I'd like to file down the Tzenkethi's claws with a phaser set to disintegrate.
Tales of the Border Service: "Dragon's Slayd"
- Thread starter TheLoneRedshirt
- Start date
I love West's reaction to Dr Zimmerman - boy's got some backbone 
Indeed, looks as though they butchered their way through the crew and passengers rather effectively. Hopefully, Captain Slayd has something devious in mind that will help balance the scales.
First ..., lovin' it, like i love all your work. Really enjoying Captain Slayd's idiosyncrasies thus far, and I've enjoyed how you're playing with the Mark I EMH.
In that regard, I have to ask: was it just me, or was there an intentional "homage" to Dr. Bombay from the "Bewitched" series when the EMH first appears all decked out for golf?
Am I showing my age?
Regardless, I loved it!
And finally a slightly more contemporary reference: I don't have any idea why, but in my mind's eye, Dr. West looks like Simon Tam from "Firefly".
Looking forward to the next installment.
In that regard, I have to ask: was it just me, or was there an intentional "homage" to Dr. Bombay from the "Bewitched" series when the EMH first appears all decked out for golf?
Am I showing my age?
Regardless, I loved it!
And finally a slightly more contemporary reference: I don't have any idea why, but in my mind's eye, Dr. West looks like Simon Tam from "Firefly".
Looking forward to the next installment.
No, not intentional - though I do remember Dr. Bombay. (Now I'm showing my age!
)Ah, now that was intentional - good catch, TM. Dr. Tam was my inspiration for Dr. West (sans crazy sister). I wanted to portray someone very bright and talented, but also young and rather naive.
Glad you're liking the story.
Wow. Just wow. Seriously, I need to go back and reread what you've posted so far, because I have no idea how in such a brief period you were able to so effectively and clearly (at least to me) convey that.
Nicely done (as usual.) Bravo!
Chapter Four
Stardate 54356.2 (13 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
En route to the planet Cait in the Regula System
Captain Slayd sat in his ready room before a roaring fire, an untouched glass of Port in his hand and Oracle the cat snoring quietly in his lap. He knew he should get some sleep, but his busy mind would not give him rest. As he mulled over an idea that was brewing, the enunciator chimed.
“Come.”
Commander Nor Huren entered and leaned against the paneled wall. She looked exhausted.
“Katari, you look all in! Have a seat before you fall down.”
The First Officer collapsed into the opposite chair and stared morosely into the fire. The dancing flames reflected from her iridescent bronze skin, accentuating her alien heritage.
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked, kindly.
“You don’t have anything strong enough,” she replied, frustration and fatigue evident in her tone.
“Hmm. Perhaps you need something that doesn’t come from a replicator.” He stood, placing the holographic feline on the carpet and earning a reproachful look before moving to a double-door cabinet that dated back three centuries. He turned the brass clasp and the door opened with a squeak. From within he produced a bottle containing a deep amber liquid. Nor Huren looked on with curiosity.
“Jack Daniels? What’s that?” she asked.
“An elixir for the soul,” he responded as he poured two fingers into cut crystal glasses. He handed one to Katari and raised his glass.
“To your health,” he said.
Nor Huren eyed the drink with a curious glance, then tossed back the entire quantity of liquor. Slayd’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Not bad,” she said. "My father used to make something similar to this when I was a child. He saved the strong stuff for the adults."
“Hmm. Yes,” replied Slayd as he settled back into his chair. He took a careful sip of the whiskey, savoring its smoky taste, before setting the glass down on the marble-top side table next to the forgotten glass of port. He cast a concerned look at Nor Huren as she gazed into the fire.
“This was a tough one, Katari.”
She turned toward Slayd and a spark of anger flashed in her golden eyes. “What good are we doing, Artie? The damned Tzenkethi jump across the border with impunity, murder innocent Caitians, then head home while all we can do is clean up the mess. 72 dead, Artie. Seventy - two.”
“You managed to save two – that’s worth something.”
Katari’s bark of laughter was without humor. “Yeah – a child who will likely have nightmares the rest of her life, and one female who may still not survive. That’s showing the Tzenkethi!”
Slayd allowed her to vent. Truth be told, he couldn’t argue the point, nor did he want to. As Oracle nimbly jumped back into his lap, he changed the subject. “How did our young Dr. West perform?”
Nor Huren’s face relaxed slightly. “He did okay," she said, nodding. "There was a brief moment when we found the first body that I though he might lose it . . . but he held it together just fine.” This time, she did allow a small smile.
“He’s got a good manner to him, Artie. Not to speak ill of the dead, but West impresses me way more than Guaraldi ever did on his best day.”
Slayd took another sip of whiskey without responding directly. The late Dr. Gino Guaraldi, the “reluctant surgeon” as Nor Huren called him, had been a passable physician but lacked much in the way of social skills. A chronic complainer, Guaraldi was a reserve officer who had been called back to active-duty status during the Dominion War. He had fought tooth and nail against the recall, but the very real threat of incarceration had forced his compliance. It was sad irony that he had been killed only a week before the stop-loss order had been rescinded and he would have been released from the service.
Katari rose and stretched. “Anyway, we have the transport in tow, the bodies are in stasis, and we’re headed toward the Regula system to drop off the survivors. Marcus has the conn and I’m going to bed.”
“Sleep well,” said Slayd, staring back into the fire.
“You should do the same,” she replied pointedly. “Have ‘James’ fix you some warm milk or something to help you sleep.”
“You are remarkably well-versed in human minutiae,” he replied with a wan smile.
“You Humans are interesting. Odd, but interesting. Good night, Artie.”
“Number One?”
“Yes?”
“I won’t let this stand unpunished. That I can promise you.”
* * *
Sickbay
“Doc? Hey, Doc – wake up!”
Brian West started, and blinked back to wakefulness. The porcine snout of Chief Tork loomed mere centimeters away, his somber black eyes peered at West with a sort of baleful concern.
West rubbed his face briskly, trying to gain a semblance of wakefulness. He had only meant to rest his eyes a moment, apparently he’d dozed off.
