“Bluefin – Future Tense”
Note: This story tales place approximately 40 years following the current tales in the Bluefin saga.
3 March 2416 / Stardate 91334.2
USS Enterprise NCC-1701-G
En route to Star Fortress Echo via transwarp conduit
Fleet Admiral Inga Strauss stood on the spacious bridge of the Epic-class USS Enterprise feeling useless and a bit bored. She was merely a passenger on the Federation’s flag ship, despite her lofty rank and position as Chief of Naval Operations for Starfleet.
Captain Th’Luthruu had graciously offered the command chair to Strauss, but the admiral had declined. It was difficult to read the facial expressions of a multi-dimensional life-form, but Strauss thought she saw relief in the Hl’ Ranthian’s shimmering eyes. Inga understood. There was once a time when she sat in the center seat and would have felt uneasy having an admiral hovering over her. But that time was past. For the past fifteen years, she’d been a flag officer and was now in the twilight of her career. And, for the first time, retirement was looming as a viable and attractive option. Her career had been long, convoluted, and mostly illustrious. She smiled at the last thought and felt a stirring, nostalgic sense of excitement over her destination.
It had been decades since her stint with the Border Service and the border cutter, USS Bluefin. She remembered with a sense of chagrin how she had, at first, been both disappointed and angered to be assigned as first officer of an old Albacore-class cutter out on the Borderlands. But those years serving under Captain Joseph Akinola had been the learning experience of a life-time. She began her service with him as an over-eager, naïve, headstrong, and yes, very immature young officer. When she finally returned to the “regular fleet,” she was wiser, more seasoned, and had a much higher regard for the thankless jobs performed by the Border Dogs.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the holographic helmsman, which had Asian features and a pleasant, baritone voice. “Captain? We’re approaching the egress point of the transwarp conduit.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sulu. Prepare for transition to standard warp. Make our speed factor 4 for our final approach to the Star Fortress,” replied Th’Luthruu in her musical voice.
“Aye, sir.”
The ship’s voice suddenly announced, “Incoming message from Star Fortress Echo from Commodore T’Ser. Do you wish to respond, Captain?”
“Yes, thank you Enterprise,” said the Captain. The Epic-class was self-aware and it was standard practice to address the ship by its name.
A figure shimmered into existence in front of the giant holographic view screen. Admiral Strauss smiled broadly. A holographic representation of Commodore T’Ser, Commander of Border Service Squadron 14, regarded Inga with a smile of her own. Inga marveled, with a twinge of envy, how her friend had not aged in 40 years. Strauss herself had maintained her trim, petite figure, but her hair was now silver and small lines were beginning to show around her eyes.
“Admiral Strauss, Captain Th’Luthruu,” said T’Ser, “Welcome to the Borderlands. We look forward to seeing you shortly. Enterprise is cleared for arrival in bay 132.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” replied Th’Luthruu. “We should arrive within the hour.”
“Very good. Admiral? If you wish we can beam you over with our long-range transporter,” offered T’Ser.
“Thank you, Commodore, but I’m still not comfortable having my molecules transmitted over several light years,” said Strauss with a grimace.
T’Ser nodded knowingly. “Understood. I have to admit I prefer to travel by ship, myself. I’ll meet you at bay 132. T’Ser out.” The figure of the Vulcan commodore disappeared.
* * *
In forty minutes, the massive star fortress was displayed on the Enterprise’s holo-screen in three-dimensional glory. Nearly 100 times larger than the old star station it replaced following the war with the Dark Hl’ Ranthians, the Echo now resembled a fair sized moon or planetoid. It employed the infinitely-variable geometry system (IVG) common to newer starships and stations. Basically, the station could be reconfigured in any shape or size in mere moments due to the nano-technology, smart alloys and holography used throughout. Strauss was amazed at the sheer size of the station, by far the largest she had yet encountered.
Enterprise slipped easily into the opening of bay 132, which seemed to iris open from solid material. In short order, the starship was secure in her berth and multiple gangways were joined to various airlocks.
