Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
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Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Not much. He had already figured out Carmine & Co. had a Req'ti on their ship - that's why he had the Bluefin haul ass in pursuit. He knew that a Klingon ship tailed and fired on the Backroad before doing the "death before dishonor" routine. He knows that Larson Chandler (aka Garth of Izar) beamed something off the Backroad before heading to parts unknown. That something would almost certainly be the Req'ti.
He has no idea why any of this happened. Nor does he know Garth's identity or purposes.
He lost a crewman over this and won't let it rest until he gets some answers.
And Akinola is nothing if not persistent.
Not much. He had already figured out Carmine & Co. had a Req'ti on their ship - that's why he had the Bluefin haul ass in pursuit. He knew that a Klingon ship tailed and fired on the Backroad before doing the "death before dishonor" routine. He knows that Larson Chandler (aka Garth of Izar) beamed something off the Backroad before heading to parts unknown. That something would almost certainly be the Req'ti.
He has no idea why any of this happened. Nor does he know Garth's identity or purposes.
He lost a crewman over this and won't let it rest until he gets some answers.
And Akinola is nothing if not persistent.
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Garth is going to wish he had never even met Akinola by the time this is over and done with methinks.
Garth is going to wish he had never even met Akinola by the time this is over and done with methinks.
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
I'm convinced Akinola is both part bulldog and part bloodhound--once he gets the scent or gets hold of something or someone, he doesn't let go. He's not going to rest until he gets to the bottom of this.
I'm convinced Akinola is both part bulldog and part bloodhound--once he gets the scent or gets hold of something or someone, he doesn't let go. He's not going to rest until he gets to the bottom of this.
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Chapter Fourteen
Stardate 54070.9 (27 January 2377)
Star Stallion 01
Molari Badlands
Carmine swallowed, his mouth was dry as cotton. "I don't know what you're . . ." He began.
"Cut the bullshit!" Akinola thundered. Telestro winced and Shonda placed a hand on Carmine's arm in a protective manner. Akinola continued in a calmer tone.
"Mr. Telestro, right now I have a sickbay full of injured personnel. My assistant engineer, Chief Brundy, is dead. A Klingon Bird of Prey has blown itself to Sto'voKor. Your ship was destroyed, my cutter has been damaged, and the man who seems to be behind it all has left the party. Now . . . " Akinola leaned forward, gazing sternly at the unhappy freighter captain, "I'd really like to get some answers."
Carmine glanced at Shonda. The Deltan gave him a quick nod of encouragement and Telestro nodded in return.
"Okay, Captain. We owe you that much. And we are grateful to you for saving our lives - that's no bullshit! But you gotta understand, we probably don't know much more than you."
"Let me be the judge of that," replied Akinola. Captain Gunderson also leaned forward, giving her attention to Telestro.
Carmine let out a nervous, shaky breath. "Yeah, right." He rubbed his hands together and stared at the deck, gathering his thoughts, before looking back at the two cutter Captains.
"We're pretty much what you see - just Boomers trying to make a living. We made the Klaamet to Molari run because it paid well and there wasn't a lot of competition." He grinned crookedly. "Not too many folks like skirting the badlands or flying through the Molari asteroid belt."
Akinola nodded but didn't interrupt.
"Anyway, we hauled mining equipment, supplies, the occasional passenger - you know, normal stuff. You guys must see it all the time. We stayed clear of the black market and the Orions - I figured we didn't need that kind of trouble." He glanced at Shonda who gave him a small smile of encouragement.
"About a month ago, we were docked at the Port Hagner station orbiting Klaamet IV. To be honest, we were kind of desperate for work - one of the major mining operations in the Molari system had closed down - and I was shaking the bushes looking for a cargo run. Well, this well-dressed guy stops at our berth - shaved head, no neck, like a Marine - and says he has a proposition for us. His boss, Larson Chandler, collects Klingon artifacts and was interested in some specific items that were coming up for auction. The problem was, the auction was to be held on Q'Ralis, which is in Klingon territory. Bullet head says that Mr. Chandler was "not welcome in the Empire," for reasons he wouldn't discuss."
"So you didn't meet Chandler face-to-face?" asked Captain Gunderson.
Carmine shook his head. "No, never. Just his assistant - what was his name, Shonda?"
"Wayne. I'm not sure if it was his first name or last."
Carmine nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Wayne. He was very business-like and to the point. Not friendly, but not unfriendly either."
"Professional," observed Akinola.
"Yeah! That's it exactly! Anyway, he said if we would go to the auction and bid on certain items that Mr. Chandler would pay us 50 thousand in gold-pressed latinum. I gotta tell you, at first I thought ol' Wayne was yanking my chain, ya know? But then he opens a brief case with 10 thousand, right then and there. I nearly passed out! I've never seen that much scratch in my entire life!"
Akinola and Gunderson exchanged looks. 50 thousand in gold-pressed latinum was a small fortune!
"Wayne says, 'This is just a down payment. Complete the task successfully and you'll get the rest when you deliver the items.' Now, I have to admit, part of me is thinking that this is too good to be true - there's got to be some strings attached, right? So I ask Wayne that very question."
"And?" prodded Akinola.
"Wayne admitted that there was a possibility that certain Klingons might not be happy about Mr. Chandler purchasing these items, but that certain guarantees had been made to ensure we would be the winning bidders."
"Chandler bribed the auctioneer," said Akinola, flatly.
"Yeah. Now, here's where it gets strange - Wayne says that there is one item in particular that was . . . how did he put it? 'Sensitive' in nature."
"The Req'ti." said Akinola.
Carmine nodded. "Yeah, that's right. So I start to get second thoughts, I mean, what good is a fortune if you're dead and can't spend it, right?"
"But you took the job," pointed out Gunderson.
Telestro sighed and nodded. "Yeah, we took the job. Wayne assured us that the Req'ti was from a disenfranchised house and was no longer 'revered.'" Carmine frowned and barked out a bitter laugh. "Guess no one told the Klingons that nearly killed us!"
Akinola's eyes narrowed. "What was the name of the Klingon house?"
Carmine shrugged. "Hey, I don't know! I don't read Klingonese."
"I do," said Bug, who until now had remained silent. The others looked at him in surprise.
"There must have been an inscription on the box - do you remember what it said, son?" asked Akinola.
Bug nodded. "It said, Remember the glory, honor and courage of Lord K'Tinga - May he find conquest in the Black Fleet.
"Son of a bitch . . ." breathed Akinola.
* * *
Stardate 54071.0 (28 January 2377)
Garth of Izar's personal shuttlecraft
Sector 10106
Garth guided his personal shuttle through seldom-traveled inter-stellar space. He regretted abandoning the Janus, but the explosion and warp jump had badly damaged the old ship. He had limped into an unpopulated star system, loaded supplies into his shuttle, then set an automated course for the Janus that would take it into the system's star within a day's time.