“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he replied, groggily.
“Right,” replied Tork in obvious disbelief. “Dr. Zimmerman says the Caitian female is stable. Why don’t you get some rest? Corpsman Blake is here and Doc Z will keep an eye on things.”
West yawned. It felt like he had been up for days. Still 16 hours was a pretty long stint, considering what had transpired.
“Okay, Tork – I’ll head out in a minute. Go on yourself – and . . . thanks!”
The Chief Corpsman cocked his head and squinted. “For what?”
“For doing a hell of a job today. I don’t know how that poor Caitian is still alive.”
Tork eyed the young CMO suspiciously for a moment, before moving away – muttering under his breath.
“You haven’t been around many Tellarites, have you?”
West turned to see the EMH standing next to him, hands casually buried in the pockets of his lab coat. “Dr. Zimmerman” bobbed his head in the direction of Tork, who was stalking out of sickbay.
“What? Why do you say that?” asked West, his fatigue adding a defensive note to his voice.
The EMH ignored West’s irritation. “Tellarites don’t respond well to words of gratitude, Doctor. They prefer insults and sarcasm – that way they know you take them seriously. Sure, Tork did a bang-up job. He’s a capable corpsman. Just don’t treat him like a Human being.”
West leaned his head against the cool wall. “Damn. I didn’t mean to offend him. I guess I better go apologize.”
Zimmerman’s eyes widened in horror and he placed a retraining hand on West's shoulder.
“For God’s sake – don’t do that! That would really depress him. Best thing is to just let it go.”
The young CMO nodded and sighed. “I’ve got a lot to learn.”
The EMH raised a sardonic eyebrow. “That’s an understatement!” His expression softened. “You did well today. I must say I was . . . impressed. Your surgical skills are more than adequate. Perhaps with my careful tutelage, you will make an acceptable Chief Medical Officer.”
West snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He looked over at the cubicle where the Caitian woman lay in an induced coma. “I sure hope she makes it,” he said quietly.
The EMH followed West’s gaze. “We did our part in repairing the damage. How she copes with the overall trauma remains to be seen. Her relative youth and otherwise good physical condition should help, but . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Yeah – but.” West stretched again and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Both physicians were aware that a thousand things could still go wrong, despite all of the best medical technology available. Sometimes patients never woke up.
“I’m going to my quarters,” West said, wearily. “Contact me if her condition changes.”
“You require at least eight hours sleep, Dr. West,” admonished the EMH. “I can handle anything that comes along, seeing as how I can’t suffer from fatigue.”
West didn’t argue as he trudged out of sickbay and across the corridor to his quarters. Entering the cabin, he considered taking a sonic shower, but the siren song of his bed was too powerful. He took four steps then sprawled over the bed.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, his combadge chirped. With a groan, he turned over and tapped the offending device.
“West here.”
“Doctor, it’s Lieutenant T’Lin. I apologize if I am disturbing you.”
West sat up and ran a hand through his unruly shock of hair. “Not at all, Lieutenant. Is something wrong?”
“No – I thought you would like to know that the little Caitian girl seems to be doing well. She’s asleep in the spare bunk in my quarters at present.”
A sense of relief washed over West. “Thank you, Lieutenant – that’s good to hear.”
“She finally began to talk. The adult Caitian in sickbay is her mother. I was wondering as to her condition.”
“She’s stable but still critical. If she survives the next twenty-four hours, she has a good chance of recovery.”
“I understand. Thank you, Doctor. One more thing – you may be interested to know that the child’s name is M’shen. She said to tell the ‘smooth-skinned’ man, ‘thank you’ for helping her.”
West found it suddenly difficult to speak. He quickly cleared his throat. “Um, thank you – I’m certainly glad she’s doing okay.”
“As am I, Doctor. T’Lin, out.”
West sat on the edge of his bed, his fatigue momentarily forgotten as a crooked grin broke out on his face.
“Well, how about that?” he asked his cabin.
* * *
Stardate 54356.2 (13 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
En route to the planet Cait in the Regula System
Captain Slayd sat in his ready room before a roaring fire, an untouched glass of Port in his hand and Oracle the cat snoring quietly in his lap. He knew he should get some sleep, but his busy mind would not give him rest. As he mulled over an idea that was brewing, the enunciator chimed.
“Come.”
Commander Nor Huren entered and leaned against the paneled wall. She looked exhausted.
“Katari, you look all in! Have a seat before you fall down.”
The First Officer collapsed into the opposite chair and stared morosely into the fire. The dancing flames reflected from her iridescent bronze skin, accentuating her alien heritage.
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked, kindly.
“You don’t have anything strong enough,” she replied, frustration and fatigue evident in her tone.
“Hmm. Perhaps you need something that doesn’t come from a replicator.” He stood, placing the holographic feline on the carpet and earning a reproachful look before moving to a double-door cabinet that dated back three centuries. He turned the brass clasp and the door opened with a squeak. From within he produced a bottle containing a deep amber liquid. Nor Huren looked on with curiosity.
“Jack Daniels? What’s that?” she asked.
“An elixir for the soul,” he responded as he poured two fingers into cut crystal glasses. He handed one to Katari and raised his glass.
“To your health,” he said.
Nor Huren eyed the drink with a curious glance, then tossed back the entire quantity of liquor. Slayd’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Not bad,” she said. "My father used to make something similar to this when I was a child. He saved the strong stuff for the adults."
“Hmm. Yes,” replied Slayd as he settled back into his chair. He took a careful sip of the whiskey, savoring its smoky taste, before setting the glass down on the marble-top side table next to the forgotten glass of port. He cast a concerned look at Nor Huren as she gazed into the fire.
“This was a tough one, Katari.”
She turned toward Slayd and a spark of anger flashed in her golden eyes. “What good are we doing, Artie? The damned Tzenkethi jump across the border with impunity, murder innocent Caitians, then head home while all we can do is clean up the mess. 72 dead, Artie. Seventy - two.”
