to the other one’s face sent him tumbling backwards against a bar table and both flipped over. When it was over, there were three aliens on the floor either completely unconscious or groaning in agony and barely moving.

“Had enough, boys?” Zhang quipped confidently while surveying the crowd who had watched the fracas from a comfortable distance to make sure no one else would try to get in on the fun. Instead, he heard a commotion coming from the entrance and saw two uniformed police officers burst into the bar with phasers drawn.

“FREEZE!” And that was how Zhang’s night ended. He surrendered quietly and once he completely failed a field sobriety test was dumped off in a holding cell to sleep off his drunkenness. Still in his cell now, Zhang carefully swung his feet off of the bench and onto the floor, only now realizing that his pain wasn’t just caused by the hangover. A month or two shy of forty, he wasn’t the young buck he was back at the academy and even a mild bar brawl like the one he had just been in took a lot out of him. It also didn’t help that this wasn’t by far the first time he had been in a fight, bar or not.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he said to himself before he heard footsteps approaching his cell.

“Ah, you’re up,” said a uniformed Hong Kong police officer, a lanky man like Zhang, though he had a higher pitched and thus very annoying voice. “Good, ‘cause you have a visitor.”

“Well it can’t be my lawyer since you still haven’t given me my one com session yet,” Zhang answered tiredly as he slowly got to his feet.

“You watch too many vids.” The guard lowered the force field and led him out of the holding cell. They walked past several others and much to Zhang’s delight one of them was occupied by his sparring partners from earlier. All three of them looked like they had been attended to by a doctor and gave him nasty stares as he walked by. Zhang gave them a wink, a smirk, and a “thumbs up” gesture.

The guard led him into a small interrogation room and Zhang slumped into a metal chair before his escort left. He placed his elbows on the metal table and buried his face in his hands, half-tempted to get some more sleep right then and there. Zhang didn’t even look up when the door to the room opened again. Whoever this is better have a damn good reason why I got dragged out of bed.

“This seems familiar,” a voice said that Zhang could have recognized even if he was still drunk, though it belonged to the last person he’d ever thought he’d run into in a place like this.

Looking up confirmed that suspicion and Zhang didn’t know if he should have felt happy or annoyed at seeing his old friend here. “The hell you doing here, Doug?”

“Nice to see you, too, Li,” his old academy classmate, Doug Mason said. “Reminds me of that time at Wrigley’s Pleasure planet. When was that? Junior year?”

“Who’s counting?” Zhang asked absently. Mason was carrying two coffee cups and set one of them down in front of the security officer before sitting down in a chair at the opposite end of the table. Zhang took a tentative sip of his drink before asking, “What time is it?”

“Early.”

“Never could figure out the time differences without a chronometer handy, either. Scuttlebutt says they made you captain of the Yorktown so unless you suddenly decided to join the JAG Corps at the last minute, you’re not my lawyer.”

“Sounds like you should keep one on retainer,” Mason said. “I can still see you’re finding ways to get into trouble.”

Zhang snorted. “That? That was nothing compared to what we got into back at the academy.”

“You mean what you got me into.”

“And you still made captain,” he pointed out. “You’re welcome.” After taking another sip of coffee and almost gagging on it, Zhang added, “Makes me nostalgic for the crap they serve out of the food processors.”

“Would you mind explaining to me why you went out of your way not to be found?” Mason asked sternly, a tone he had heard often that convinced Zhang that he was now being dead serious. While he had been a serious and dedicated student, command seemed to make him more confident, more authoritative. Zhang had changed quite a bit since back then, as well, though in his friend’s case it clearly was for the better.

“It’s technically not a vacation if the boss knows where to find you.”
“Does your idea of a vacation involve jail time, Commander?” the captain countered sharply as he jumped up from his seat in anger. “I was trying to find you because I need you on the Yorktown, someone I can trust with my life and the lives of my crew ten times over, but stunts like this make me wonder if I’ve lost my mind.”