He checked the flight computer. At his current speed of warp 4, he would reach his destination in three days. Garth felt regret over abandoning Forrash and the crew of the Janus, but at least they were safe and should avoid trouble. He was loathe to involve anyone else in the next step of his plan. If it succeeded, he would be lauded for his boldness and foresight. If he failed, well . . .
Setting the ship on auto-pilot, he moved aft to a small galley area. He ordered Izarian Chamba tea from the replicator, than sat down in a comfortable chair. Across from him, secured in another chair, rested the Req'ti of the late, lamented Lord Admiral K'Tinga of the Klingon Imperial Fleet.
Garth raised his tea cup in salute to the glossy black box. "To bold leaders, old fellow! May our tribe increase!" He smiled to himself, relishing a private joke.
"You were a worthy leader, Lord K'Tinga. It's been a long time since the Klingons had a leader worthy of their potential. I fought against one of your descendants, you know - Captain Kranth was a brilliant tactician! He nearly won the day for your empire at Axanar." Garth took a sip of the tea, savoring the spicy warmth. "It was a shame, no - a travesty that Koorlan, that idiot, cost your house the honor of your lineage!"
Garth leaned back in the chair and slowly drank his tea, his eyes half-closed in thought. "Now, your once noble empire is led by bickering fools and opportunists. Your best and brightest leaders were slaughtered like cannon fodder in the recent war. That makes your Empire an even greater threat to the Federation!" He placed the china cup on the table and steepled his fingers while peering at the box.
"Better we have an honorable adversary that we can understand and respect, than a dishonorable ally we cannot trust." Garth smiled, "Thus, it is time, Lord K'Tinga, for you to return . . ."
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
Stardate 54070.9 (27 January 2377)
Star Stallion 01
Molari Badlands
Carmine swallowed, his mouth was dry as cotton. "I don't know what you're . . ." He began.
"Cut the bullshit!" Akinola thundered. Telestro winced and Shonda placed a hand on Carmine's arm in a protective manner. Akinola continued in a calmer tone.
"Mr. Telestro, right now I have a sickbay full of injured personnel. My assistant engineer, Chief Brundy, is dead. A Klingon Bird of Prey has blown itself to Sto'voKor. Your ship was destroyed, my cutter has been damaged, and the man who seems to be behind it all has left the party. Now . . . " Akinola leaned forward, gazing sternly at the unhappy freighter captain, "I'd really like to get some answers."
Carmine glanced at Shonda. The Deltan gave him a quick nod of encouragement and Telestro nodded in return.
"Okay, Captain. We owe you that much. And we are grateful to you for saving our lives - that's no bullshit! But you gotta understand, we probably don't know much more than you."
"Let me be the judge of that," replied Akinola. Captain Gunderson also leaned forward, giving her attention to Telestro.
Carmine let out a nervous, shaky breath. "Yeah, right." He rubbed his hands together and stared at the deck, gathering his thoughts, before looking back at the two cutter Captains.
"We're pretty much what you see - just Boomers trying to make a living. We made the Klaamet to Molari run because it paid well and there wasn't a lot of competition." He grinned crookedly. "Not too many folks like skirting the badlands or flying through the Molari asteroid belt."
Akinola nodded but didn't interrupt.
"Anyway, we hauled mining equipment, supplies, the occasional passenger - you know, normal stuff. You guys must see it all the time. We stayed clear of the black market and the Orions - I figured we didn't need that kind of trouble." He glanced at Shonda who gave him a small smile of encouragement.
"About a month ago, we were docked at the Port Hagner station orbiting Klaamet IV. To be honest, we were kind of desperate for work - one of the major mining operations in the Molari system had closed down - and I was shaking the bushes looking for a cargo run. Well, this well-dressed guy stops at our berth - shaved head, no neck, like a Marine - and says he has a proposition for us. His boss, Larson Chandler, collects Klingon artifacts and was interested in some specific items that were coming up for auction. The problem was, the auction was to be held on Q'Ralis, which is in Klingon territory. Bullet head says that Mr. Chandler was "not welcome in the Empire," for reasons he wouldn't discuss."
"So you didn't meet Chandler face-to-face?" asked Captain Gunderson.
Carmine shook his head. "No, never. Just his assistant - what was his name, Shonda?"
"Wayne. I'm not sure if it was his first name or last."
Carmine nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Wayne. He was very business-like and to the point. Not friendly, but not unfriendly either."
"Professional," observed Akinola.
"Yeah! That's it exactly! Anyway, he said if we would go to the auction and bid on certain items that Mr. Chandler would pay us 50 thousand in gold-pressed latinum. I gotta tell you, at first I thought ol' Wayne was yanking my chain, ya know? But then he opens a brief case with 10 thousand, right then and there. I nearly passed out! I've never seen that much scratch in my entire life!"
Akinola and Gunderson exchanged looks. 50 thousand in gold-pressed latinum was a small fortune!
"Wayne says, 'This is just a down payment. Complete the task successfully and you'll get the rest when you deliver the items.' Now, I have to admit, part of me is thinking that this is too good to be true - there's got to be some strings attached, right? So I ask Wayne that very question."
"And?" prodded Akinola.
"Wayne admitted that there was a possibility that certain Klingons might not be happy about Mr. Chandler purchasing these items, but that certain guarantees had been made to ensure we would be the winning bidders."
"Chandler bribed the auctioneer," said Akinola, flatly.
"Yeah. Now, here's where it gets strange - Wayne says that there is one item in particular that was . . . how did he put it? 'Sensitive' in nature."
"The Req'ti." said Akinola.
Carmine nodded. "Yeah, that's right. So I start to get second thoughts, I mean, what good is a fortune if you're dead and can't spend it, right?"
"But you took the job," pointed out Gunderson.
Telestro sighed and nodded. "Yeah, we took the job. Wayne assured us that the Req'ti was from a disenfranchised house and was no longer 'revered.'" Carmine frowned and barked out a bitter laugh. "Guess no one told the Klingons that nearly killed us!"
Akinola's eyes narrowed. "What was the name of the Klingon house?"
Carmine shrugged. "Hey, I don't know! I don't read Klingonese."
"I do," said Bug, who until now had remained silent. The others looked at him in surprise.
"There must have been an inscription on the box - do you remember what it said, son?" asked Akinola.
Bug nodded. "It said, Remember the glory, honor and courage of Lord K'Tinga - May he find conquest in the Black Fleet.
"Son of a bitch . . ." breathed Akinola.
