Tales of the USS Bluefin - 8: "Stand-off!"

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Tales of the USS Bluefin - 8: “Stand-off!”

PROLOGUE

Stardate 53947.7 (12 December 2376)
Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards
Mars Orbit

Captain Tyre D’Angelo regarded his new command, his first command, with satisfaction, though his expression remained impassive. He stood with his hands behind his back, almost at parade-rest, and noted that the registry number of the USS Sequoia now had an NCC rather than NX prefix. This pleased him – it was an outward symbol that the trials, the testing, and the shake-down phase were over. Sequoia was now ready for active duty.

To the passer-by, Captain D’Angelo would have seemed the ideal poster boy for Starfleet. He was handsome, well-muscled, and exuded an air of confidence and authority. Truth be told, he was all of these things and more. D’Angelo had overcome personal obstacles to gain entrance to the Academy, where he excelled both academically and in athletics. He was highly disciplined; almost a perfectionist, and his drive and ambition had eventually earned him the coveted rank of captain. At age 38, he was one of the youngest in Starfleet to hold that rank.

Yet the very qualities that had brought him to this point of his career served to isolate him. Though his fitness reports through the years ranged from “excellent” to “superior,” a close reading would reveal a common caveat. “Needs to loosen up,” commented one first officer. “Tends to be a loner,” remarked a department head. “Has difficulty building relationships,” observed a counselor. While serving on the USS Ticonderoga, he had gained the nick-name, “Ice-man.” Less charitable crewmates called him “Iceberg.” The tag had followed him from ship to ship. D’Angelo knew of the nick-name. He simply did not care.

These thoughts were far from his mind now as he waited for the ceremony whereby the Fast Response Cutter Sequoia, NCC-88800, would be added to the list of active ships and given her first assignment. D’Angelo checked his reflection in the viewport, making sure his uniform was impeccable as always. A dark skinned man with brown eyes, close-cropped black hair and handsome features stared back. On the rare occasions when he smiled, his face became almost boyish. But those occasions were very rare.

In the viewport’s reflection he also noted the approach of his Executive Officer, Commander Maria Galvani. She was walking with two crewmen, laughing expansively at something one of them said.

This did not please D’Angelo. He felt that Galvani tended to be lax regarding crew conduct and discipline. One could not expect efficient crew discipline if one was too “buddy-buddy.” To him, it was unseemly behavior for an officer. D’Angelo supposed it was a by-product of her years spent on Border Service cutters. All of his previous experience had been with the “Regular Fleet.” He would discuss that with her - again – later.

Commander Galvani walked up to D’Angelo, still wearing a broad grin on her face. She was a polar opposite to the Captain. Maria Galvani was outgoing, fun-loving, and was not averse to bending regulations if she saw the need arise. (Which was fairly often, D’Angelo mused.) She was tall and attractive, nearly as tall as Galvani, with classic Mediterranean features – high cheekbones, green eyes, olive complexion, and long black hair.

“Ready for the big event, Skipper?” she asked, a faint Italian accent seasoning her voice.

“Commander,” D’Angelo said, “I’ve repeatedly asked you to call me ‘Captain,’ not ‘Skipper.’” His tone was quiet, but a note of impatience crept in.

Her smile never faltered. “Suit yourself. But you’ll have a hard time breaking the crew of it. ‘Skipper’ is an old Border Dog term. I wish you’d reconsider.”

The Captain’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “It will be your job, XO, to get the crew in line. I expect you to abide by my wishes. The crew will follow your example.”

“Aye, sir,” she said, unperturbed. In truth, D’Angelo found Galvani’s apparent nonchalance puzzling. She was the only one on the ship that was not intimidated by his presence. Part of him admired that trait, but it also unsettled him. At first, he had considered requesting a replacement for her, but Galvani was so effective in her work that he decided to put up with her foibles.

“Captain D’Angelo?”

He turned and quickly straightened. Admiral Deidre Bouvier, Commander – Border Services, had walked up. Galvani also straightened.

“Admiral,” replied D’Angelo, evenly.

Bouvier glanced at Galvani. “Commander, would you be so kind as to allow me to speak with the Captain in private?” She turned her attention back to D’Angelo, effectively dismissing the XO.

“Yes ma’am,” replied Galvani. She still wore a smile, but D’Angelo noticed that the smile no longer extended to her eyes. Admiral Bouvier was not popular with most Border Service personnel. The XO turned on her heel and walked toward the bank of turbo-lifts.