“I always knew you were a shitty judge of character, Doug,” Zhang criticized as he quickly finished off his coffee, more interested in getting the caffeine rush and not caring about how much the hot liquid stung. “You land one of the Big Twelve Starships and the first guy you think to bring on board as your security chief is a loser like me.”

“Well, you did take down three Nausicaans without breaking a sweat; that’s got to count for something.”

“Nausicaans, huh? I’ll add them to the list of species whose asses I’ve kicked.”

“For Christ’s sake!” his friend cursed in frustration as he started to pace on the far end of the interrogation room. “You haven’t changed one damn bit since the academy. Only difference is your body count has gotten higher.”

“I may have picked up a trick or two in the last decade or so,” Zhang said cryptically.

“If you hadn’t been pulling this bullshit from day one, you could’ve had a command of your own by now,” Mason added angrily. “Instead you’re just in charge of security for the Vulcan embassy.”

“It pays well.”

“You could do better.”

“Oh, forgive me if we all can’t be like the great Captain Doug Mason,” he said in an annoyed and sarcastic tone. “Loyal boy scout, combat veteran, hero!”

“This little poor-old-Li act of yours is starting to wear a little thin, Commander, and I don’t have the time for it,” his captain said with a sigh and seemed to calm himself down and reassumed his seat. “I still want you on the Yorktown, Li. If we end up in situations half as bad as I think they can get, I’m going to need someone who can take down twelve Nausicaans if he had to, someone I know who’ll have my back in a tight spot. Please tell me that hasn’t changed.”

“I’ve always had your back, Doug,” Zhang said in a serious tone. Damn; caring about a friend can really sober you up. “If you want to ride into Hell, I’ll be right there with you. Count me in.”

“Good to know,” Mason said with a relieved sigh. “So, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Wait, what about the cops?”

“They’re actually letting you go,” his friend said with a smirk. “Turns out the three Nausicaans you roughed up were wanted for kemocite smuggling. You saved the police the trouble of trying to arrest them and from what I heard that could have been even messier than what you pulled.”

“Then why’d they lock me up over night?”

The captain smirked. “Because your blood alcohol level nearly broke their tricorder and because you didn’t have any ID on you. You can leave whenever you want.”

“And here I was looking forward to finding out if all those stories about prison showers were true,” Zhang noted slyly. “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Mason said as he got up from his seat. “You’re restricted to the ship until further notice. If you pull something like that again, I’ll have you sent back to Earth inside an escape pod.”

“You know, Doug, I think you’re letting this captain thing go to your head,” Zhang teased while following his friend out. In spite of his flippantness, he actually was grateful for the opportunity his old friend had just given him. His career, such as it was, had hit a dead-end before Mason walked through that door and once the Yorktown was underway it’d be almost like old times. Almost…

(Continued on Page 2...)

 

[Rat Boy]

USS Procyon
Earth orbit

Two thoughts ran through the mind of Lieutenant Commander Juliet Okefor, the first being I can’t wait and the second being I can’t wait to get this over with. Ordinarily she wasn’t this nervous, but on this particular day the butterflies in her stomach were threatening to pay the lump in the back of her throat a visit and then some. She stared at herself in the mirror of her modest cabin, noting the tired lines creasing the light brown skin around her eyes and feeling angry at herself for not getting enough sleep the night before. It was hard for Okefor not to be excited and anxious at a time like this, since she was moments from taking her latest Starfleet post: executive officer of the USS Yorktown. At the same time, though, she was worried about making a first impression since she had never met her captain before today.

She took a deep breath and smoothed her gold uniform before grabbing her duffle bag and exiting out of her temporary quarters aboard the Procyon, a Starfleet Antares-class transport ship she had taken from Vulcan to meet up with the Yorktown at Earth. The accommodations certainly weren’t what she’d be experiencing aboard her new ship and in spite of whatever trepidation she might have about how her reporting aboard the Yorktown would go, Okefor was at least glad to be off the transport for that and a few other reasons, one of which was walking down towards her in the main corridor just that very moment. Not again.

“Juliet? Glad I caught you before you left,” said Lieutenant Commander Jeffrey Taggert, the Procyon’s commanding officer, a middle-aged man who had gone out of his way to try to make Okefor’s stay on his ship more “pleasant,” as he had annoyingly put it. “It’s a real parking lot out there.”