* * *
Stardate 54071.0 (28 January 2377)
Garth of Izar's personal shuttlecraft
Sector 10106
Garth guided his personal shuttle through seldom-traveled inter-stellar space. He regretted abandoning the Janus, but the explosion and warp jump had badly damaged the old ship. He had limped into an unpopulated star system, loaded supplies into his shuttle, then set an automated course for the Janus that would take it into the system's star within a day's time.
He checked the flight computer. At his current speed of warp 4, he would reach his destination in three days. Garth felt regret over abandoning Forrash and the crew of the Janus, but at least they were safe and should avoid trouble. He was loathe to involve anyone else in the next step of his plan. If it succeeded, he would be lauded for his boldness and foresight. If he failed, well . . .
Setting the ship on auto-pilot, he moved aft to a small galley area. He ordered Izarian Chamba tea from the replicator, than sat down in a comfortable chair. Across from him, secured in another chair, rested the Req'ti of the late, lamented Lord Admiral K'Tinga of the Klingon Imperial Fleet.
Garth raised his tea cup in salute to the glossy black box. "To bold leaders, old fellow! May our tribe increase!" He smiled to himself, relishing a private joke.
"You were a worthy leader, Lord K'Tinga. It's been a long time since the Klingons had a leader worthy of their potential. I fought against one of your descendants, you know - Captain Kranth was a brilliant tactician! He nearly won the day for your empire at Axanar." Garth took a sip of the tea, savoring the spicy warmth. "It was a shame, no - a travesty that Koorlan, that idiot, cost your house the honor of your lineage!"
Garth leaned back in the chair and slowly drank his tea, his eyes half-closed in thought. "Now, your once noble empire is led by bickering fools and opportunists. Your best and brightest leaders were slaughtered like cannon fodder in the recent war. That makes your Empire an even greater threat to the Federation!" He placed the china cup on the table and steepled his fingers while peering at the box.
"Better we have an honorable adversary that we can understand and respect, than a dishonorable ally we cannot trust." Garth smiled, "Thus, it is time, Lord K'Tinga, for you to return . . ."
* * *
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Oh-oh, Garth of Izar's still crazy after all those years. A bit like those lunatic conspirators during the Kithomer (I can't spell that) conference.
Now, can Akinola and co. stop his mad plan before it's the Klingon Cold War all over again? I'm gonna go with yes. But how, I wonder.
A lot of interesting things unfolding here. And I liked Akinola's techniques to get Carmine to spill the beans.
Oh-oh, Garth of Izar's still crazy after all those years. A bit like those lunatic conspirators during the Kithomer (I can't spell that) conference.
Now, can Akinola and co. stop his mad plan before it's the Klingon Cold War all over again? I'm gonna go with yes. But how, I wonder.
A lot of interesting things unfolding here. And I liked Akinola's techniques to get Carmine to spill the beans.
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Oh boy...looks like Garth's still got some problems...Akinola's got a tiger by the tail here...
Oh boy...looks like Garth's still got some problems...Akinola's got a tiger by the tail here...
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Chapter Fifteen
Stardate 54071.4 (28 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
Captain Gunderson had been right. There was no debris field at the point of explosion. However, they did gain some valuable information. The residual energy readings accounted for the destruction of the Klingon ship and the Backroad, but not the Janus. Clearly, it had escaped.
Upon returning to the Bluefin, Akinola retired to his quarters for a few hours of much-needed sleep. Gunderson had the crew of the Janus beamed to the Adair for transport back to Klaamet IV. Repair work continued on the Bluefin.
* * *
Captain's Ready Room
Akinola separated the remains of his wood carvings into two containers - salvageable and total losses. Only one carving - a model of a 23rd century Perrigrine-class cutter had survived unscathed. He was frowning over a model of an Excelsior-class ship, trying to determine of it was worth saving, when the door annunciator chimed.
"Come!" he called out.
Captain Gunderson entered, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. She looked around sadly at Akinola's ready room.
"Oh, Joseph! All that hard work!" She handed him a mug and picked up the mangled remains of an Alabcore-class ship model.
Akinola accepted the mug gratefully. "Well." he began, "I'll have something to do when I can't sleep. I wasn't totally happy with a few of these carvings, anyway." He sat down in one of the leather guest chairs, indicating for Gunderson to sit in the other. She did, crossing her legs and taking a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes in appreciation.
"Mmmm. Chicory!" she said, appreciatively. "Tell you what, Joseph - I'll take Cookie off your hands in trade for all the help we've given you."
Akinola looked at his lovely friend with a bemused expression. "Margaret, I would very much hate to fire on your ship, but! . . ."
She rolled her eyes at him. "I swear, you are such a relic Jospeh! You probably have the only dedicated cook in all of Starfleet."
"And I intend to keep him." He changed the subject. "How are things going this morning?"
"We've got the crew of the Janus and the Backroad transferred to the Adair. They're all squared-away and we'll be departing for Klaamet IV within the hour."
Akinola nodded. "It looks like our bridge is nearly usable again. We'll head back to Echo to finish our repairs and turn Brundy's body over to his family."
Marge reached over and took Akinola's hand. "Joseph - it was a good operation! If you hadn't followed your instincts, the crew of the Backroad would be dead. Don't forget that!"
Akinola nodded morosely. "Yeah, I know. But, dammit! I still don't understand what this is all about! What's so important about K'Tinga's shriveled heart that Chandler would pay so much and risk so many lives? Hell, he's no Klingon! What was the point of all of this!"
Agitated, Akinola stood and walked to the viewport. In the near distance, the Adair hung in space.
Margaret stood, walked up behind Akinola and put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his back. "Joseph," she said, softly, "we don't always have the answers."
His eyes were hard as he stared out at the stars. "I refuse to accept that."
* * *
Bridge
Lt. Bane concentrated on calibrating the ship's sensors. Focusing on the task at hand helped staunch his worry over Inga. He had stopped by earlier to check on her but she remained in a comatose state.
Be patient, Mr. Bane Dr. Castille had admonished. This may take some time. I promise to let you know if there's any change in her condition.
"Okay, check panel B," said a muffled voice that came from beneath the console. Only Delta Simms' legs appeared from beneath the Ops station.
Nigel tapped the indicated control surface and it blinked to life.
"That's got it, Commander."
Delta wriggled out from under the console, her hair slightly disheveled. Nigel stifled a grin. It seemed that Commander Simms always had something askew - either her hair or coolant stains on her uniform or grease under her fingernails. Truth be told, he admired her hands-on approach to problems.
As if reading his mind, she ran her fingers through her auburn hair, trying to straighten the offending strands and recover a degree of decorum.
"Okay," she began, "We've got the essential stations up and running. I've got tactical tied-in to the helm for now and environmental is slaved to the engineering station. But we should be fine 'til we make it back to the station."