The Admiral favored D’Angelo with a terse smile. Her thin frame and gaunt features made her smile appear as a grimace. Tyre kept his face neutral.

“I know the official ‘send-off’ is still two hours away, but I thought you’d be interested in your orders – a ‘sneak peak,’ if you will.” She seemed pleased with herself.

“Of course, Admiral - thank you.” replied D’Angelo. Truthfully, he had mixed feelings about Admiral Bouvier. He knew very well that she had political aspirations and saw her current position as a spring-board to C-in-C. From there . . . well, that was her business. D’Angelo also knew that she had paved the way for him to take command of the first of the Sequoia-class cutters - a move that rankled many in the Border Service. D’Angelo had never served on a cutter. It was no secret that Bouvier wanted to make changes in the Border Service. Rumor had it that her goal was to integrate it fully into Starfleet.

D’Angelo had no desire to be any one’s pawn, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity that this fourth pip and a command billet afforded.

Bouvier turned her gaze toward the new cutter. “Sequoia is the first new cutter designed specifically for the Border Service in decades. I plan on modernizing the Service, Captain, and to do that, changes will be forthcoming.”

Tyre maintained a respectful silence.

The Admiral, taking his silence for agreement, continued. “Things have grown lax in the Border Service, Captain D’Angelo. Currently, we have a hodge-podge of elderly ships and a group of commanding officers that are far too independent minded for my liking! I intend to bring cohesion, discipline and accountability to the Service, much as you yourself are accustomed. In time, we may integrate this rag-tag outfit into the greater whole of Starfleet!” She turned back toward him, the tight grin even wider on her face.

“I’m sending you where dinosaurs still roam, Captain.”

D’Angelo’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Ma’am? I’m not sure I follow.”

“After a couple of months patrol duty in occupied Cardassian space, you will be attached to the Seventh Border Service Squadron at Star Station Echo, commanded by Admiral Bateson. That is the nexus of the old-school commanders, which – in time - I intend to break up! You will be the first of the new breed of captains I plan to install.”

Wisely, D’Angelo kept his opinion to himself. Apparently, he was to be a pawn, after all.

* * *

 

[Count Zero]

Sounds intriguing. I was under the impression the Border Service was oficially a part of Starfleet due to Starfleet officers serving in the service, though.

 

[Mistral]

perhaps its a perception with some Regular Fleet types that the Dogs operate a little too independent from Fleet procedures.

Interesting start-and they are going to Echo which should be interesting. I can't wait for Captain Prim'n'proper to meet Solly!

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Sounds intriguing. I was under the impression the Border Service was oficially a part of Starfleet due to Starfleet officers serving in the service, though.

The closest analogy is the relationship between the U.S. Navy and U.S. Coast Guard. They are separate, but often work together, especially in times of war. The Border Service is a branch of Starfleet with its own hierarchy. Admiral Bouvier wants to eliminate that separate line of authority and simply fold the Border Service into Star Fleet in toto. Yes, she has her self-serving reasons.

 

[CeJay]

Very cool start to the newest Bluefin installment. I like the political ambitions and plans of Admiral Bouvier. Especially because they are most certainly going to meet with heavy resistance from such seasoned Border Dogs as Akinola and Bateson. Oh I foresee a lot of conflict here, and wherever there is conflict there is drama.

Can't wait to see where all this is headed.

 

[BrotherBenny]

I see trouble ahead, and I have a feeling that Captain Iceberg might just find being a pawn beneath his sensibilities.

I think Adm Bouvier just got a lot more than she bargained for.

Do we have a pic of the Sequoias?

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Do we have a pic of the Sequoias?

They're basically up-rated Nova-class ships with more powerful impulse engines, a bigger warp-core and heavier weapons. Externally, there's not much difference.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

A great beginning. Bateson and Akinola better watch their six--they've got a political admiral and a political captain coming to town! Galvani and D'Angelo should make for an interesting contrast.

 

[mirandafave]

Bateson and Akinola ought to be careful since it was the 'Iceberg' that sunk the Titanic! Apparently that is the very intention of Bouvier. She sounds a fantastic b****.

D'Angelo and his XO are already terrifically drawn characters. I like the fact they are polar opposites to one another. Possible love friction between the two? If they last of course?