“Captain,” she answered dismissively, addressing Taggert by his title in spite of the fact that they shared the same rank. Unperturbed yet again, the transport captain fell into step with her and yet again, Okefor wished he’d be anywhere but here. The transport had minimal crew and none of them female. There was one obvious reason she was being showered with the attention. This bloody skirt.

She hated them with a passion, thinking they were blatantly sexist and demeaning. The hem of the mini skirt was so high up it was a centimeter or two from giving someone an unobstructed view of one’s buttocks. Okefor did have the option to wear pants, but based on what she had read about Captain Mason, she didn’t want to chance the possibility that he was as serious about sticking to the dress code as he seemed to be about everything else.

“Sorry it took so long to get us into orbit,” he added, “but we were given a low priority. Looks like they’re moving a lot of ships out of Spacedock.”

“I can imagine.” The civilian news networks had been reporting a rise in tensions with the Klingon Empire, which made Okefor feel uneasy. She joined Starfleet to explore the galaxy and make first contact with other species, not wage conflict with them.

“Any idea where you folks on the Yorktown are off to?”

“Hopefully to the frontier.” That was what had made this new assignment so exciting. Ships like the Yorktown were sent off to the edges of explored space, discovering strange new worlds and new alien races. It was the sort of thing she had always dreamed of doing and she only hoped something had not happened to upset those plans.

They entered the Procyon’s small transporter room and without even looking back, Okefor got on the platform, ready to begin the next stage in her Starfleet career. She turned to see Taggert standing by the transporter console and the man operating it.

“Receiving the coordinates from the Yorktown now, sir,” the crewman said.

“Good luck Commander,” Taggert said warmly. “Hopefully we’ll run into you again.”

“Perhaps,” she said in irritation. “Energize.”

After a high pitched whine sounded as the transporter activated, Okefor heard a loud buzz before she was swept up in a cascade of twinkling gold energy. The transporter bay of the Procyon dissolved around her and another, larger transporter room started to appear before. She noted while the transporter cycle completed and her vision cleared that there was a man standing in front of the platform wearing a standard uniform with the rank stripes of captain. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with closely-trimmed black hair and piercing dark eyes. Though he initially seemed to have a stern expression, it quickly warmed up as he smiled to her.

“I’m Captain Doug Mason,” he said as he extended a hand to her.

“Juliet Okefor, reporting for duty, sir,” she answered formally while stepping off the transporter and shaking his hand, which had a firm grip to it but not to the point where it was uncomfortable.

“Welcome aboard, Commander. I’d hate to do this just after you got here, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to put you to work right away. Mission briefing’s in the conference room.”

“Has something happened, sir?” she asked curiously and eagerly.

“I’ll explain in a few minutes,” he answered quickly, sounding like he didn’t care much for it and for the moment neither did she. Mason then turned to the transporter operator and added, “Have Commander Okefor’s belongings taken to her quarters.”

“Aye Captain,” the chief replied and Okefor quickly gave her the duffel she had brought with her before following Mason out into the corridor.

The hallway they were now in was far larger than Okefor was accustomed to. Most of her career had been spent on smaller vessels, where most of the time two people couldn’t even walk side by side as she and the captain were able to do now. However, the hallway was also filled with people, far more than she would have thought for a ship in port, but considering that the Yorktown was apparently due to depart in mere days, she supposed it made sense.

“First time on a Constitution-class ship, Commander?” the captain asked, apparently noticing that she was now smiling.

“Not since I toured one while I was at the academy, sir,” she answered as they made their way down a curved passageway. “A lot’s changed since then. That was a long time ago.”

“Probably not as long ago as when I was a cadet,” he noted wistfully. They approached a door and entered, finding a windowless room with a long, angular conference table and a group of people Okefor assumed were the senior officers. On one wall was a large view screen. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet our new XO, Lieutenant Commander Juliet Okefor. Commander, may I introduce our senior staff? Ensign Wolfram Schneider, our communications officer.”