"Assuming we don't run through any more ion storms or warp-core explosions," Bane pointed out.
"Too true," she admitted as she looked around the bridge. "It wouldn't take much to undo these repairs."
Banes' combadge came to life. "Sickbay to Lt. Bane."
Bane started. An expression of apprehension came over his face. Delta also looked concerned.
"Bane - go ahead, Doc."
"There's a certain Executive Officer down here asking to see you. So, whenever you get the chance to stop by . . ."
Nigel's face broke out in a goofy grin. Delta smiled broadly and squeezed his arm. "Go on, Nigel! I'll cover the bridge while you're gone."
"Yes ma'am - Thank you!" He trotted toward the turbo-lift and disappeared.
Still smiling, Delta tapped her combadge. "Simms to Sickbay."
Castille's voice answered. "Go ahead, Delta."
"I think you just made Lt. Bane's day, O.C."
"Mine too. I'll see you later."
"Looking forward to it! Simms, out."
* * *
Captain's Ready Room
"Time I got back to the Adair, Joseph. My XO is probably forming a search party."
Akinola's face cracked into a small smile. "Thanks for everything, Marge. I do appreciate the assist."
She smiled in return, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "There never seems to be any time . . . for us, I mean."
"Like you once told me, Margaret. We're both already married - to our ships."
"Damn you and your memory, anyway!" she said with feigned annoyance. Her face softened as she stepped toward him. They embraced warmly, their kiss was long and familiar, sweet yet sad.
As Margaret stepped back, she said, "Take care of yourself, Captain."
"You do the same, Captain."
She smiled, touching his face for a moment, before turning and leaving the ready room.
Akinola looked regretfully at the door for a moment, then returned to sorting the damaged model ships.
* * *
Sickbay
Nigel cautiously entered Inga's cubicle. Her eyes were still closed but the apparatus had been removed from her head. He sat down on the all-to-familiar stool and took her hand.
Inga's eyes fluttered open. She squinted at Nigel and smiled.
"Hey!" she said, her voice slightly raspy.
A broad grin formed on Nigel's face. "Hey yourself! While you've been down here accumulatin rack time, the rest of us have been working our arses off!"
She smiled sleepily. "Yeah. I'll bet." She frowned and cleared her throat. Nigel noticed a cup of water with a straw on the side table. He took it, offering the straw to Inga. She sipped the water gratefully.
"You gave us quite a scare!"
"I don't remember much about it - probably just as well," she said, muzzily.
He stroked her hair. "I don't want to wear out my welcome. I better head back to the bridge. I'll see you again after while." He began to rise, but Inga grapsed his wrist with surprising strength.
"Don't go yet, Nigel . . . please," she said.
Nigel lowered himself back to the stool. "Alright. I can stay a little bit longer."
She stared at him with an affectionate gaze. "I was in a dark place . . . it was peaceful but also lonely . . . at first."
Nigel looked puzzled. "What - when you were in your . . . when you were asleep, you mean?"
She smiled. "Yeah. Then, I heard your voice . . . It seemed far away and I couldn't understand what you were saying, but I knew it was you. It made me feel better, knowing you were somewhere close - that I wasn't really alone."
"So . . . you didn't understand what I was saying to you?"
"Not at first . . . but gradually - yeah, it became clearer."
"And?"
Her eyes glistened. "I love you, too," she whispered.
* * *
Stardate 54073.3 (30 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
Star Station Echo - Spacedock 4
"Give us another three days - four at the outside, and we'll be as good as new," reported Lt. Commander Gralt.
"Good job, Commander! I figured we'd be laid up for at least a week," replied Akinola, sounding pleased.
Gralt snorted. "It's not like this is the first time I've had to put my ship back together."
"Practice makes perfect!" rejoined Akinola, patiently.
Gralt rolled his eyes, then he was quiet for a moment, obviously in thought. "Captain, there is one other thing that's been on my mind."
"What's that, Gralt?"
"Well, seeing how Delta got herself promoted upstairs and Brundy getting killed, I'm short an assistant in Engineering."
Akinola sighed and nodded. "Point well taken, Gralt. I'll see what I can do about getting you a replacement. With the stop-loss order rescinded, we may lose some more crew along the way."
Gralt spread his arms expansively. "What? And give up all this?" He turned to exit the Ready Room, then stopped before he got to the door. "Just be sure that you don't get me some Yariq-assed, snot nosed PhD! I'm getting too old to deal with that crap! I'm liable to shove some know-it-all into a torpedo tube!"
"Noted, Commander," Akinola said, dryly. "Like I said, I'll see what I can do."
* * *
Stardate 54073.4 (30 January 2377)
Star Station Echo
Office of Rear Admiral Morgan Bateson - Commander, Border Service Squadron 7
Bateson shook his head slowly, an incredulous expression on his face as he read Akinola's report. Finally, he tossed the padd on his desk.
"Good Lord, Joseph! What's this all about?"
"I wish I knew, Morgan. This 'Mr. Chandler' certainly went to a lot of trouble and expense to get that old Klingon relic."
Bateson looked thoughtful. "Admiral K'Tinga used to be highly revered in the empire. Remember their old uprated D-7 cruisers? That class was named for him!"
Akinola nodded. He'd stared across at more than one K'Tinga-class cruiser in his day. "Wonder why the Klingons even had his Req'ti up for auction?"
"My understanding is one of his descendants was charged with cowardice under fire - in their eyes, that ranks up there with treason."
Akinola winced. "What did they do to the guy?"
"Oddly enough, he wasn't executed - they save that for 'honorable' crimes. He was stripped of his rank, mustered out, and became a 'non-person.' Worse still, the entire House of K'Tinga was disenfranchised over the affair. I imagine his relatives did what the Empire refused to do."
Akinola was quiet a moment. "Last year, Commander Krell destroyed the Kilimanjaro and nearly us as well. He was a descendant of K'Tinga. Now, we have the entire crew of a Bird of Prey dead - again, because of K'Tinga or at least what remains of him." He looked up at Bateson. "Apparently K'Tinga still has quite a loyal following - disenfranchised house or not."
Bateson frowned. "What are you thinking, Joseph?"
"Like I said before, Chandler went to a lot of trouble to get K'Tinga's Req'ti. I doubt he plans to use it as a paper weight."
Both men were silent with their thoughts for a time.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
Stardate 54071.4 (28 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
Molari Badlands
Captain Gunderson had been right. There was no debris field at the point of explosion. However, they did gain some valuable information. The residual energy readings accounted for the destruction of the Klingon ship and the Backroad, but not the Janus. Clearly, it had escaped.