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Chapter One

Stardate 54243.4 (30 March 2377)
USS Bluefin
Sector 04331

“Bring us to within 500 meters, Ensign,” ordered Commander Inga Strauss, XO of the cutter Bluefin. “Ahead, dead slow.”

“Aye, ma’am,” replied the young Andorian helmsman, Ensign Drii An'Shil. She swallowed in nervous apprehension as she guided the cutter close to the disabled subspace relay buoy. It wasn’t actually necessary to maneuver so close to the relay, but An’Shil knew the XO was testing her to see if she could handle the stress of such a close rendezvous.

An’Shil watched the proximity display and caressed the controls which activated the bow thrusters. The Bluefin slowed to a relative stop.

“Five hundred meters, ma’am,” announced An’Shil, a relieved smile on her face.

“Very well. Thrusters at station-keeping.” Strauss turned toward the Ops station. “Ensign Vashtee, please inform Chief Rumraa that his team may retrieve the relay buoy.” Inga stood and stifled a yawn. “By the way, nicely done Drii!”

The Andorian helmsman flushed a deep shade of blue. “Thank you, Commander.” She grinned to herself. She was finally getting the hang of piloting the cutter after a rocky start a month earlier. An’Shil had discovered that there was a vast difference between being proficient on a simulator and skillfully piloting the real thing! Thankfully, her mistakes had not been catastrophic, and the senior officers had been patient with her . . . well, for the most part!

An’Shil suddenly became aware of someone standing by her station. She looked up, surprised to see Lt. Sarnek.

“I relieve you, Ensign,” he said, patiently.

“Oh! I’m sorry sir – I didn’t realize that the shift had ended!”

“Obviously,” noted the Vulcan helmsman.

An’Shil stood and saw that most of beta shift had already exited the bridge and gamma shift was already in place. Lt. Commander Simms looked up from a PADD she was reading and smiled at An’Shil from the command chair.

“Ensign, don’t be so anxious to pull a double shift! You’ll have plenty of chances to lose sleep before you retire,” Simms said with a wink.

“Yes ma’am,” replied An’Shil, meekly. She was still intimidated by the senior officers, even though they had been kind to her, especially Commander Sims. But Captain Akinola still made her nervous! She was glad she had been moved to beta shift. She could swear that she could feel the Captain’s eyes on the back of her head every time she was slow making a course change.

“Come on Drii!” called Maya Vashtee from the lift, “or would you rather take the ladder?”

“Coming!” she said, and hurried to join the Sri Lankan operations officer. Delta Simms smiled and shook her head as she turned her attention back to the report on her PADD.

* * *

Joseph Akinola stepped back and brought his left forearm around in a sweeping block, easily deflecting his opponent’s punch to his mid-section. Quickly, he counter-struck by shifting his hips forward and launching a straight-arm punch.

Solly Brin parried Akinola’s punch with a rising forearm block, stepped back and administered a front snap-kick which the Captain deflecting with a downward, sweeping block.

Both men stepped back, bowed toward each other, and turned to face the gathered crewmen in the gym.

“And that’s how I want you to do it,” said the Captain, “fluid motion – let your weight transfer do the work for you. Don’t worry about speed or power; focus on balance and snapping your punch at the end. Any questions?”

The gathered crewmen in their white ghis looked around, but no one spoke.

“Alright,” continued Akinola, “get with your partner and run through the sparring routine. Remember - belt testing is in two weeks, so brush up on your katas.” He gestured toward Solly, “Senior Chief Brin will hang around if any of you need any coaching.”

Solly nodded and clapped his hands together. “Okay people, pair up!”

Akinola stepped off the wood floor, turned and bowed as was tradition in Shodokan, then headed out of the gym toward the turbo-lift. As he entered the lift, he slumped against the wall as the pain in his side threatened to overwhelm him. Gritting his teeth, he hissed, “Sickbay.”

* * *

Dr. Octavius Castille glanced at his medical scanner, frowned, and closed it with a practiced snap of his wrist. He folded his arms and looked at the Captain unhappily.

“I thought I told you to take it easy with the karate,” he said.

“I have been taking it easy, Doc! Hell, Solly and I weren’t even making contact. It just felt like something sort of popped, then my whole side started burning.”

“You’ve got torn cartilage in your rib-cage. The same cartilage I’ve repaired twice in the last four months! For God’s sake, Captain, do you enjoy undoing my work?”