“Wilkommen,” he answered in German, if Okefor’s ears didn’t deceive her.

“Lieutenant Cody Hall, navigator and weapons officer.”

“Ma’am,” he said with a slight accent in his voice that the executive officer pegged as originating from the southern United States, but not specifically where.

“Lieutenant Tavas, helmswoman.” The Andorian only gave her a polite nod. “Chief Engineer Francisco Cortez.”

“Commander.”
“Chief Medical Officer Doctor Gertch.” The Tellarite, who was wearing a short-sleeved medical tunic, merely grunted at her, though Okefor was not expecting a warm reception out of him. “Our Chief of Security, Lieutenant Commander Li Zhang.”

“XO,” he said curtly.

“And lastly our science officer, Lieutenant Commander Kristen Duclare.” They both gave each other a polite smile and Okefor looked forward to working with her since she had spent most of her career in the sciences before switching to the command track. “Now that we’re all here finally, let’s get right to it.”

The senior officers each headed for a seat around the conference table and all took seats in chairs that they had apparently been sitting in for some time. Mason guided Okefor to one just off to the right-hand side of the chair at the head of the table and both sat down. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said we were getting down to business.

“I’ll keep this simple since as you’ve probably already guessed we’re not heading out to the frontier just yet,” Mason said immediately. Though not surprising to Okefor, it was nonetheless disappointing. “Things aren’t going all that well with the Klingon Empire. In response to the trade embargo, the Klingons have deployed additional task forces to the disputed border. So far they haven’t issued an ultimatum or any other demands, but we’re not taking any chances. Starfleet’s mobilizing more assets to the disputed zone, including the Yorktown. Our orders are to patrol the border, guard our colonies and outposts, and deal with any Klingon incursions should something occur.”

“For how long?” asked Duclare.

“Indefinitely,” Mason replied bluntly, which made Okefor’s heart sink even further. He leaned forward to add, “I know this isn’t what any of you were expecting when you came aboard. But with tensions running high as they are now, Starfleet feels that ships like the Yorktown are needed out there to counter the growing threat. Any questions?”

“What about the diplomatic situation?” Okefor found herself questioning. Though she was technically a stranger among the group, she was the highest ranking officer outside of the captain and hoped her inquiry wouldn’t raise eyebrows among her shipmates. “Have the negotiations broken down?”

“Not yet, but from what I’ve been told, they’re not really going anywhere, either.”

“If I remember right,” said Zhang, “their idea of negotiations generally involve having a disruptor pointed at your head.”

“Not that it matters, sir,” added Hall. “The negotiations are a waste of time.”

“Seeking a diplomatic solution is never a waste of time, Leftenant,” Okefor countered.

“Klingons don’t believe in diplomatic solutions, Commander. They’ve proven that time and again. Even as we meet at the bargaining table, they send warships to raid freighters and our colonies. Now it sounds like they’re getting ready for something worse. Maybe we shouldn’t wait around this time.”

Angered, the XO fired back, “So what are you proposing, Mr. Hall? A military solution? War?”

“Enough,” Mason said sternly. “I know this mission could carry a lot of implications for the future, but in the end it’s just another patrol. We go out there, have a look around, and deal with whatever problems come up. Any talk of what happens beyond that is academic at this point and way above our pay grades. Now, anything specifically about the mission?”

“I’m a little worried about heading out there without a full shakedown cruise, Captain,” Cortez said. “Not that anything critical could fail, but we’re still a lot of fine-tuning away from getting ship-shape.”

“Hopefully if anything goes wrong with the ship, we can take care of it before we reach our patrol station. Any other questions?” No one had anything else to add. “Then return to your posts. We have five more days until our launch and I want this ship ready for anything. Dismissed.”

The senior officers started to depart, but when Okefor got up from her chair, the captain said, “Wait a moment, Commander.” Nervously, she sat back down and after the others exited, Mason added, “You came down pretty hard on Mr. Hall.”