Upon returning to the Bluefin, Akinola retired to his quarters for a few hours of much-needed sleep. Gunderson had the crew of the Janus beamed to the Adair for transport back to Klaamet IV. Repair work continued on the Bluefin.
* * *
Captain's Ready Room
Akinola separated the remains of his wood carvings into two containers - salvageable and total losses. Only one carving - a model of a 23rd century Perrigrine-class cutter had survived unscathed. He was frowning over a model of an Excelsior-class ship, trying to determine of it was worth saving, when the door annunciator chimed.
"Come!" he called out.
Captain Gunderson entered, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. She looked around sadly at Akinola's ready room.
"Oh, Joseph! All that hard work!" She handed him a mug and picked up the mangled remains of an Alabcore-class ship model.
Akinola accepted the mug gratefully. "Well." he began, "I'll have something to do when I can't sleep. I wasn't totally happy with a few of these carvings, anyway." He sat down in one of the leather guest chairs, indicating for Gunderson to sit in the other. She did, crossing her legs and taking a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes in appreciation.
"Mmmm. Chicory!" she said, appreciatively. "Tell you what, Joseph - I'll take Cookie off your hands in trade for all the help we've given you."
Akinola looked at his lovely friend with a bemused expression. "Margaret, I would very much hate to fire on your ship, but! . . ."
She rolled her eyes at him. "I swear, you are such a relic Jospeh! You probably have the only dedicated cook in all of Starfleet."
"And I intend to keep him." He changed the subject. "How are things going this morning?"
"We've got the crew of the Janus and the Backroad transferred to the Adair. They're all squared-away and we'll be departing for Klaamet IV within the hour."
Akinola nodded. "It looks like our bridge is nearly usable again. We'll head back to Echo to finish our repairs and turn Brundy's body over to his family."
Marge reached over and took Akinola's hand. "Joseph - it was a good operation! If you hadn't followed your instincts, the crew of the Backroad would be dead. Don't forget that!"
Akinola nodded morosely. "Yeah, I know. But, dammit! I still don't understand what this is all about! What's so important about K'Tinga's shriveled heart that Chandler would pay so much and risk so many lives? Hell, he's no Klingon! What was the point of all of this!"
Agitated, Akinola stood and walked to the viewport. In the near distance, the Adair hung in space.
Margaret stood, walked up behind Akinola and put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his back. "Joseph," she said, softly, "we don't always have the answers."
His eyes were hard as he stared out at the stars. "I refuse to accept that."
* * *
Bridge
Lt. Bane concentrated on calibrating the ship's sensors. Focusing on the task at hand helped staunch his worry over Inga. He had stopped by earlier to check on her but she remained in a comatose state.
Be patient, Mr. Bane Dr. Castille had admonished. This may take some time. I promise to let you know if there's any change in her condition.
"Okay, check panel B," said a muffled voice that came from beneath the console. Only Delta Simms' legs appeared from beneath the Ops station.
Nigel tapped the indicated control surface and it blinked to life.
"That's got it, Commander."
Delta wriggled out from under the console, her hair slightly disheveled. Nigel stifled a grin. It seemed that Commander Simms always had something askew - either her hair or coolant stains on her uniform or grease under her fingernails. Truth be told, he admired her hands-on approach to problems.
As if reading his mind, she ran her fingers through her auburn hair, trying to straighten the offending strands and recover a degree of decorum.
"Okay," she began, "We've got the essential stations up and running. I've got tactical tied-in to the helm for now and environmental is slaved to the engineering station. But we should be fine 'til we make it back to the station."
"Assuming we don't run through any more ion storms or warp-core explosions," Bane pointed out.
"Too true," she admitted as she looked around the bridge. "It wouldn't take much to undo these repairs."
Banes' combadge came to life. "Sickbay to Lt. Bane."
Bane started. An expression of apprehension came over his face. Delta also looked concerned.
"Bane - go ahead, Doc."
"There's a certain Executive Officer down here asking to see you. So, whenever you get the chance to stop by . . ."
Nigel's face broke out in a goofy grin. Delta smiled broadly and squeezed his arm. "Go on, Nigel! I'll cover the bridge while you're gone."
"Yes ma'am - Thank you!" He trotted toward the turbo-lift and disappeared.
Still smiling, Delta tapped her combadge. "Simms to Sickbay."
Castille's voice answered. "Go ahead, Delta."
"I think you just made Lt. Bane's day, O.C."
"Mine too. I'll see you later."
"Looking forward to it! Simms, out."
* * *
Captain's Ready Room
"Time I got back to the Adair, Joseph. My XO is probably forming a search party."
Akinola's face cracked into a small smile. "Thanks for everything, Marge. I do appreciate the assist."
She smiled in return, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "There never seems to be any time . . . for us, I mean."
"Like you once told me, Margaret. We're both already married - to our ships."
"Damn you and your memory, anyway!" she said with feigned annoyance. Her face softened as she stepped toward him. They embraced warmly, their kiss was long and familiar, sweet yet sad.
As Margaret stepped back, she said, "Take care of yourself, Captain."
"You do the same, Captain."
She smiled, touching his face for a moment, before turning and leaving the ready room.
Akinola looked regretfully at the door for a moment, then returned to sorting the damaged model ships.
* * *
Sickbay
Nigel cautiously entered Inga's cubicle. Her eyes were still closed but the apparatus had been removed from her head. He sat down on the all-to-familiar stool and took her hand.
Inga's eyes fluttered open. She squinted at Nigel and smiled.
"Hey!" she said, her voice slightly raspy.
A broad grin formed on Nigel's face. "Hey yourself! While you've been down here accumulatin rack time, the rest of us have been working our arses off!"
She smiled sleepily. "Yeah. I'll bet." She frowned and cleared her throat. Nigel noticed a cup of water with a straw on the side table. He took it, offering the straw to Inga. She sipped the water gratefully.
"You gave us quite a scare!"
"I don't remember much about it - probably just as well," she said, muzzily.
He stroked her hair. "I don't want to wear out my welcome. I better head back to the bridge. I'll see you again after while." He began to rise, but Inga grapsed his wrist with surprising strength.
"Don't go yet, Nigel . . . please," she said.
Nigel lowered himself back to the stool. "Alright. I can stay a little bit longer."
She stared at him with an affectionate gaze. "I was in a dark place . . . it was peaceful but also lonely . . . at first."
Nigel looked puzzled. "What - when you were in your . . . when you were asleep, you mean?"
She smiled. "Yeah. Then, I heard your voice . . . It seemed far away and I couldn't understand what you were saying, but I knew it was you. It made me feel better, knowing you were somewhere close - that I wasn't really alone."
"So . . . you didn't understand what I was saying to you?"
"Not at first . . . but gradually - yeah, it became clearer."