“Maybe if you’d patch me up better, I wouldn’t be in here so often!” Akinola retorted.

Castille glowered. “May I remind you that you just turned sixty? While it is true that, statistically speaking, you probably have that many years left, your body no longer heals as quickly as when you were thirty or forty. And it’s not going to get better!”

“Just wave your damn machines over me Doc, and send me on my way,” groused the Captain.

“Uh-uh. It doesn’t work that way, Captain. And let me remind you, in here, I make the rules, not you.” Castille went to a cabinet and pulled out a hypospray. He moved it towards Akinola’s neck.

Akinola pulled back. “What’s that for?”

Castille waved the hypospray in front of Akinola’s face. “In a perfect world, it would allow me to control your mind whereby you might actually follow my advice. Unfortunately, this is only going to relieve the pain and reduce the swelling. Come back in about two hours and I’ll see what I can do about knitting back that cartilage – again!”

* * *

Stardate 54243.4 (30 March 2377)
SS Queen Elizabeth VII
Sector 04339

Captain Wallace Lumford, C.O. of the Cunard Star Lines flagship, the Queen Elizabeth VII, stood on the bridge of the famous starliner, enjoying the relative quiet and glad for a respite from the passengers. While he enjoyed mingling with people and conversation at dinner, he always looked forward to these quiet moments on his bridge.

Lumford looked around at the other blue-coated officers who efficiently oversaw the operations of the massive ship. He took quiet pride in both their professionalism and their genuine affection for the old liner.

The QE VII was nearly fifty years old. Next year would be the special jubilee celebration for the ship, then, retirement for the great starliner and for Lumford as well.

He had served as master of the ship for the past 12 years. They had been good years – mostly. The past few years during the war had been a challenge, but the ship and crew had performed admirably when the QE VII had been pressed into service as a troop transport.

Now, refitted and restored to her rightful glory, the royal lady moved at a leisurely warp 8, en route to Vega from Earth. On this particular run, the ship carried 1800 passengers plus over 1000 officers and crew. Not quite full capacity, but a large manifest, nonetheless.

Captain Lumford reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an antique watch – a centuries old stem-winder that had been passed down from generation to generation of Lumfords until he gained ownership when his father passed away. He opened the gold lid and checked the time against the ship’s chronometer. Of course, the ancient time-piece could not calculate stardates, but it kept ‘normal’ time quite admirably.

He snapped shut the lid and replaced the watch in his pocket, watching the stars streak past on the main viewscreen.

* * *

Thirty decks below the bridge and nearly 900 meters aft, Steward 2nd class Kenda Byress latched the door to his tiny room and began to work. He gathered components from various drawers, under his bunk, and even from the heel of a boot. In short order, he had the components assembled and laying on his bunk. He smiled in satisfaction as he gazed at the Klingon disruptor pistol before him.

He glanced at the wall chronometer. Still over eighteen hours until he and his fellow Neo-Maquis operatives went into action.

The Bajoran quickly disassembled the disruptor and once more hid the components. He splashed some water on his face, straightened his white uniform jacket, and, breathing a silent prayer to the prophets, he left his quarters for the main dining room some twenty eight decks above.

* * *

 

[smeos]

If Steven Seagal shows up in the next one and fights the Maquis, you will be my hero.

 

[Mistral]

Wonderful on several levels. I liked the slumping in the turbolift, the historical references to the liner(yeah, got them all), and the Neo-Maquis concept. I guess my only question is-what's their cause or goal? Great bit-struck once again by how professional your work reads-I fear you may be consigned to the Lit board sometime soon. I hope not(no bad things intended) cause I love watching your stories develop.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Very nicely done. I have a feeling this is going to get ugly...

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Chapter Two

Stardate 54243.7 (30 March 2377)
USS Sequoia
Approaching Star Station Echo

"The station has given us clearance to dock, sir, berth five," announced Ensign Dakdar, from operations.

"Very well," replied Captain D'Angelo. "Take us in Mr. Nguyen."

"Aye, sir," replied the Vietnamese helmsman.