“You managed to save two – that’s worth something.”
Katari’s bark of laughter was without humor. “Yeah – a child who will likely have nightmares the rest of her life, and one female who may still not survive. That’s showing the Tzenkethi!”
Slayd allowed her to vent. Truth be told, he couldn’t argue the point, nor did he want to. As Oracle nimbly jumped back into his lap, he changed the subject. “How did our young Dr. West perform?”
Nor Huren’s face relaxed slightly. “He did okay," she said, nodding. "There was a brief moment when we found the first body that I though he might lose it . . . but he held it together just fine.” This time, she did allow a small smile.
“He’s got a good manner to him, Artie. Not to speak ill of the dead, but West impresses me way more than Guaraldi ever did on his best day.”
Slayd took another sip of whiskey without responding directly. The late Dr. Gino Guaraldi, the “reluctant surgeon” as Nor Huren called him, had been a passable physician but lacked much in the way of social skills. A chronic complainer, Guaraldi was a reserve officer who had been called back to active-duty status during the Dominion War. He had fought tooth and nail against the recall, but the very real threat of incarceration had forced his compliance. It was sad irony that he had been killed only a week before the stop-loss order had been rescinded and he would have been released from the service.
Katari rose and stretched. “Anyway, we have the transport in tow, the bodies are in stasis, and we’re headed toward the Regula system to drop off the survivors. Marcus has the conn and I’m going to bed.”
“Sleep well,” said Slayd, staring back into the fire.
“You should do the same,” she replied pointedly. “Have ‘James’ fix you some warm milk or something to help you sleep.”
“You are remarkably well-versed in human minutiae,” he replied with a wan smile.
“You Humans are interesting. Odd, but interesting. Good night, Artie.”
“Number One?”
“Yes?”
“I won’t let this stand unpunished. That I can promise you.”
* * *
Sickbay
“Doc? Hey, Doc – wake up!”
Brian West started, and blinked back to wakefulness. The porcine snout of Chief Tork loomed mere centimeters away, his somber black eyes peered at West with a sort of baleful concern.
West rubbed his face briskly, trying to gain a semblance of wakefulness. He had only meant to rest his eyes a moment, apparently he’d dozed off.
“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he replied, groggily.
“Right,” replied Tork in obvious disbelief. “Dr. Zimmerman says the Caitian female is stable. Why don’t you get some rest? Corpsman Blake is here and Doc Z will keep an eye on things.”
West yawned. It felt like he had been up for days. Still 16 hours was a pretty long stint, considering what had transpired.
“Okay, Tork – I’ll head out in a minute. Go on yourself – and . . . thanks!”
The Chief Corpsman cocked his head and squinted. “For what?”
“For doing a hell of a job today. I don’t know how that poor Caitian is still alive.”
Tork eyed the young CMO suspiciously for a moment, before moving away – muttering under his breath.
“You haven’t been around many Tellarites, have you?”
West turned to see the EMH standing next to him, hands casually buried in the pockets of his lab coat. “Dr. Zimmerman” bobbed his head in the direction of Tork, who was stalking out of sickbay.
“What? Why do you say that?” asked West, his fatigue adding a defensive note to his voice.
The EMH ignored West’s irritation. “Tellarites don’t respond well to words of gratitude, Doctor. They prefer insults and sarcasm – that way they know you take them seriously. Sure, Tork did a bang-up job. He’s a capable corpsman. Just don’t treat him like a Human being.”
West leaned his head against the cool wall. “Damn. I didn’t mean to offend him. I guess I better go apologize.”
Zimmerman’s eyes widened in horror and he placed a retraining hand on West's shoulder.
“For God’s sake – don’t do that! That would really depress him. Best thing is to just let it go.”
The young CMO nodded and sighed. “I’ve got a lot to learn.”
The EMH raised a sardonic eyebrow. “That’s an understatement!” His expression softened. “You did well today. I must say I was . . . impressed. Your surgical skills are more than adequate. Perhaps with my careful tutelage, you will make an acceptable Chief Medical Officer.”
West snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He looked over at the cubicle where the Caitian woman lay in an induced coma. “I sure hope she makes it,” he said quietly.
The EMH followed West’s gaze. “We did our part in repairing the damage. How she copes with the overall trauma remains to be seen. Her relative youth and otherwise good physical condition should help, but . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Yeah – but.” West stretched again and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Both physicians were aware that a thousand things could still go wrong, despite all of the best medical technology available. Sometimes patients never woke up.
“I’m going to my quarters,” West said, wearily. “Contact me if her condition changes.”
“You require at least eight hours sleep, Dr. West,” admonished the EMH. “I can handle anything that comes along, seeing as how I can’t suffer from fatigue.”
West didn’t argue as he trudged out of sickbay and across the corridor to his quarters. Entering the cabin, he considered taking a sonic shower, but the siren song of his bed was too powerful. He took four steps then sprawled over the bed.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, his combadge chirped. With a groan, he turned over and tapped the offending device.
“West here.”
“Doctor, it’s Lieutenant T’Lin. I apologize if I am disturbing you.”
West sat up and ran a hand through his unruly shock of hair. “Not at all, Lieutenant. Is something wrong?”
“No – I thought you would like to know that the little Caitian girl seems to be doing well. She’s asleep in the spare bunk in my quarters at present.”
A sense of relief washed over West. “Thank you, Lieutenant – that’s good to hear.”
“She finally began to talk. The adult Caitian in sickbay is her mother. I was wondering as to her condition.”
“She’s stable but still critical. If she survives the next twenty-four hours, she has a good chance of recovery.”
“I understand. Thank you, Doctor. One more thing – you may be interested to know that the child’s name is M’shen. She said to tell the ‘smooth-skinned’ man, ‘thank you’ for helping her.”
West found it suddenly difficult to speak. He quickly cleared his throat. “Um, thank you – I’m certainly glad she’s doing okay.”
“As am I, Doctor. T’Lin, out.”