“I’m sorry sir; I know I’m new here,” she apologized, “but I was just…”

“Speaking your mind,” he interrupted. “I for one encourage that. Hall’s got his own opinions, but trying to challenge your authority is not the way to go about expressing them. In my view, he had it coming, but at the same time it’s probably not a good idea for you to pick petty fights with a junior officer, not if you want to earn their trust.”

“Captain, with all due respect, Mr. Hall’s attitude is not commensurate with a Starfleet officer.”

“How so?”

“We’re keepers of the peace, sir, not soldiers,” Okefor elaborated. “The use of force should be the very last option we employ.”

“I agree with you on that last part, Commander,” Mason noted, “but Mr. Hall is also right about one thing: the Klingons do not seek out diplomatic solutions to disputes. They’re a warrior culture; conflict is their way. In my experience, diplomacy only works if both parties are willing to participate fully in it and so far the Klingons have not.”

“Permission to speak candidly sir?”

“Granted.”

“Then why did you ask for me to serve as your first officer?” she asked point blank. It had been a question rolling around in her head since Okefor accepted this post and though said question had been set aside when it seemed the Yorktown was on her way to where no one has gone before, the change of orders and Mason’s stance on the current situation brought it back to the forefront. “Clearly, given your background…”

“My background?” he interrupted once more.

“You graduated at the top of your class from Advanced Tactical Training,” Okefor explained uneasily. “You’ve captained destroyers and escorts. With your credentials, I just assumed your political opinions would…”

“Not line up with yours?” Mason chuckled. “Commander, your first mistake is judging a book by its cover. True, I do have a lot of expertise and experience in combat matters, but that does not mean I go out seeking battles.”

The XO grunted in angered frustration. “I didn’t mean that sir.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I…” About a thousand qualms with how Starfleet had been run recently flooded to mind and frankly Okefor had a tough time figuring out where to start. “Sir, to be blunt, I’m wondering if Starfleet’s lost its way. A year ago, we were sending starships out on five-year missions of exploration, but now we’re sending ships out not to explore, but to defend.”

“Protecting Federation interests is part of our mandate,” Mason pointed out, “whether you like it or not.”

“Protect, yes, but we’re not a military force.”

“But a lot of people depend on us to act like one.”

“And I accept that sir,” she said firmly though grudgingly, “but where do we draw the line? I know this may be temporary, but frankly this was not what Starfleet was chartered for and it sure as bloody hell isn’t what I signed up to do.”

“A lot can change, Commander,” the captain said calmly, though he got up from his chair to pace about the conference room. “Over the years, Starfleet’s had to change to deal with the problems it’s faced. Today it’s the Klingons. Last year it was the Romulans. You didn’t sign up for this and frankly neither did I, but we swore an oath when we put on the uniform to defend the Federation. Mr. Hall is entitled to see things the way he does just as you are, but if either of you aren’t willing to do what duty calls upon you to do, be it seek peace with or combat the Klingon Empire, then I have no use for either of you two. Clear?”

“Of course, sir,” Okefor answered meekly.

“Now, to answer your question, there was a specific reason why I asked for you. You’re right, I am somewhat of an expert when it comes to tactical matters, but that isn’t why I’m captain of this vessel.”

“Sir?”

“Let me put it another way. Duclare’s a good science officer, Cortez is a great engineer, and Gertch’s…a decent doctor, but none of them are command material. Officers good at their positions don’t necessarily make good captains, even tactical officers like me…or diplomatic officers like yourself.”

For the last nine months, Okefor had been studying for her master’s degree in interstellar diplomacy at the Federation Foreign Service Institute on Vulcan. She even passed on an XO position on a light cruiser in order to complete her studies, hoping that completing her course work would result in the post she just now obtained, though with the offer coming on such short notice, she missed graduation.

“But,” Mason added, “captains need to have something more than that. They need to be well rounded, not experts in every field mind you, but have an understanding of what their senior officers are trying to tell them. They also need to lead them, obviously. As someone with diplomatic training, you have some experience in leadership, don’t you?”

“I believe I do, sir,” Okefor replied.