D'Angelo took in the sight of the star station. Over a century old, Star Station Echo had grown considerably over the decades. A long, central core was surrounded by three large docking pods, each capable of berthing eight ships as large as Excelsior-class. Larger class ships simply orbited the station. Even now, a Galaxy-class ship loitered nearby. D'Angelo noted an Albacore-class ship heading out from its berth. It was the USS Pompano, commanded by Captain Zhurtha, as he recalled. D'Angelo had made it a point to commit to memory the ships and their captains of the seventh cutter squadron.

"Impulse engines to standby. Thrusters on-line, preparing for docking maneuver," said Nguyen. The ship rocked slightly as they moved within the gravity envelope of the station. Momentarily, there was another slight rumble through the hull and the muted thuds of the docking clamps engaging.

"All stop," announced the helmsman. "Positive lock on docking clamps. Thrusters off-line. The helm is secure, Captain."

"Positive seal on airlock. Station power is available," announced Dakdar.

"Transmit my compliments to station control, connect to station power grid and take our engines off-line." D'Angelo stood. "XO, my ready room, please."

Commander Galvani stood from her station at tactical and followed the Captain to the ready room, located just aft of the bridge.

D'Angelo's ready room was neat, almost Spartan in appearance. His black desk was devoid of any personal items or knick-knacks. A generic star-scape painting adorned the wall behind his desk and a few pieces of abstract sculpture sat forlorn on a shelf along one wall. Again, Galvani was struck by the absence of any holo-cubes or pictures of family, friends or shipmates.

The Captain took a seat behind the desk. "Commander, before you begin shore leave rotations, I want you to notify the department heads to prepare for inspection."

Galvani was surprised. "Sir?"

D'Angelos' expression did not betray his annoyance at repeating himself. "You heard me, XO. The inspection will commence in one hour."

"Sir, couldn't we conduct an inspection later? The crew has been drilling non-stop ever since we left Utopia Planitia - they're tired and ready for some R&R."

"And they will have ample opportunity for rest, Commander, after the inspection."

Galvani took a breath. "Permission to speak freely?"

D'Angelo leaned back in his chair, silent for a moment as he regarded her with dark, inscrutable eyes. "Go ahead," he said, finally.

Galvani placed her hands on his desk and leaned forward. "The crew has done well these past few weeks - each time we've run a drill, their time has improved and the number of errors has decreased. Running an inspection now will seem like punishment! You're riding them too hard!"

The Captain's expression did not waver. "Is that all, Commander?"

Galvani straightened and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "Just one other thing - If you're trying to prove yourself to the other C.O.'s around here, you're going about it the wrong way!"

D'Angelo's eyes narrowed slightly. "That will be all, Commander. Instruct the department heads that the inspection begins in fifty-seven minutes."

She maintained her gaze just short of insubordination. "Aye, sir," she said, stiffly, as she turned to leave.

"Commander?"

Galvani paused, and turned back to face the Captain.

"Sir?" she asked, her anger barely veiled.

"The crew did well during the drills. I have some commendations I'd like to give out, but I'll need your input. Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow?"

Galvani blinked, caught off-guard. "Ah, yes sir. That would be fine."

D'Angelo nodded. "Good! 1400 hours, tomorrow then. Dismissed."

The XO stepped out of the ready room and the door hissed shut behind her. She shook her head in frustration. Dammit! she thought, Just when I think I have the guy figured out . . .

* * *

Stardate 54243.8 (30 March 2377)
Star Station Echo
Office of Admiral Morgan Bateson - Commander, Seventh Border Service Squadron

"Admiral? Captain D'Angelo is here to see you," came the voice of Bateson's aide over the com link.

"Send him on in," replied Bateson. He stood and walked around his desk as his office door opened and Captain D'Angelo entered. The young C.O. straightened nearly to attention.

"Captain Tyre D'Angelo and Sequoia reporting for duty, sir!" he said briskly.

Bateson grinned broadly and extended a large hand. "Welcome to the Borderlands, Captain," as he shook D'Angelo's hand. "Come on and sit down so we can get acquainted. Would you like some coffee? Perhaps something a bit stronger?"

D'Angelo shook his head fractionally. "Thank you, no, sir."

"Eh, suit yourself!" Bateson ordered coffee from his replicator and carried the steaming mug to his desk. His chair creaked audibly as he leaned back, hands folded across his midsection as he regarded his new Captain.

"So how are things in Cardie territory?" Bateson asked.

"Fairly quiet, sir. We didn't encounter any problems while there."

"Good, good," said Bateson as he took a sip of coffee. "And the Sequoia? Any teething pains to report?"