“Captain Th’Luthruu, thank you for the lift! I hope your journey to the Andromeda galaxy is both safe and enlightening,” said Strauss.
The Hl’Ranthian inclined her shimmering head. “Thank you, Admiral. It will be good to explore the home stars of my ancestors. Enjoy the ceremonies!”
Strauss focused on her implanted Personal Sentient Assistant (PSA) and opened a communications channel. “Strauss to T’Ser,”
“T’Ser, go ahead, Admiral,” Strauss heard in her mind.
“I believe I feel comfortable beaming over at this range. I’m ready when you are.”
* * *
Strauss materialized in a spacious office with a high ceiling and a breath-taking, panoramic view of the stars. The sight entranced the Admiral momentarily so that she was startled when T’Ser spoke.
“Welcome aboard, Admiral! It’s been a long time.”
The two women embraced warmly. “Thank you T’Ser! It’s good to be here at last.” Strauss looked around, impressed. “I do believe that your office is quite a bit larger than mine!” she added, impishly.
“Is it?” asked T’Ser. “Reconfigure – office setting one.”
The room faded, shimmered, then coalesced into a smaller, but still very nice office.
“I use the other setting to impress the big-shots, like yourself,” T’Ser said with a grin. “This is what it looks like most days.” She indicated two wing-back chairs by the viewport and the two flag officers sat down.
“I’ve seen IVG on the newer ships, but never on this scale!” remarked Strauss.
T’Ser poured tea from a silver service into bone china cups, handing one to Inga. “It is remarkable, isn’t it? Yet, it’s merely an extrapolation of holographic technology that’s been in use for almost a century.” T’Ser’s expression changed and she paused a moment. “Inga, I’m so sorry that I missed the funeral.”
Strauss had expected this. “Look, T’Ser. I know it wasn’t possible for you to get to Earth during the border incursions. I appreciated your message and the beautiful flowers you sent. So, please, do not feel badly.” Inga reached over and squeezed the Vulcan’s hand.
“So, how are you doing?” asked T’Ser with obvious concern.
“I’m doing better,” said Strauss with a wry smile. “I just . . . didn’t expect to lose my husband in such a . . . mundane way.” She gave a small laugh. “To think, we survived three wars and the Dark incursion, and he goes and drops dead of a brain aneurysm . . .” She shook her head. “I just didn’t figure he’d go out that way. If he hadn’t been alone when it happened . . .”
T’Ser squeezed Inga’s hand in return. “What happened, happened, Inga. It’s not anyone’s fault.”
Inga nodded. She had come to terms with that truth, although it had not been easy. Time to change the subject.
“So, Commodore, tell me about the USS Akinola.”
* * *
The two women beamed directly to bay 73, where the new Bateson-class cutter, the USS Akinola was berthed, waiting for her commissioning ceremony the following day. Inga smiled broadly at the sight of the new cutter.
“She’s quite a beauty!” exclaimed Strauss as she viewed the sleek Border cutter. “A far cry from the old Bluefin.”
“Don’t ever let Joseph hear you say that,” T’Ser teased.
“Speaking of the devil,” continued Strauss, “Is he coming to the ceremony tomorrow.”
A shadow fell over T’Ser’s face. “Not likely.”
Strauss raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why not?”
T’Ser sighed. “He’s become even more stubborn and opinionated in his old age, if you can believe that! Even though he’s been retired for more than twenty years, he still speaks his mind about ship design, tactics, the whole gamut of Border Service operations. And he most decidedly does not like this ship! He actually threatened legal action when I told him we were naming this cutter for him.” She hesitated, obviously miffed and hurt. “I thought he would be pleased.”
Strauss looked back at the ship, surprised by T’Ser’s revelation. “But why? It’s state of the art – quantum slipstream drive, multi-phasic torpedoes and shielding, long range transporters, holographic crew . . .” Inga stopped, realizing she had answered her own question.