"And?"
Her eyes glistened. "I love you, too," she whispered.
* * *
Stardate 54073.3 (30 January 2377)
USS Bluefin
Star Station Echo - Spacedock 4
"Give us another three days - four at the outside, and we'll be as good as new," reported Lt. Commander Gralt.
"Good job, Commander! I figured we'd be laid up for at least a week," replied Akinola, sounding pleased.
Gralt snorted. "It's not like this is the first time I've had to put my ship back together."
"Practice makes perfect!" rejoined Akinola, patiently.
Gralt rolled his eyes, then he was quiet for a moment, obviously in thought. "Captain, there is one other thing that's been on my mind."
"What's that, Gralt?"
"Well, seeing how Delta got herself promoted upstairs and Brundy getting killed, I'm short an assistant in Engineering."
Akinola sighed and nodded. "Point well taken, Gralt. I'll see what I can do about getting you a replacement. With the stop-loss order rescinded, we may lose some more crew along the way."
Gralt spread his arms expansively. "What? And give up all this?" He turned to exit the Ready Room, then stopped before he got to the door. "Just be sure that you don't get me some Yariq-assed, snot nosed PhD! I'm getting too old to deal with that crap! I'm liable to shove some know-it-all into a torpedo tube!"
"Noted, Commander," Akinola said, dryly. "Like I said, I'll see what I can do."
* * *
Stardate 54073.4 (30 January 2377)
Star Station Echo
Office of Rear Admiral Morgan Bateson - Commander, Border Service Squadron 7
Bateson shook his head slowly, an incredulous expression on his face as he read Akinola's report. Finally, he tossed the padd on his desk.
"Good Lord, Joseph! What's this all about?"
"I wish I knew, Morgan. This 'Mr. Chandler' certainly went to a lot of trouble and expense to get that old Klingon relic."
Bateson looked thoughtful. "Admiral K'Tinga used to be highly revered in the empire. Remember their old uprated D-7 cruisers? That class was named for him!"
Akinola nodded. He'd stared across at more than one K'Tinga-class cruiser in his day. "Wonder why the Klingons even had his Req'ti up for auction?"
"My understanding is one of his descendants was charged with cowardice under fire - in their eyes, that ranks up there with treason."
Akinola winced. "What did they do to the guy?"
"Oddly enough, he wasn't executed - they save that for 'honorable' crimes. He was stripped of his rank, mustered out, and became a 'non-person.' Worse still, the entire House of K'Tinga was disenfranchised over the affair. I imagine his relatives did what the Empire refused to do."
Akinola was quiet a moment. "Last year, Commander Krell destroyed the Kilimanjaro and nearly us as well. He was a descendant of K'Tinga. Now, we have the entire crew of a Bird of Prey dead - again, because of K'Tinga or at least what remains of him." He looked up at Bateson. "Apparently K'Tinga still has quite a loyal following - disenfranchised house or not."
Bateson frowned. "What are you thinking, Joseph?"
"Like I said before, Chandler went to a lot of trouble to get K'Tinga's Req'ti. I doubt he plans to use it as a paper weight."
Both men were silent with their thoughts for a time.
* * *
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Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
"Quickly, Watson! The plot's afoot!" or something like that. Nice moment between Marge and Joseph. I have to say, there's something...comfortable about the way you portray your crew. I read just about every fanfic story that's running but of them all your characters are(mostly) the easiest to keep track of in my head. That's not to say I don't appreciate other characters that are out there! It's just a shade more vivid when I'm reading about the Bluefin's crew. A compliment to your writing -choices- I guess.
"Quickly, Watson! The plot's afoot!" or something like that. Nice moment between Marge and Joseph. I have to say, there's something...comfortable about the way you portray your crew. I read just about every fanfic story that's running but of them all your characters are(mostly) the easiest to keep track of in my head. That's not to say I don't appreciate other characters that are out there! It's just a shade more vivid when I'm reading about the Bluefin's crew. A compliment to your writing -choices- I guess.
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
All hands, whoopass stations!!
Garth is gonna get fifty kinds of guano knocked out of him when Akinola finds him. Unless some honourable Klingons find him first.
I thought this was gonna be a simple milk run, but things never work out that way, do they??
All hands, whoopass stations!!
Garth is gonna get fifty kinds of guano knocked out of him when Akinola finds him. Unless some honourable Klingons find him first.
I thought this was gonna be a simple milk run, but things never work out that way, do they??
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
A disgraced Klingon house with Garth holding its most revered relic...Garth on a mission to "save" the Federation...and Akinola right smack dab in the middle...
Doesn't get any better than this!
A disgraced Klingon house with Garth holding its most revered relic...Garth on a mission to "save" the Federation...and Akinola right smack dab in the middle...
Doesn't get any better than this!
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Nice segment and a bit of a quiet after this violent storm. I liked the way you tied in the Klingon Bird-of-Prey of your earlier story as well.
I would have thought that Simms would have been a bit more upset after finding out about her saviors's death but she appeared entirely unperturbed in this segment. Is she holding something back or has she already dealt with this in a very professional manner?
Nice segment and a bit of a quiet after this violent storm. I liked the way you tied in the Klingon Bird-of-Prey of your earlier story as well.
I would have thought that Simms would have been a bit more upset after finding out about her saviors's death but she appeared entirely unperturbed in this segment. Is she holding something back or has she already dealt with this in a very professional manner?
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Chapter Sixteen
30 January 2377
Palo Duro, Texas
Earth
T'Ser reclined in her compact rental skimmer as it glided over the hard pan of the old west Texas road. Unlike her last visit, it was cold and blustery outside. She had passed through some flurries since leaving the Amarillo shuttle port, but the snow had stopped for the moment. Still, the gray sky looked foreboding.
A year had passed since the tragic death of Dale McBride - her best friend and her lover. A part of her had died on that awful day. She had come to Earth for his funeral and met Dale's parents and had promised to visit them again. Now, on the anniversary of his death, T'Ser had decided to keep her promise.
Palo Duro was too small to really be considered a town, even by west Texas standards, but the community of hearty folk, mostly cattle ranchers, had continued since its founding more than 500 years earlier, and little had changed.
Scrubby Mesquite and Joshua trees dotted the otherwise featureless plain. A faint dusting of snow caused the darker ground and rocks to stand out in relief.
T'Ser had tried reading some articles from the current issue of Starfleet Proceedings on her padd, but her concentration lagged. She considered taking manual control of the skimmer to break the monotony, but she was not familiar enough with her surroundings to chance that. So, her thoughts once more drifted to her life, her future and choices she must make. Thus far, she had not heard back from the Bureau of Personnel regarding her request for transfer. No doubt, the rescinding of the stop-loss order was keeping them busy enough. She had hoped that at least making the decision to transfer off the Bluefin would give her peace.