"None worth mentioning sir."

"I see," said Bateson. Damn, this kid is stiff! he thought.

"Sir, I'd like to request that we receive our assignment as quickly as possible so we can get underway in the next couple of days."

Bateson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh? What's the hurry, Captain? You just arrived."

"The crew still needs some work, Admiral. I'd like a quick turn-around so we can get back to our drills and get on-station."

"Uh-huh," replied Bateson. He remained silent for several moments, regarding D'Angelo with hooded eyes. "And you think a quick turn-around will help you mold your crew into a disciplined, cohesive unit - am I right?"

Bateson noticed a slight twitch of surprise around D'Angelo's eyes - the first expressive act from the young man he had seen.

"Sir, I know it takes time . . ."

"Do you?" interrupted Bateson. "From where I'm sitting, it sounds like you don't understand a basic command principle - an exhausted crew is a dangerous crew. We're not on a war footing, Captain. Work them hard when you're on station, but when you can take a break - do it!"

D'Angelo's mouth tightened. "With respect, sir. Isn't that my call as C.O. of the ship?"

Bateson's gaze did not waver. "It is, Captain. And as Squadron Commander, it is my job to make sure that each of my cutters has both the resources they need as well as clearly defined parameters for their missions. One of those resources, Captain, is a place and time for rest. This station is well-equipped in that regard. I hope that you will avail yourself of it."

"Is that an order, Admiral?" D'Angelo asked, stiffly.

"No. No, it's not. Think of it as a suggestion."

"Yes sir."

Bateson changed the subject. "Tonight at 1900 hours, there will be a reception for the cutter skippers who are in-port. It will be a good opportunity for you to get acquainted with some of your colleagues."

"Actually, sir, I wanted to meet with my chief engineer this evening regarding some adjustments to the impulse drive."

Bateson placed his coffee mug back on his desk, sat up and clasped his hands before him on the desk. He leaned forward and favored the young man with a smile.

"Captain, that wasn't a suggestion. It's an order. I'll see you at 1900 in the Reception Room two doors down from this office. Oh, and bring your XO, too."

* * *

Stardate 54243.8 (30 March 2377)
SS Queen Elizabeth VII
Sector 04339

Security Technician 1st Class Rondo Frinz made his rounds though the maze of access tunnels of the great star liner, checking to make sure no passengers had wandered into hazardous or unauthorized areas. He absently hummed a Rigellian folk tune that had been playing in his head most of his shift. In another hour, he'd be off-duty and in the crew rec room for the nightly Maknaj game.

As he came to a hatch marked "Internal Sensor Control" he paused, a puzzled frown on his face. The lock status light should have glowed red for locked or green for open. Instead, the indicator was dark.

He took the e-key on his lanyard and inserted it in the slot, while pressing his thumb against an adjacent plate.

The door hummed, but did not open at first. He was about to tap his combadge when the door suddenly slid open. Lt. Muriel Allender stood just inside, an embarassed smile on her face.

Frinz blinked in surprise. "Lieutenant? What are you doing in there? This is a restricted zone!"

She responded with a sheepish look. "I know, Rondo, but, well . . . come in, it's easier for me to show you than explain."

More puzzled than suspicious, Frinz did as Allender bade and entered the sensor control room. The door slid quietly shut behind them.

"Come around here and see for yourself," Lt. Allender said, beckoning him to follow her behind tall banks of isolinear chips.

He rounded the corner to find the body of Crewman Il'shuun lying in a pool of congealing aquamarine blood. He looked at Allender in shock.

"Lieutenant, what's going . . ." He never finished his sentence as Allender's ceramic blade slid between his ribs, puncturing his pericardium and left lung.

Frinz looked down, stupefied by the knife sticking out of his chest. He looked back at Lt. Allender with an expression of surprised reproach before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the deck.

Another figure stepped from the shadows. A Bajoran female in civilian garb grimaced at the second corpse.

"You said we wouldn't be interrupted!" the Bajoran said accusingly.

"Calm down, Hyra! He won't be missed for at least an hour. We'll be done here in less than five minutes. After that, no one on the bridge will be able to scan the interior of the ship for weapons or individuals!" Allender pulled an isolinear chip from her tunic, replacing one of the myriad chips in the panel. An indicator light changed from green to red, then back to green.

Allender smiled in satisfaction. "There! That's done! Now, help me move these two out of the way."