West sat on the edge of his bed, his fatigue momentarily forgotten as a crooked grin broke out on his face.
“Well, how about that?” he asked his cabin.
* * *
I almost feel bad for the Tzenkethi, but they will get what's coming to them.
West did good.
West did good.
Hee hee. Love it. The EMH telling the CMO what the score is. And West sure is naive especially complimenting a Tellerite. Tut tut. Ah well. He's done well.
Loved that interaction and that of the Capt and XO. The scene setting is incredible and I just want to be in that little room myself getting comfy and sipping some JD. Great writing, great characters and a great lot more to come. Mmmmmm - what shape will pay back come in?
Young Dr. West is still feeling his way around, but he's already proving he has the chops for a CMO's billet. The XO is taking the loss of the Caitians hard, as well she should. A slaughter like that would be an invitation to retaliation for most cultures. However, with the Federation's more 'developed' sensitivities, Captain Slayd's response will doubtless need to be somewhat more subdued.
^ I agree with them!
This is very well written, with superb characterisation.
This is very well written, with superb characterisation.
How about that, Doctor West?
I like the young doctor and his freshman perspective. Using a newcomer to introduce a new series is always a plus. In this case it helps even more that he himself is a novice, seeing things for the very first time.
I like Zimmerman, I liked Slayd, I like Nor Huren, hell there is nothing not to like here.
Well done.
I like the young doctor and his freshman perspective. Using a newcomer to introduce a new series is always a plus. In this case it helps even more that he himself is a novice, seeing things for the very first time.
I like Zimmerman, I liked Slayd, I like Nor Huren, hell there is nothing not to like here.
Well done.
Chapter Five
Stardate 54357.1 (14 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
En route to the Regula System
West slowly came to wakefulness and glanced at the cabin’s chronometer. He looked again, aghast to see he had slept for nearly 10 hours. The young CMO sat up in near panic until he realized he still had nearly six hours until his duty shift began.
A foul odor caused him to wrinkle his nose. He sniffed the air, trying to locate the odor's origin until he realized with chagrin that he was the source of the rank smell. West was still dressed in the same uniform that he had worn when he first arrived at Star Station Bravo.
Quickly stepping into the head, he stripped off the offending jumpsuit and discarded it into the ‘cycler. Five minutes later he stepped out of the sonic shower, skin tingling and feeling much better. He addressed his beard stubble with a healthy dose of beard suppressant and donned a clean uniform.
As he brushed his teeth, the enunciator to his cabin door chimed. Still brushing, he moved to the door.
“Shrum ib,” he said through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.
The door slid open to reveal Ensign Cyndi Kwan. Her shiny black hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail and her eyes sparkled with amusement. West stopped brushing and stared. Kwan grinned.
“If this is a bad time . . .” she began.
“Uh . . . ust un econd.” He retreated back to the head and emerged a few moments later.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I thought it might be the corpsman on duty in sickbay.”
They stood awkwardly a moment, both temporarily at a loss for words. Finally, West spoke.
“Would you like to come in?”
Kwan looked around. “I already am.”
“Oh. Right.” Blast!, he thought, West, you magnificent idiot!
The attractive Ensign rescued him. “Actually, I was on my way to the Six for breakfast and wondered if you’d like to join me?” Her shyness reasserted herself as her voice trailed off.
“The Six? What’s that?”
“It’s the crew lounge on deck six, aft. You know, like ‘watch your six?’”
Actually, West had no clue what she meant, but he smiled nonetheless. “Breakfast sounds good, Ms. Kwan. Let me stick my head in sickbay to check on our patient, then I’m good to go.”
“Call me Cyndi,” she said, smiling again.
* * *
Captain Slayd entered main engineering, a cathedral-like compartment housing the warp core and the power distribution network of the Dragonfire. An engineering “snipe” in protective gear noticed Slayd and straightened.
“Ah, Crewman Burroughs!” began Slayd, “Where might I find your tyrannical overlord this fine morning?”
The young engineer smiled. “I believe he’s in his cubicle, sir. I’d be happy to check for you.”
Slayd waved him off. “Don't bother, lad – I can find my own way.” The Captain stepped quickly across the gleaming deck toward the sanctum sanctorum of the Chief Engineer, Lt. Dmitri Korolev.
Korolev sat behind a featureless ebony desk – his office remarkably clean and sterile for an engineer – lacking any of the usual clutter of odd tools, spare parts or stacks of PADDs. The Russian gazed quietly at Slayd as the Captain entered his office. Korolev had gaunt, angular features with deeply inset pale gray eyes and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. A dark van-dyke beard framed a tight mouth beneath a nose that had apparently been broken on more than one occasion. He watched Captain Slayd take the opposite chair with a dour expression.
“Keptin,” he said, neutrally.
“Good morning, Dmitri – sorry to barge in unannounced, but I’ve got this idea bouncing around in my head that needs the input of a top-notch engineer. Would you happen to know one?”
Korolev’s impassive face relaxed fractionally into a ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. It depends on how high your ‘idea’ bounces.”
“Fair enough, old man. Mind if we close the door? This is for your ears only, for the moment anyway.”
Though Korolev made no obvious move, the door to the office slid silently shut and the transparent aluminum walls suddenly became an opaque silver.
“You may speak freely, Keptin.”
“Indeed.” replied Slayd, dryly. “I believe I have a plan that will allow us to bag a Tzenkethi marauder before they can skulk back across the border." Slayd leaned forward, his eyes glittering with intensity. "Here’s what I have in mind . . .”
Slayd spoke for several minutes as Lt. Korolev leaned back in his chair and listened attentively. Finally, Slayd finished his presentation. Korolev remained quiet for several moments, contemplating Slayd's proposal.
“A most intriguing plan, Keptin, but fraught with difficulties.”
“It has been tried before, Dmitri – successfully too, I might add.”
“Da, I am aware of that. But that was utilizing a much smaller vessel, perhaps 50,000 tons with lesser power demands. Dragonfire is a 720,000 metric ton starship.”
“So you are saying it can’t be done?”