“Then that’s what I’m looking for in an executive officer. To borrow a phrase, I have an eye for both talent and potential and I’m sure you’ll pick things up as you go. Let me ask you something; why did you apply for this assignment?”

“Sir?” she replied in confusion.

“Your file shows that you’ve trained extensively in diplomatic affairs,” the captain explained. “You just graduated at the top of your class from the FFSI, something even our best negotiators can’t claim. With your background, I would’ve figured you would have applied to the Diplomatic Corps or even sought an appointment as an ambassador. Why stick with Starfleet?”

“Because ambassadors and negotiators don’t get to explore, sir. They don’t get to make first contact with new life and new civilizations.”

“Perfectly understandable, Commander. Hopefully when this patrol is over, we’ll be doing just that. Anything else?”

“Just one thing, sir,” she answered, gesturing to her skirt. “The uniform?”

“Not a fan of skirts, Commander?” he asked.

“Not as a uniform, sir.”

“Well then, wear whatever you feel like. Just keep it within reason.”

“Thank you, sir,” Okefor said, thankful that at least something was going right.

Mason turned his attention to a data slate on the table. “Now, then, you have less than a week to get to know this ship and her crew before we leave. Not a lot of time, so I suggest you get to it. Dismissed.”

“Aye sir.” The commander got up from her chair and started to leave the briefing room, holding back a sigh of relief that she intended to release in the corridor. Fortunately, that conversation had gone better than she imagined, though aside from Mason’s apparent attempts to buck up her spirits, she felt that they didn’t see eye to eye in a lot of areas. True, perhaps Okefor was indeed “judging a book by its cover” as the captain implied, but something about his words seemed to suggest that they saw the universe differently. She obviously strongly disagreed with the direction Starfleet had taken over her career whereas he seemed to accept it or even condone it to an extent. Okefor hoped that like the mission, she was worrying about nothing…

 

[milo bloom]

Erm, okay, still good, but the skirt thing is a little overplayed. It's clear from Number One's appearance in The Cage and assorted other appearances of females in uniform slacks in this era (there was a thread in the TOS section not long ago with several screengrabs) that the skirt wasn't required. A better approach to this situation would be to (tastefully) describe Okefor getting dressed, then have her internally think about how she had made the personal decision to move to slacks when she had moved up into senior command (second officer, etc) so that your reader knows you're addressing the issue, but without it having to be a conversation between captain and XO.

Otherwise this is good stuff, I'm always a sucker for "pulling the crew together" sequences (though the bit with Mason and the admiral in his office might have been dragged out a skosh too long), but again, I love that you're in this era and I am enjoying this story.

 

[Rat Boy]

Erm, okay, still good, but the skirt thing is a little overplayed. It's clear from Number One's appearance in The Cage and assorted other appearances of females in uniform slacks in this era (there was a thread in the TOS section not long ago with several screengrabs) that the skirt wasn't required. A better approach to this situation would be to (tastefully) describe Okefor getting dressed, then have her internally think about how she had made the personal decision to move to slacks when she had moved up into senior command (second officer, etc) so that your reader knows you're addressing the issue, but without it having to be a conversation between captain and XO.

Otherwise this is good stuff, I'm always a sucker for "pulling the crew together" sequences (though the bit with Mason and the admiral in his office might have been dragged out a skosh too long), but again, I love that you're in this era and I am enjoying this story.

It was sort of a reference to Jellico ordering Troi to wear the standard duty uniform as opposed to her other outfits; she only wore the skirt the first time on the Yorktown because she didn't know what the captain's preference was and didn't want to make a bad first impression. I wrestled with coming up with a logical (if it could be called that) reason why Starfleet would have their female members dress that way, but I couldn't think of anything plausible. You're correct that the skirts weren't in "The Cage" or "Where No Man Has Gone Before," which is why I made it a recent development. It was intended only as a minor character bit for Okefor and not something dramatic, which is why I resolved it right then and there and it won't be an issue going forward.

And if you thought Mason and Leland's conversation was drawn out, you should have seen it before I started whittling it down. Basically, the aim was to establish some of his background, his views on the current situation, and to push his buttons a little.