* * *

 

[Mistral]

The game's afoot! And Captain Namby-Pamby is fast making an enemy of the Bulldog. He'd better shift gears or things could be hard on him.

 

[Dnoth]

Oh, this is gonna be good. D'Angelo is surely going to be taken down a notch. I also love the idea of the Border Service Commander having ulterior motives.

Looking forward to more!

 

[CeJay]

Oh this is fun. Both plots are. Unless of course this turns into Speed 3: Space Cruise Control.

I also like the lower decks angle on Bluefin, something tells me that the new blood will have a role to play here.

D'Anglelo is a fascinating character becuase he keeps us guessing if he really is the A-1 dickface everyone makes him out to be. My guess: He is.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Nice. We've got a Neo-Maquis plot kicking into gear while D'Angelo seems intent on alienating just about everyone who works either under--or over--him. D'Angelo's either going to grow up real quick or he's going to end up sacked...

 

[mirandafave]

Must concur with other assessments that D'Angelo makes for a compelling character. He really doesn't fit with the Border Dogs - as they are - of course he is probably exactly the model captain Bouvier wants and intends which is going to make Bulldog's life a real pain if she starts to get her way.

Story set up is ticking along nicely and it will be interesting to see if the Bluefin and the Sequiona end up crossing swords over this mission. Real question is not if but how I dare say.

 

[TheLoneRedshirt]

Chapter Three

Stardate 54243.8 (30 March 2377)
USS Bluefin
Star Station Echo - Berth Twelve

As the Bluefin secured from arrival stations, Captain Akinola regarded the viewscreen with a sense of bemusement and irritation. Adjacent to them in berth eleven was the USS Sequoia, the newest ship in the Border Service.

"Nice looking cutter," remarked Lt. Commander T'Ser as she rose from her station.

"Oh, it's a pretty enough ship, Commander. I just hope it's tough enough to get the job done."

T'Ser lifted an eyebrow in a very Vulcan manner. "I take it you don't like the design?"

Akinola turned his gaze from the viewscreen toward her. "Captain Rodenko calls the ship 'Bouvier's folly.' I tend to agree with him. As a fast patrol vessel or picket, it would probably be fine. But I have serious doubts about its durability as a border cutter. Our squadron spends a lot of time in the badlands and our ships tend to take a beating."

"So I've noticed," said T'Ser, dryly.

Akinola smiled. "Yeah, I'm preaching to the choir. The other problem is the lack of tractor beam emitters." He gestured toward the screen. "That ship doesn't have the capability of towing anything larger than a runabout - not very useful in our line of business."

T'Ser frowned. "So . . . why did this design get the go-ahead?"

Akinola's smile faded. "That, Commander, is the million credit question."

* * *

At 1845 hours, Captain Akinola and Commander Strauss made their way through the station toward the captain's reception. Akinola side-stepped an elderly Bolian couple that waddled past, then stopped abruptly, almost causing Strauss to collide with him.

A smile broke out on his face. "Well, I'll be damned! Maria - how the hell are you?" he said, a note of pleasant surprise in his voice.

The petite Strauss tried to look around Akinola. "What?"

"Captain Akinola! It's great to see you again!"

Strauss was surprised to see the Captain and a striking female commander with dark hair embrace warmly, right in the middle of the promenade.

Akinola turned, smiling and gestured to Inga. "Commander Maria Galvani, this is Commander Inga Strauss, my XO on the Bluefin."

Galvani stepped forward and shook Inga's hand. She was a full head taller than the petite German woman. "Nice to meet you, Commander Strauss."

Strauss returned the handshake. "Likewise," replied Inga, somewhat puzzled.

"Commander Galvani served on Bluefin as Ops officer for about five years - right before T'Ser came on board." explained Akinola. Galvani nodded in agreement. "She was promoted to Lt. Commander and got herself transferred to the Second Squadron along the Romulan Neutral Zone." He turned back to the Italian commander. "So what are you doing here, Maria?"

"I'm the XO on the Sequoia," she replied.

"Is that so?" Akinola wore an enigmatic smile. "Your C.O. is, who, Captain D'Artagnan?"

Galvani made a face. "Do you still do that? Honestly!" she said in mock frustration. "You know damn well his name is Tyre D'Angelo." She gave Inga a conspiratorial wink. "He does that on purpose, you know."