“I said it would be difficult – not impossible, Keptin. How much time would you require to set your trap?”
Slayd grimaced. “There’s the rub – I’m not really sure. I would think at least one hour for the plan to work.”
Korolev tapped a finger against his lips. “We would have to draw the requisite power directly from the warp core as well as reserves and non-essential systems. At the same time, we will need to shield our increased power output for this to work. Obviously, you will still require weapons, and phasers draw a significant amount of power.”
“I thought of that – we could get by with torpedoes.”
The Russian nodded. “That would help – but I would still need to draw our shield envelope within the ship to effectively mask our power surge from the warp core, even with a containment field in place. The hull would remain exposed, at least temporarily. Even with the piss-poor weapons the Tzenkethi use, they could still carve us up like a Christmas goose.”
Slayd smiled ruefully. “Well, this job wouldn’t be any fun without a certain degree of risk, eh? So what do you say, Dmitri? Care to give it a go?”
“Give me a few hours to work on the calculations. I will let you know then. Also, I would require your help with this.”
Slayd stood. “Of course – I was counting on it. Thanks for the listening ear, Dmitri. Sorry to intrude in your domain.”
Korolev nodded. “Next time, give me warning and I will clean up the place first.”
Slayd glanced around the immaculate space. “Ah. Yes, quite.”
* * *
West and Ensign Kwan found an empty table near the large viewport, affording them a spectacular view of the stars. “The Six” was not as large or ornate as similar lounges found on Galaxy or Sovereign class vessels, but it provided a warm, inviting place to have a meal or share a drink. At the moment there were only a few patrons grabbing breakfast while a Bolian barkeep polished the Mahogany bar.
The CMO gazed with wonder through the transparent aluminum window before taking a sip of decaf coffee. “I was under the impression that Border Service cutters were old and cramped little ships. I’ve been amazed at how spacious this ship is and I never imagined it would have a spot like this.”
Kwan smiled. “Most classes of cutters are old and cramped, Brian. The Griffin-class is the largest and best equipped in the Border Service - at least until the new Deepstar-class cutters start coming out of Utopia Planitia later this year.”
“Is that what Dragonfire is? Griffin-class?”
Kwan looked surprised. “Well, of course! Didn’t you know that?”
The Doctor stirred more sugar into his coffee. “Cyndi, I’m a surgeon dressed up as a Border Service officer. I barely know what the pips on our collars signify. Didn’t you suffer through the same bare-bones Academy-lite program that I went through?”
Kwan toyed with the eggs on her plate, her eyes downcast. “Yes, but I was really working hard to prepare myself for a career in Starfleet. I tried to absorb everything I could.” She shrugged, “Unfortunately, my grades didn’t reflect it, so I graduated near the bottom of my class. Goodbye, ships of the line, hello Border Service.”
“I didn’t mean to disparage the Academy training,” West said quickly, “it’s just that in my case, I was more focused on medicine and making it through my residency requirements. The Academy course work seems kind of a blur now.”
Cyndi smiled. “It’s okay. Even if I had gone through the regular four-year program the outcome would have been the same for me. I just tend to freeze up when taking exams.” She took a sip of orange juice. “So, why did you join up? Was it because of the war?”
“Partly,” admitted West. “I figured that surgeons would be needed. Who knew the war would end before graduation? – not that I’m complaining. But I’ve always been intrigued by my great- grandfather. He spent decades in Starfleet as a ship’s surgeon, even doing a stint on the Enterprise-B. When I was small, I enjoyed hearing him tell stories about strange worlds, exotic aliens and the challenges of practicing medicine on a ship.” He shrugged. “I guess I wanted to see what that kind of life was like.”
“Well,” began Cyndi, “this isn’t exactly the Enterprise, but at least you didn’t get stuck on an Albacore.”
“A what?” he asked, puzzled.
"Never mind," she said, shaking her head and smiling. "So, how did you wind up in the Border Service?"
He chewed a piece of melon thoughtfully. "To be honest, I haven't given it much thought. Starfleet, Border Service - it's all pretty much the same to me." He paused. "You ask like there's something wrong with it."
She absently swirled the remains of her orange juice in her glass. "No . . . not really. The Border Service has always had the reputation as the red-headed step-child of Starfleet - a destination for the under-achievers and trouble-makers who couldn't pass muster in the regular Fleet. It's not a fair description, but most 'Fleeters tend to look down on us Border Dogs."
West raised an eyebrow. "Why should you care what other people think? It's your life - make the most of it. As to the opinions of - what did you call them? 'Fleeters? I say, 'screw 'em.'"
Cyndi gazed out the viewport. "If only it were that easy."
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"Both of my parents are 'Fleeters. My mother is C.O. of the Artemis. My dad is first officer on the Berlin. I had really hoped following in their footsteps would make them proud."
"Oh." West regarded the lovely young woman with sympathy. "I take it they're not thrilled you're in the Border Service?"
She sighed. "Not so much."
* * *
Stardate 54357.6 (14 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
En route to the Regula System
“Captain,” announced Lt. Xevok, “we are being hailed by the Caitian patrol vessel, Chufhaal.”
Slayd raised an eyebrow in surprise. “On screen, Mr. Xevok,”
The image of a Caitian male with orange fur, wearing a dark green uniform appeared.
“Dragonfire, this is the Chufhaal. I am Commander Raarthun of Caitain Planetary Security. We have been dispatched to pick up the survivors from the Ch’Rhuu.”
“Captain Artemus Slayd, Commander. We had planned on taking the survivors directly to Cait, but we will abide by your request." He paused, then continued in a diplomatic tone. "It is somewhat unusual to encounter a Caitian patrol ship so far outside the Regula system.”
“The Prime Legate has orderred Planetary Security to expand our patrols to coverr the space lanes. I do not wish to offend, Captain, but it seems the Borrder Serrvice and Starrfleet are unable to protect our merrchant and passenger vessels from the Tzenkethi bandits. We now must take matterrs into ourr own hands.”