It had not.
Now, T'Ser felt she was in a kind of limbo. She was technically still the second officer of the Bluefin, yet that could change tomorrow. Where would she go next? When would she know? The uncertainty was nearly as bad as before she placed her transfer request.
The skimmer's computer voice interrupted her thoughts. We will arrive at your destination in five minutes. The current temperature is 7 degrees, northerly winds are variable from 5 to 15 kph. And as always, thank you for using Hertz!
* * *
True to its word, the skimmer arrived at the small, white wood-frame Palo Duro Baptist Church. The cemetery was behind the church building, covering several acres. Taking manual control, she guided the skimmer through the open gates to the cemetery until she found a small parking area. She powered down the car, which settled on its skids with a fading whine. Pulling the hood of her coat up to protect her head, she opened the door and stepped out on the dusty ground.
T'Ser took a moment to gain her bearings, then set off across the grave yard, between monuments that dated back centuries. Scrubby dead grass poked up haphazardly through the dusty soil; the ground was mostly pale dirt and rocks. A spindly tumbleweed bounced and rolled across her path before lodging in a rusty iron fence surrounding a family plot.
A bit more than fifty meters from where she parked, she found Dale's grave. Following local custom, she had brought a small flower arrangement, which she placed in an empty receptacle at the base of the marker.
She felt numb, and not just because of the cold. Her heart ached and her vision began to blur with hot tears. She wiped her eyes and gazed at the headstone - a new addition since the burial. The gray marble marker was similar to hundreds of others across the cemetery. On one side was inscribed, "McBride." The side facing the grave gave more information, dark letters in cold stone . . .
Chapter Sixteen
30 January 2377
Palo Duro, Texas
Earth
T'Ser reclined in her compact rental skimmer as it glided over the hard pan of the old west Texas road. Unlike her last visit, it was cold and blustery outside. She had passed through some flurries since leaving the Amarillo shuttle port, but the snow had stopped for the moment. Still, the gray sky looked foreboding.
A year had passed since the tragic death of Dale McBride - her best friend and her lover. A part of her had died on that awful day. She had come to Earth for his funeral and met Dale's parents and had promised to visit them again. Now, on the anniversary of his death, T'Ser had decided to keep her promise.
Palo Duro was too small to really be considered a town, even by west Texas standards, but the community of hearty folk, mostly cattle ranchers, had continued since its founding more than 500 years earlier, and little had changed.
Scrubby Mesquite and Joshua trees dotted the otherwise featureless plain. A faint dusting of snow caused the darker ground and rocks to stand out in relief.
T'Ser had tried reading some articles from the current issue of Starfleet Proceedings on her padd, but her concentration lagged. She considered taking manual control of the skimmer to break the monotony, but she was not familiar enough with her surroundings to chance that. So, her thoughts once more drifted to her life, her future and choices she must make. Thus far, she had not heard back from the Bureau of Personnel regarding her request for transfer. No doubt, the rescinding of the stop-loss order was keeping them busy enough. She had hoped that at least making the decision to transfer off the Bluefin would give her peace.
It had not.
Now, T'Ser felt she was in a kind of limbo. She was technically still the second officer of the Bluefin, yet that could change tomorrow. Where would she go next? When would she know? The uncertainty was nearly as bad as before she placed her transfer request.
The skimmer's computer voice interrupted her thoughts. We will arrive at your destination in five minutes. The current temperature is 7 degrees, northerly winds are variable from 5 to 15 kph. And as always, thank you for using Hertz!
* * *
True to its word, the skimmer arrived at the small, white wood-frame Palo Duro Baptist Church. The cemetery was behind the church building, covering several acres. Taking manual control, she guided the skimmer through the open gates to the cemetery until she found a small parking area. She powered down the car, which settled on its skids with a fading whine. Pulling the hood of her coat up to protect her head, she opened the door and stepped out on the dusty ground.
T'Ser took a moment to gain her bearings, then set off across the grave yard, between monuments that dated back centuries. Scrubby dead grass poked up haphazardly through the dusty soil; the ground was mostly pale dirt and rocks. A spindly tumbleweed bounced and rolled across her path before lodging in a rusty iron fence surrounding a family plot.
A bit more than fifty meters from where she parked, she found Dale's grave. Following local custom, she had brought a small flower arrangement, which she placed in an empty receptacle at the base of the marker.
She felt numb, and not just because of the cold. Her heart ached and her vision began to blur with hot tears. She wiped her eyes and gazed at the headstone - a new addition since the burial. The gray marble marker was similar to hundreds of others across the cemetery. On one side was inscribed, "McBride." The side facing the grave gave more information, dark letters in cold stone . . .
Dale Edward McBride, Commander, SFBS
Born 18 May 2335
Died 31 January 2376
"Greater love hath no man than this -
than to lay down his life for his friends."
Born 18 May 2335
Died 31 January 2376
"Greater love hath no man than this -
than to lay down his life for his friends."
T'Ser ran her hand over the letters of the cool marble. She could see her reflection in the polished surface of the headstone. A tiny, hot spark of anger flashed in her mind - Is this it? Dale's life is compressed into five lines on a rock? But the spark died just as quickly, replaced by cold sadness.
Why didn't you accept the damn ring?, her inner voice chided her. She shook her head, both in grief and refusal to follow this line of thought. What was done was done. Nothing in the universe could change that.
"I miss you, Dale," she began. "I wish I could talk to you right now - I'm at a crossroad and I'm not sure which way to go." She smiled wanly, "Not that there's anything new about that, is there?"
Her sharp hearing picked up the crunch of gravel under foot. She straightened to see who was approaching.
A tall man in a gray Stetson hat, wearing a heavy suede coat and blue jeans approached her. She immediately recognized William McBride - Dale's father. The elder McBride moved steadily up the slight rise toward his son's grave. His weathered face broke into a grin when he made eye contact with T'Ser. As he reached her, he engulfed her in an expansive bear hug. Bill McBride looked like an older, somewhat larger version of Dale. He smelled faintly of alfalfa and Old Spice - good, comforting smells.
"T'Ser, it is so good to see you again! I figured you'd stop by here first, but the temperature is fixin' to drop fast. Why don't you come on and follow me out to the house - we can come back by here tomorrow." His voice was deeper and drawl more pronounced, but he sounded very much like his son.
"Well, Mr. McBride, I'd planned on taking the shuttle back to Seattle tonight . . ."
"Horse apples!" he exclaimed. "Melba has the guest room ready for you and supper's waitin'. And no more of that 'Mr. McBride' stuff! - you just call me 'Bill.'"