Inga smiled and nodded sagely. "Oh, yes. I know!"

Akinola's eyes crinkled as he grinned. "I have no idea what you're talking about." His gaze became more penetrating. "So, how do you like serving on the Sequoia."

Something passed across Galvani's face for a moment, then was gone, but not before Akinola noticed. "Fine, sir! Of course, we're still getting to know the ship and one another, but everything is coming together."

Akinola knew Galvani was not being entirely truthful, but he did not comment. "Glad to hear it, Maria." He glanced at an overhead chronometer. "Look, we can talk at the reception - we better get moving or we're going to be late."

* * *

A well-laden buffet table graced the center of the spacious reception room. Hors d'ouerves and finger foods from several cultures were arranged in a tantalizing manner. Of course, a reception hosted by Admiral Bateson would not be complete without a well-stocked bar.

As the three officers entered, Akinola was immediately accosted by one of his closest friends, Captain Boris Rodenko of the Scamp.

Rodenko embraced Akinola in a traditional Russian greeting. "Joseph, Tovarishch! It's good to see you! Are you recovered from your recent travails?"

Akinola grasped the broad shoulder of the slightly shorter man. "For the most part, Boris - I don't heal quite as quickly as I once did."

Boris emitted a rumbling laugh and gestured at himself. "Neither of us are getting any younger, eh? Come! You're hand is empty! The admiral has procured a very acceptable bottle of peppered vodka - you need to try it!"

Akinola winced at the thought of the fiery liquid. "I better stick with beer - doctor's orders!"

Rodenko errupted in a gale of laughter as he led Akinola toward the bar.

Galvani and Strauss stood, amused at the sight of the two older captains.

"Captain Rodenko is quite a character," mused Galvani. "Do you know his nick-name?"

Strauss nodded and smiled at the thought, "The 'commissar.' I understand he's like a father to his crew, but the devil incarnate to pirates."

"A lot like Captain Akinola," agreed Galvani. She turned toward Strauss, her expression suddenly sad. "You're luckier than you'll ever know to serve under Joseph, Inga."

Inga blinked, surprised by the depth of feeling in Galvani's words. "Well, yes - yes I am."

A young and very handsome dark-skinned man approached Strauss and Galvani. Inga thought she detected a change in Galvani's demeanor as the young captain stopped in front of them.

"Mr. Galvani," he said with a slight nod before turning his gaze upon Inga. "And you are?"

"Commander Inga Strauss, XO of the Bluefin," she replied, smiling. She extended her hand in greeting.

D'Angelo frowned slightly at the proffered hand, then gave it a perfunctory shake. "Commander Strauss. Please excuse us, I need to have a word with Mr. Galvani." He moved away from Inga, Galvani in tow.

For a moment, Inga simply stood in place, surprised and annoyed by Captain D'Angelo's abruptness.

"A penny for your thoughts, Commander," said a pleasant baritone voice.

Inga started slightly, her face flushing in embarrassment.

"Good evening, Admiral! I apologize - I was wool-gathering."

"No need for apologies, Mr. Strauss." Bateson smiled broadly. "But I won't have my officers standing around like wall-flowers. Let's get you some food and a glass of something - Schnapps is your drink as I recall?"

Inga returned the smile. "Yes sir, thank you!"

Bateson nodded as he allowed Inga to walk ahead. His gaze tracked toward Captain D'Angelo and, though his smile never faltered, his eyes narrowed.

* * *

"You're late, Commander," said D'Angelo. His voice was neither loud nor harsh, yet the tone of disapproval was implicit.

"Sorry, sir," replied Galvani. "I had to make some last-minute adjustments to the shore-leave rotations. Then on the way, I ran into my old C.O., Captain Akinola."

D'Angelo nodded, seeming to accept the explanation. "Very well. We'll stay long enough for decorum's sake, but I want to slip out of here as soon as possible. Go ahead and mingle, but be watching for my signal to leave."

"Sir - why not just relax and enjoy the evening? These are some great people, Captain, and worth knowing."

"I'm sure they are, Commander. But we still have too much to do on the Sequoia to spend time at parties. Once we're ship-shape, that will be a different matter."

Galvani barely refrained from sighing. "Yes sir. If that is all, I'll go ahead and 'mingle.'"

D'Angelo took a sip of sparkling water. "By all means, Mr. Galvani."

* * *