Slayd frowned. “Commander, the evidence suggests that these border incursions are conducted by heavily armed gunboats. While I commend your desire to protect your citizens, I do not believe your patrol ships are a match for the Tzenkethi.”
“Perrhaps not, but we arre not afraid to face the barrbarrians and defend our people.” There was a note of challenge in the Caitian’s voice.
“Your courage is not in question, Commander. And I do understand the frustration that you and your fellow Caitians must feel . . .”
“With all due rrespect, Captain, it is apparrent that Starrfleet does not understand our frrustration and our grrowing angerr over the situation. We have sent numerous petitions for additional ships to defend the sectorr, yet there are fewerr ships now than one year ago. If the Federration will not come to our aid, we will have to take matterrs into our own hands!”
“Commander Raarthun, I sympathize with you completely. But we are still short-handed. The Talarian incursion has cut further into the number of available cutters, and . . .”
Raarthun interrupted. “Yes, yes we have heard this all before,” he said, brusquely. “Please underrstand, Captain – our quarrel is not with you or yourr crew. Your record speaks for itself and we arre grateful for the assistance you prrovide. But I also know that yourr hands are tied by the armistice agreement – that you are prohibited from purrsuing the raiders across the borderr. As we are not Starrfleet, we are not so bound.”
“That may be true,” replied Slayd, clearly concerned, “but Cait is a Federation member. The Tzenkethi would likely view a border violation by any member world as an act of war.”
“Then perrhaps warr is necessary to end this cycle of violence once and forr all.”
Slayd spoke carefully. “Commander, I have lived through two wars and several major skirmishes. I can assure you – you do not want that.”
“What I want is of no importance, Captain. The Prime Legate and the Council of Elderrs will make that decision.” The Caitian commander glanced off-screen. “We will rrendezvous with you in ten minutes, Captain. Please have ourr people rready for trransport – our medical technicians arre standing by.”
The channel closed abruptly and the viewscreen once more revealed the streaming starscape.
“I get the impression that the Caitians have lost patience with us, Artie,” noted Commander Nor Huren.
“Indeed,” replied Slayd, rubbing his chin in consternation. “And I can't bloody well blame them.” He stood abruptly. “Number One, notify sickbay and Lt. T’Lin that we will be beaming our guests to the Caitian ship shortly. Then, contact the senior staff – I want to have a meeting in one hour.”
“Aye, sir. May I ask our agenda?”
“I’ve been working on a little plan with our chief engineer to shake up the status-quo with the Tzenkethi. I think it’s time I shared the stratagem so we can give the ‘long-tooths’ a bloody nose before the Caitians get us into a full-blown war.”
* * *
Stardate 54357.1 (14 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
En route to the Regula System
West slowly came to wakefulness and glanced at the cabin’s chronometer. He looked again, aghast to see he had slept for nearly 10 hours. The young CMO sat up in near panic until he realized he still had nearly six hours until his duty shift began.
A foul odor caused him to wrinkle his nose. He sniffed the air, trying to locate the odor's origin until he realized with chagrin that he was the source of the rank smell. West was still dressed in the same uniform that he had worn when he first arrived at Star Station Bravo.
Quickly stepping into the head, he stripped off the offending jumpsuit and discarded it into the ‘cycler. Five minutes later he stepped out of the sonic shower, skin tingling and feeling much better. He addressed his beard stubble with a healthy dose of beard suppressant and donned a clean uniform.
As he brushed his teeth, the enunciator to his cabin door chimed. Still brushing, he moved to the door.
“Shrum ib,” he said through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste.
The door slid open to reveal Ensign Cyndi Kwan. Her shiny black hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail and her eyes sparkled with amusement. West stopped brushing and stared. Kwan grinned.
“If this is a bad time . . .” she began.
“Uh . . . ust un econd.” He retreated back to the head and emerged a few moments later.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I thought it might be the corpsman on duty in sickbay.”
They stood awkwardly a moment, both temporarily at a loss for words. Finally, West spoke.
“Would you like to come in?”
Kwan looked around. “I already am.”
“Oh. Right.” Blast!, he thought, West, you magnificent idiot!
The attractive Ensign rescued him. “Actually, I was on my way to the Six for breakfast and wondered if you’d like to join me?” Her shyness reasserted herself as her voice trailed off.
“The Six? What’s that?”
“It’s the crew lounge on deck six, aft. You know, like ‘watch your six?’”
Actually, West had no clue what she meant, but he smiled nonetheless. “Breakfast sounds good, Ms. Kwan. Let me stick my head in sickbay to check on our patient, then I’m good to go.”
“Call me Cyndi,” she said, smiling again.
* * *
Captain Slayd entered main engineering, a cathedral-like compartment housing the warp core and the power distribution network of the Dragonfire. An engineering “snipe” in protective gear noticed Slayd and straightened.
“Ah, Crewman Burroughs!” began Slayd, “Where might I find your tyrannical overlord this fine morning?”
The young engineer smiled. “I believe he’s in his cubicle, sir. I’d be happy to check for you.”
Slayd waved him off. “Don't bother, lad – I can find my own way.” The Captain stepped quickly across the gleaming deck toward the sanctum sanctorum of the Chief Engineer, Lt. Dmitri Korolev.
Korolev sat behind a featureless ebony desk – his office remarkably clean and sterile for an engineer – lacking any of the usual clutter of odd tools, spare parts or stacks of PADDs. The Russian gazed quietly at Slayd as the Captain entered his office. Korolev had gaunt, angular features with deeply inset pale gray eyes and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. A dark van-dyke beard framed a tight mouth beneath a nose that had apparently been broken on more than one occasion. He watched Captain Slayd take the opposite chair with a dour expression.
“Keptin,” he said, neutrally.
“Good morning, Dmitri – sorry to barge in unannounced, but I’ve got this idea bouncing around in my head that needs the input of a top-notch engineer. Would you happen to know one?”
Korolev’s impassive face relaxed fractionally into a ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. It depends on how high your ‘idea’ bounces.”