T'Ser grinned in spite of herself. She already felt better in the presence of this man. "Alright, . . . Bill, lead on!"
* * *
Stardate 54073.8 (30 January 2377)
Star Station Echo - Level 16
Merchants' Alley
Captain Akinola wandered aimlessly through the throng of people that crowded the retail sector of the station, commonly known as "Merchants' Alley." Today had been a mix of ups and downs. He had been happy to see both Commander Strauss and Ensign Vashtee up on their feet, albeit under the watchful eye of Dr. Castille and his staff. The CMO had said he would allow Strauss to return to limited duty in a couple of days, while Vashtee would be a bit longer in her recovery.
Then, he had met the parents of Chief Franklin Brundy, who had arrived from Centauri IV to retrieve his body. The elder Brundy was a retired Starfleet non-com and had expressed his thanks to Akinola for "bringing our boy home." Brundy's mother had not said a word. She had simply stared at the torpedo casing that held her son with haunted eyes.
Now, Akinola just wanted some time to be alone. He had no agenda, no set destination, he merely walked through the crowds, occasionally looking in the window of a shop or pub before moving on. He allowed his mind to drift as well, so much so that he almost didn't hear his name being called.
"Captain? Captain Akinola!"
Akinola turned, unsure at first from what direction he was being called. Then, he saw a familiar face approaching him. He nearly turned and walked away, but instead, he sighed and fixed the approaching figure with a baleful stare.
"Captain Lhar'Shon, what do you want?"
The beautiful Andorian intelligence officer and C.O. of the USS Shadow smiled. "I understand that you've had an eventful week, Captain Akinola. I have some information that you might find of considerable interest."
Akinola glowered. "I really don't have time to play your spook games, Lhar'Shon."
"Not even if I could tell you more about Larson Chandler?" She inclined her head in the direction of one of the pubs. "I'm buying."
Akinola still didn't look happy, but he reluctantly nodded. "You've just bought five minutes of my time, Captain. If what you say interests me, I may even pay for my own drink."
* * *
Why didn't you accept the damn ring?, her inner voice chided her. She shook her head, both in grief and refusal to follow this line of thought. What was done was done. Nothing in the universe could change that.
"I miss you, Dale," she began. "I wish I could talk to you right now - I'm at a crossroad and I'm not sure which way to go." She smiled wanly, "Not that there's anything new about that, is there?"
Her sharp hearing picked up the crunch of gravel under foot. She straightened to see who was approaching.
A tall man in a gray Stetson hat, wearing a heavy suede coat and blue jeans approached her. She immediately recognized William McBride - Dale's father. The elder McBride moved steadily up the slight rise toward his son's grave. His weathered face broke into a grin when he made eye contact with T'Ser. As he reached her, he engulfed her in an expansive bear hug. Bill McBride looked like an older, somewhat larger version of Dale. He smelled faintly of alfalfa and Old Spice - good, comforting smells.
"T'Ser, it is so good to see you again! I figured you'd stop by here first, but the temperature is fixin' to drop fast. Why don't you come on and follow me out to the house - we can come back by here tomorrow." His voice was deeper and drawl more pronounced, but he sounded very much like his son.
"Well, Mr. McBride, I'd planned on taking the shuttle back to Seattle tonight . . ."
"Horse apples!" he exclaimed. "Melba has the guest room ready for you and supper's waitin'. And no more of that 'Mr. McBride' stuff! - you just call me 'Bill.'"
T'Ser grinned in spite of herself. She already felt better in the presence of this man. "Alright, . . . Bill, lead on!"
* * *
Stardate 54073.8 (30 January 2377)
Star Station Echo - Level 16
Merchants' Alley
Captain Akinola wandered aimlessly through the throng of people that crowded the retail sector of the station, commonly known as "Merchants' Alley." Today had been a mix of ups and downs. He had been happy to see both Commander Strauss and Ensign Vashtee up on their feet, albeit under the watchful eye of Dr. Castille and his staff. The CMO had said he would allow Strauss to return to limited duty in a couple of days, while Vashtee would be a bit longer in her recovery.
Then, he had met the parents of Chief Franklin Brundy, who had arrived from Centauri IV to retrieve his body. The elder Brundy was a retired Starfleet non-com and had expressed his thanks to Akinola for "bringing our boy home." Brundy's mother had not said a word. She had simply stared at the torpedo casing that held her son with haunted eyes.
Now, Akinola just wanted some time to be alone. He had no agenda, no set destination, he merely walked through the crowds, occasionally looking in the window of a shop or pub before moving on. He allowed his mind to drift as well, so much so that he almost didn't hear his name being called.
"Captain? Captain Akinola!"
Akinola turned, unsure at first from what direction he was being called. Then, he saw a familiar face approaching him. He nearly turned and walked away, but instead, he sighed and fixed the approaching figure with a baleful stare.
"Captain Lhar'Shon, what do you want?"
The beautiful Andorian intelligence officer and C.O. of the USS Shadow smiled. "I understand that you've had an eventful week, Captain Akinola. I have some information that you might find of considerable interest."
Akinola glowered. "I really don't have time to play your spook games, Lhar'Shon."
"Not even if I could tell you more about Larson Chandler?" She inclined her head in the direction of one of the pubs. "I'm buying."
Akinola still didn't look happy, but he reluctantly nodded. "You've just bought five minutes of my time, Captain. If what you say interests me, I may even pay for my own drink."
* * *
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
(Mistral bashes head against wall repeatedly, muttering dark imprecations) Always leave them wanting more, eh? For a moment there I thought we were going to get some answers-then the segment ended.(Begins fingering d'k tahg meaningfully) You wouldn't be playing with our heads, would you?
Nice sequence out there in the desert. Played out well, almost made you feel the cold wind...
(Mistral bashes head against wall repeatedly, muttering dark imprecations) Always leave them wanting more, eh? For a moment there I thought we were going to get some answers-then the segment ended.(Begins fingering d'k tahg meaningfully) You wouldn't be playing with our heads, would you?
Nice sequence out there in the desert. Played out well, almost made you feel the cold wind...
).
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Great scenery painting--something that gets all too frequently left out in fan fiction writing. Some excellent character work here as well as it's looking like T'Ser is coming to grips with the loss of Dale and beginning the process of moving on. Also, the plot moves forward as it's looking like Akinola is going to get a lead on "Chandler"...
Great scenery painting--something that gets all too frequently left out in fan fiction writing. Some excellent character work here as well as it's looking like T'Ser is coming to grips with the loss of Dale and beginning the process of moving on. Also, the plot moves forward as it's looking like Akinola is going to get a lead on "Chandler"...
Re: Tales of the USS Bluefin - 7: "The More Things Change"
Damn spooks.
Damn spooks.
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