 

[CeJay]

It seems every time somebody writes a TOS era series, the mini-skirts create a bit of a mini-controversy. I personally wouldn't care if you dedicated a whole chapter on the uniforms but that would be a different kind of story, I guess.

My view has always been that they are not so much sexist as they are a fashion trend. Clearly back in the 60s women thought mini-skirts were the bee's knees and wore them all the time. Today we mostly think they are ridiculous. But there is nothing to say that in 200 years they will not experience a revival for a decade or two.

But enough about the clothes and let's talk characters.

I like Zhang. He's just the kind of man you want to handle your security and have your back on an away mission. But I find Okefor even more interesting. She seems slightly out of place here with her pacifist views and she's clearly nothing like Mason. I find that very refreshing and it will undoubtedly create some fascinating conflicts down the line.

I reseve may biggest question mark for now for Mason himself. I'm not his biggest fan yet and that's mostly thanks to the lecture he gave his new XO here. He has to be a leader and I suppose he's doing a good job at it so far but every captain who feels the need to explain to his officers why he is the captain, is slightly suspect in my eyes.

Having said that, we're still at the beginning of this adventure and you've only just established your characters. Kudos for not spending an exorbitant amount of time on that. I'm looking forward to see where you take this next.

 

[Rat Boy]

It seems every time somebody writes a TOS era series, the mini-skirts create a bit of a mini-controversy. I personally wouldn't care if you dedicated a whole chapter on the uniforms but that would be a different kind of story, I guess.

My view has always been that they are not so much sexist as they are a fashion trend. Clearly back in the 60s women thought mini-skirts were the bee's knees and wore them all the time. Today we mostly think they are ridiculous. But there is nothing to say that in 200 years they will not experience a revival for a decade or two.

But enough about the clothes and let's talk characters.

I like Zhang. He's just the kind of man you want to handle your security and have your back on an away mission. But I find Okefor even more interesting. She seems slightly out of place here with her pacifist views and she's clearly nothing like Mason. I find that very refreshing and it will undoubtedly create some fascinating conflicts down the line.

I reseve may biggest question mark for now for Mason himself. I'm not his biggest fan yet and that's mostly thanks to the lecture he gave his new XO here. He has to be a leader and I suppose he's doing a good job at it so far but every captain who feels the need to explain to his officers why he is the captain, is slightly suspect in my eyes.

Having said that, we're still at the beginning of this adventure and you've only just established your characters. Kudos for not spending an exorbitant amount of time on that. I'm looking forward to see where you take this next.

Let's go blow by blow here. First, I really didn't intend the skirt issue to be a big deal; in hindsight, I should've made it something of a joke like the "bellhop" uniforms from Crusade, the Babylon 5 spin-off. It was more of trying to establish that Okefor has problems with how things are done with Starfleet and the skirt being the straw that broke the camel's back. And if you think she has trouble with how business is done now, imagine for a moment how she'll feel about the TWOK era.

Zhang's an interesting character to write and I was worried he'd come off as a trope; the rebel who constantly bucks authority and still wears the uniform in spite of it. Rest assured, though, there's a reason he has such self-destructive behavior that'll become clear later on.

Okefor's also interesting to write as noted above. She's very much the explorer and diplomat in the vein of Captain Picard. Now here she is serving under a captain with a very tactical background with diplomacy on the verge of failing. The seas ahead are going to be rough for her.

As for Mason, I know there are a few things I'm keeping close to the vest with him, but I'll reveal this: when I watched The Captains of the Final Frontier special on the Biography Channel a couple weeks ago, I damn near panicked. He didn't fit into the molds of Kirk, Picard, Sisko, Janeway, Archer, or nuKirk. Then I realized that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Jellico wasn't particularly likable in "Chain of Command," but he sure as heck was interesting. Not saying that Mason is a copy of Jellico, but it's something to keep in mind.

In regards to the speech, my intent was that it be about Mason trying to explain why Okefor would make a good XO for the Yorktown, with his using himself merely as an example. He wanted to make it clear that she was right for the job in spite of their potential personality conflicts and her newness to the post.