“Fair enough, old man. Mind if we close the door? This is for your ears only, for the moment anyway.”
Though Korolev made no obvious move, the door to the office slid silently shut and the transparent aluminum walls suddenly became an opaque silver.
“You may speak freely, Keptin.”
“Indeed.” replied Slayd, dryly. “I believe I have a plan that will allow us to bag a Tzenkethi marauder before they can skulk back across the border." Slayd leaned forward, his eyes glittering with intensity. "Here’s what I have in mind . . .”
Slayd spoke for several minutes as Lt. Korolev leaned back in his chair and listened attentively. Finally, Slayd finished his presentation. Korolev remained quiet for several moments, contemplating Slayd's proposal.
“A most intriguing plan, Keptin, but fraught with difficulties.”
“It has been tried before, Dmitri – successfully too, I might add.”
“Da, I am aware of that. But that was utilizing a much smaller vessel, perhaps 50,000 tons with lesser power demands. Dragonfire is a 720,000 metric ton starship.”
“So you are saying it can’t be done?”
“I said it would be difficult – not impossible, Keptin. How much time would you require to set your trap?”
Slayd grimaced. “There’s the rub – I’m not really sure. I would think at least one hour for the plan to work.”
Korolev tapped a finger against his lips. “We would have to draw the requisite power directly from the warp core as well as reserves and non-essential systems. At the same time, we will need to shield our increased power output for this to work. Obviously, you will still require weapons, and phasers draw a significant amount of power.”
“I thought of that – we could get by with torpedoes.”
The Russian nodded. “That would help – but I would still need to draw our shield envelope within the ship to effectively mask our power surge from the warp core, even with a containment field in place. The hull would remain exposed, at least temporarily. Even with the piss-poor weapons the Tzenkethi use, they could still carve us up like a Christmas goose.”
Slayd smiled ruefully. “Well, this job wouldn’t be any fun without a certain degree of risk, eh? So what do you say, Dmitri? Care to give it a go?”
“Give me a few hours to work on the calculations. I will let you know then. Also, I would require your help with this.”
Slayd stood. “Of course – I was counting on it. Thanks for the listening ear, Dmitri. Sorry to intrude in your domain.”
Korolev nodded. “Next time, give me warning and I will clean up the place first.”
Slayd glanced around the immaculate space. “Ah. Yes, quite.”
* * *
West and Ensign Kwan found an empty table near the large viewport, affording them a spectacular view of the stars. “The Six” was not as large or ornate as similar lounges found on Galaxy or Sovereign class vessels, but it provided a warm, inviting place to have a meal or share a drink. At the moment there were only a few patrons grabbing breakfast while a Bolian barkeep polished the Mahogany bar.
The CMO gazed with wonder through the transparent aluminum window before taking a sip of decaf coffee. “I was under the impression that Border Service cutters were old and cramped little ships. I’ve been amazed at how spacious this ship is and I never imagined it would have a spot like this.”
Kwan smiled. “Most classes of cutters are old and cramped, Brian. The Griffin-class is the largest and best equipped in the Border Service - at least until the new Deepstar-class cutters start coming out of Utopia Planitia later this year.”
“Is that what Dragonfire is? Griffin-class?”
Kwan looked surprised. “Well, of course! Didn’t you know that?”
The Doctor stirred more sugar into his coffee. “Cyndi, I’m a surgeon dressed up as a Border Service officer. I barely know what the pips on our collars signify. Didn’t you suffer through the same bare-bones Academy-lite program that I went through?”
Kwan toyed with the eggs on her plate, her eyes downcast. “Yes, but I was really working hard to prepare myself for a career in Starfleet. I tried to absorb everything I could.” She shrugged, “Unfortunately, my grades didn’t reflect it, so I graduated near the bottom of my class. Goodbye, ships of the line, hello Border Service.”
“I didn’t mean to disparage the Academy training,” West said quickly, “it’s just that in my case, I was more focused on medicine and making it through my residency requirements. The Academy course work seems kind of a blur now.”
Cyndi smiled. “It’s okay. Even if I had gone through the regular four-year program the outcome would have been the same for me. I just tend to freeze up when taking exams.” She took a sip of orange juice. “So, why did you join up? Was it because of the war?”
“Partly,” admitted West. “I figured that surgeons would be needed. Who knew the war would end before graduation? – not that I’m complaining. But I’ve always been intrigued by my great- grandfather. He spent decades in Starfleet as a ship’s surgeon, even doing a stint on the Enterprise-B. When I was small, I enjoyed hearing him tell stories about strange worlds, exotic aliens and the challenges of practicing medicine on a ship.” He shrugged. “I guess I wanted to see what that kind of life was like.”
“Well,” began Cyndi, “this isn’t exactly the Enterprise, but at least you didn’t get stuck on an Albacore.”
“A what?” he asked, puzzled.
"Never mind," she said, shaking her head and smiling. "So, how did you wind up in the Border Service?"
He chewed a piece of melon thoughtfully. "To be honest, I haven't given it much thought. Starfleet, Border Service - it's all pretty much the same to me." He paused. "You ask like there's something wrong with it."
She absently swirled the remains of her orange juice in her glass. "No . . . not really. The Border Service has always had the reputation as the red-headed step-child of Starfleet - a destination for the under-achievers and trouble-makers who couldn't pass muster in the regular Fleet. It's not a fair description, but most 'Fleeters tend to look down on us Border Dogs."
West raised an eyebrow. "Why should you care what other people think? It's your life - make the most of it. As to the opinions of - what did you call them? 'Fleeters? I say, 'screw 'em.'"
Cyndi gazed out the viewport. "If only it were that easy."
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"Both of my parents are 'Fleeters. My mother is C.O. of the Artemis. My dad is first officer on the Berlin. I had really hoped following in their footsteps would make them proud."
"Oh." West regarded the lovely young woman with sympathy. "I take it they're not thrilled you're in the Border Service?"
She sighed. "Not so much."
