CHAPTER ONE
Deneva Station, Kappa Fornacis III
Late-February 2155
*
The booth was located on the far end of the eatery, one specializing in Vulcan vegetarian meals. Yet, it may as well have been light-years removed from the low hum of conversation. Arez Bagram was hunched over the leaf soup, dipping the spoon in and out without much thought.
In his mind’s eye, the destruction of the Arrowtown and the subsequent deaths of her crew, the five-man Starfleet boarding party aboard the freighter and the near destruction of the Genghis-class spaceship Arvakur, played in a loop. Many died, many wounded too. When help finally arrived, medical personnel stabilized those they could, while engineers guided Arvakur back to drydock.
He had thought the commodore would be angry, frustrated. Failing that, a board of enquiry into what happened. Court martial. None of those eventuated. Duvall did lament at the high casualty list, claiming that they were “the true loss” --whatever that meant to be.
“That soup’s not going to eat itself, Lieutenant.”
Baram looked up, startled to see the purplish-blue standard dress uniform. The admiral rings on the sleeves were a dead giveaway who was before him, and Baram almost bolted to his feet.
“As you were,” said Rear Admiral Travis Hammond. “Last thing we want is for your soup to spill.”
“Ah, yes, sir!” Baram forced himself to sit back down.
“Mind if we sit down?”
“Huh?” Baram blinked, realizing Hammond was not alone. There was another, sporting the same uniform. “Oh! Yes, yes, of course! Please.”
“This is Chief Bhutto, formerly Sergeant Major of Jupiter Station Security,” Hammond said as a way of introduction.
“Sergeant Major,” mumbled Baram, recalling that security warrant officers had opted for the British Army positions of sergeant majors and quartermaster sergeants. Why that was hadn’t been explained, considering that Starfleet Security used naval ranks.
“Just ‘Chief’ will do, sir,” Bhutto said as he sat down.
“Yes, Chief!”
“Chief Bhutto initially came to grab Commander Dekelley’s remains back to Earth.”
“The joy of being listed as next of kin,” offered Chief Bhutto with a far-off look.
“You and the captain related?” asked Baram.
“Colleagues,” replied Chief Bhutto. “Forrest tried dating one of my sisters, but it thankfully didn’t work.”
“I asked the chief to stay on, though,” cut in Admiral Hammond, crossing his arms and regarding Baram with a hooded stare. “You see, we’ve found ourselves at a bit of a conundrum, Lieutenant. With Commander Bukowski resigning his commission and Commander Dekelley killed, along with your away party, Arvakur’s without a captain. Neither Sector Command nor the Exploration Division have anyone of relevant rank and command experience to replace either of them.”
“Plus, the upper decks are gutted,” added Chief Bhutto.
“There is that.” Agreed Admiral Hammond, before turning back to Baram. “She’ll need to have an extensive period in drydock, probably a good four to six months.”
Baram blinked. In his mind, that only meant one thing: Arvakur was going to be decommissioned and used for parts.
“Enough time for you to run a little errand for me,” Hammond continued.
Baram stared at the admiral. “Errand, sir?”
“Colm O’Brian and his family have had a few enterprising years,” said the admiral. “Most of the time his activity had been transporting contraband. Small scale stuff, but enough to ensure they made themselves some interesting clientele. Starfleet Intelligence believes that O’Brian had a network of clandestine depots and warehouses.”
Baram just nodded, recalling that Commander Bukowski had such suspicions.
In fact, Arvakur’s first captain had been pushing Commodore Duvall to conduct such an investigation. Thing was, the commodore had no such intention; claiming that it might upset the Deneva authorities and the Earth Cargo Service in one swoop. It was why Commander Bukowski resigned.
“I need you to find them,” said Admiral Hammond.
“Ahh, I don’t have a ship.”
Hammond smiled. “What do you think Arvakur is, Captain?”
Deneva Station, Kappa Fornacis III
Late-February 2155
*
The booth was located on the far end of the eatery, one specializing in Vulcan vegetarian meals. Yet, it may as well have been light-years removed from the low hum of conversation. Arez Bagram was hunched over the leaf soup, dipping the spoon in and out without much thought.
In his mind’s eye, the destruction of the Arrowtown and the subsequent deaths of her crew, the five-man Starfleet boarding party aboard the freighter and the near destruction of the Genghis-class spaceship Arvakur, played in a loop. Many died, many wounded too. When help finally arrived, medical personnel stabilized those they could, while engineers guided Arvakur back to drydock.
He had thought the commodore would be angry, frustrated. Failing that, a board of enquiry into what happened. Court martial. None of those eventuated. Duvall did lament at the high casualty list, claiming that they were “the true loss” --whatever that meant to be.
“That soup’s not going to eat itself, Lieutenant.”
Baram looked up, startled to see the purplish-blue standard dress uniform. The admiral rings on the sleeves were a dead giveaway who was before him, and Baram almost bolted to his feet.
“As you were,” said Rear Admiral Travis Hammond. “Last thing we want is for your soup to spill.”
“Ah, yes, sir!” Baram forced himself to sit back down.
“Mind if we sit down?”
“Huh?” Baram blinked, realizing Hammond was not alone. There was another, sporting the same uniform. “Oh! Yes, yes, of course! Please.”
“This is Chief Bhutto, formerly Sergeant Major of Jupiter Station Security,” Hammond said as a way of introduction.
“Sergeant Major,” mumbled Baram, recalling that security warrant officers had opted for the British Army positions of sergeant majors and quartermaster sergeants. Why that was hadn’t been explained, considering that Starfleet Security used naval ranks.
“Just ‘Chief’ will do, sir,” Bhutto said as he sat down.
“Yes, Chief!”
“Chief Bhutto initially came to grab Commander Dekelley’s remains back to Earth.”
“The joy of being listed as next of kin,” offered Chief Bhutto with a far-off look.
“You and the captain related?” asked Baram.
“Colleagues,” replied Chief Bhutto. “Forrest tried dating one of my sisters, but it thankfully didn’t work.”
“I asked the chief to stay on, though,” cut in Admiral Hammond, crossing his arms and regarding Baram with a hooded stare. “You see, we’ve found ourselves at a bit of a conundrum, Lieutenant. With Commander Bukowski resigning his commission and Commander Dekelley killed, along with your away party, Arvakur’s without a captain. Neither Sector Command nor the Exploration Division have anyone of relevant rank and command experience to replace either of them.”
“Plus, the upper decks are gutted,” added Chief Bhutto.
“There is that.” Agreed Admiral Hammond, before turning back to Baram. “She’ll need to have an extensive period in drydock, probably a good four to six months.”
Baram blinked. In his mind, that only meant one thing: Arvakur was going to be decommissioned and used for parts.
“Enough time for you to run a little errand for me,” Hammond continued.
Baram stared at the admiral. “Errand, sir?”
“Colm O’Brian and his family have had a few enterprising years,” said the admiral. “Most of the time his activity had been transporting contraband. Small scale stuff, but enough to ensure they made themselves some interesting clientele. Starfleet Intelligence believes that O’Brian had a network of clandestine depots and warehouses.”
Baram just nodded, recalling that Commander Bukowski had such suspicions.
In fact, Arvakur’s first captain had been pushing Commodore Duvall to conduct such an investigation. Thing was, the commodore had no such intention; claiming that it might upset the Deneva authorities and the Earth Cargo Service in one swoop. It was why Commander Bukowski resigned.
“I need you to find them,” said Admiral Hammond.
“Ahh, I don’t have a ship.”
Hammond smiled. “What do you think Arvakur is, Captain?”