* * *
Stardate 54357.6 (14 May 2377)
USS Dragonfire
En route to the Regula System
“Captain,” announced Lt. Xevok, “we are being hailed by the Caitian patrol vessel, Chufhaal.”
Slayd raised an eyebrow in surprise. “On screen, Mr. Xevok,”
The image of a Caitian male with orange fur, wearing a dark green uniform appeared.
“Dragonfire, this is the Chufhaal. I am Commander Raarthun of Caitain Planetary Security. We have been dispatched to pick up the survivors from the Ch’Rhuu.”
“Captain Artemus Slayd, Commander. We had planned on taking the survivors directly to Cait, but we will abide by your request." He paused, then continued in a diplomatic tone. "It is somewhat unusual to encounter a Caitian patrol ship so far outside the Regula system.”
“The Prime Legate has orderred Planetary Security to expand our patrols to coverr the space lanes. I do not wish to offend, Captain, but it seems the Borrder Serrvice and Starrfleet are unable to protect our merrchant and passenger vessels from the Tzenkethi bandits. We now must take matterrs into ourr own hands.”
Slayd frowned. “Commander, the evidence suggests that these border incursions are conducted by heavily armed gunboats. While I commend your desire to protect your citizens, I do not believe your patrol ships are a match for the Tzenkethi.”
“Perrhaps not, but we arre not afraid to face the barrbarrians and defend our people.” There was a note of challenge in the Caitian’s voice.
“Your courage is not in question, Commander. And I do understand the frustration that you and your fellow Caitians must feel . . .”
“With all due rrespect, Captain, it is apparrent that Starrfleet does not understand our frrustration and our grrowing angerr over the situation. We have sent numerous petitions for additional ships to defend the sectorr, yet there are fewerr ships now than one year ago. If the Federration will not come to our aid, we will have to take matterrs into our own hands!”
“Commander Raarthun, I sympathize with you completely. But we are still short-handed. The Talarian incursion has cut further into the number of available cutters, and . . .”
Raarthun interrupted. “Yes, yes we have heard this all before,” he said, brusquely. “Please underrstand, Captain – our quarrel is not with you or yourr crew. Your record speaks for itself and we arre grateful for the assistance you prrovide. But I also know that yourr hands are tied by the armistice agreement – that you are prohibited from purrsuing the raiders across the borderr. As we are not Starrfleet, we are not so bound.”
“That may be true,” replied Slayd, clearly concerned, “but Cait is a Federation member. The Tzenkethi would likely view a border violation by any member world as an act of war.”
“Then perrhaps warr is necessary to end this cycle of violence once and forr all.”
Slayd spoke carefully. “Commander, I have lived through two wars and several major skirmishes. I can assure you – you do not want that.”
“What I want is of no importance, Captain. The Prime Legate and the Council of Elderrs will make that decision.” The Caitian commander glanced off-screen. “We will rrendezvous with you in ten minutes, Captain. Please have ourr people rready for trransport – our medical technicians arre standing by.”
The channel closed abruptly and the viewscreen once more revealed the streaming starscape.
“I get the impression that the Caitians have lost patience with us, Artie,” noted Commander Nor Huren.
“Indeed,” replied Slayd, rubbing his chin in consternation. “And I can't bloody well blame them.” He stood abruptly. “Number One, notify sickbay and Lt. T’Lin that we will be beaming our guests to the Caitian ship shortly. Then, contact the senior staff – I want to have a meeting in one hour.”
“Aye, sir. May I ask our agenda?”
“I’ve been working on a little plan with our chief engineer to shake up the status-quo with the Tzenkethi. I think it’s time I shared the stratagem so we can give the ‘long-tooths’ a bloody nose before the Caitians get us into a full-blown war.”
* * *
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Oooh, the stakes are getting high now. The caitian border patrol might well cause more harm than good provoking a response if not war. But Slayd has a plan - a cunning plan I bet - to sort the long-tooths out. But I dare say things might not be so smooth sailing.
Love the West / Kwan interaction. We got to see a lot of Kwan's backstory in a neat little conversation. A bad rub for her to have 'Fleeter' parents and herself to fail the grade.
The Dragonfire is a lucky crew with the spacious surrounds and luxuries. How dare they knock the Albacore - I hope Akinola never hears such a thing! He'd be a tad upset.
The captain might be eccentric but it seems he is one crafty fox with some engineering principles too. Looking forward to seeing what the big plan is. And to the ensuing fight with the long-tooths.
Love the West / Kwan interaction. We got to see a lot of Kwan's backstory in a neat little conversation. A bad rub for her to have 'Fleeter' parents and herself to fail the grade.
I don't understand where this impression comes from! What would possibly give people this idea. I know of many upstanding figures in the Border Patrol.
The Dragonfire is a lucky crew with the spacious surrounds and luxuries. How dare they knock the Albacore - I hope Akinola never hears such a thing! He'd be a tad upset.
The captain might be eccentric but it seems he is one crafty fox with some engineering principles too. Looking forward to seeing what the big plan is. And to the ensuing fight with the long-tooths.
I love it. Reminds me of the joke (and I can tell this as I lived in Arkansas for a few years) "How do you know the toothbrush was invented in Arkansas?"
"It's not called a teethbrush."
Another terrific installment. West and Kwan's conversation was revealing, both in their personal histories as well as their individual outlooks on their lives and careers. West is a feather on the wind who is perfectly happy to have been assigned to the Border Service, while Kwan sees only her parents disapproval.
The idea that the Caitians might start something with the Tzenkethi is very unwelcome news, as if the Federation needs that particular kind of trouble right now.
I don't know what brand of sneakiness Slayd has planned, but I hope it works and works in such a way as to avoid unnecessary conflict with the whole Tzenkethi nation.
The idea that the Caitians might start something with the Tzenkethi is very unwelcome news, as if the Federation needs that particular kind of trouble right now.
I don't know what brand of sneakiness Slayd has planned, but I hope it works and works in such a way as to avoid unnecessary conflict with the whole Tzenkethi nation.
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