T’Ser was nodding. “You’ve figured it out. In Joseph’s words, it’s a “technological travesty, a soulless ship with a ghost crew.”
Strauss winced, as if hearing Akinola speaking the words in person. “I know he was always something of a dinosaur, but he eventually accepted the EMH and replicators on the Bluefin! Hell, we even had a holo-suite before I left.”
“But he never used them, Inga. Remember, he kept Cookie on the crew even with the replicators. He hated the EMH and never set foot in the holo-suite. All of this . . .” T’Ser gestured at the gleaming cutter, “is anathema to him.”
Strauss’ mood had shifted from surprise to annoyance. “Damn that old Border Dog, anyway! I don’t care if he likes the ship or not – it’s tradition that he be here for the christening. Do you know where he is?”
“Still putting around in that old, second-hand freighter he bought. I think his grandson actually runs it. Joseph just goes along for the ride these days.”
“What’s the name of the ship?” Strauss asked, an edge of irritation in her voice.
“The S.S. Kalinda Mayweather,” replied T’Ser.
* * *
3 March 2416 / Stardate 91334.6
S.S. Kalinda Mayweather
In standard orbit, Molari III
Thomas Okimbe, Captain of the Kalinda Mayweather, went over the checklist again and frowned. “No Grandad, reset bus B, and pull bus A.
The muffled voice of Joseph Akinola came over the comm link. “I know what I’m doing, dammit! Just give me a minute.” Thomas could hear muttering over the open channel, then a loud snap! followed by some colorful cursing. The dead sensor panel suddenly sprang to life. Thomas pumped his arm in a gesture of victory and spoke over the channel. “That got it, Grandad. Are you okay?”
There was some muffled coughing over the channel. “Fine! Fine! Say – is there a fire extinguisher down here?”
Thomas shook his head in consternation. “Port bulkhead, next to the EVA suit locker.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, sounds of rummaging, then “Got it!”
“You need any help down there?” asked Thomas.
“No, no, I’m fine. Be up in a minute.”
In about five minutes, Thomas heard the sounds of boots on the metal ladder. Soon, Joseph Akinola came on the tiny bridge of the vintage Starmaster freighter. A few months shy of his 100th birthday, Akinola still appeared fit and stood erect. His hair was now snowy white and his skin leathery, but his eyes were clear and sharp.
“Let’s break orbit,” said Akinola.
“Hey, I thought it was my week to be Captain,” objected Thomas.
Akinola collapsed into the right-hand seat. “Okay, let’s break orbit, sir!”
Thomas grinned. “That’s better!” Okimbe was a handsome, dark-skinned man 48 years of age. He bore a passing resemblance to his grandfather, although he was somewhat broader across the shoulders, generally more muscular and he had the green eyes of his mother and late grandmother. Thomas had inherited the wanderlust of the Akinola family and had eagerly thrown in with Joseph in this space venture some twenty years earlier. Together, they and their crew of ten, hauled freight and passengers across the backwaters of space known as the Borderlands.
Thomas applied power to the twin ion mass engines, giving the freighter the necessary thrust to break free of the planet’s gravity well. Akinola sat quietly in the old, leather chair, savoring the vibration, the muted whine of the impulse engines, and the look of concentration on his grandson’s face.
“Clear of orbit,” reported Thomas, “Taking us to one quarter impulse.”
Akinola checked the sensors. “We’re clear for passage through the system at 118 mark 34. That’ll put us at the beta pass through the asteroid belt.”
Thomas made the necessary adjustments to their course, then set the auto-pilot. “Three-plus hours to the belt. Might as well get something to eat.”
A beeping from an overhead panel interrupted. Thomas frowned. “An in-coming subspace message.” He tapped the receiver and a voice came over the speaker. “ . . . runabout Oracle calling the Kalinda Mayweather, come in, please.”
Thomas touched the transmission key. “This is the Kalinda Mayweather, Thomas Okimbe in command.” He ignored the sour look from his grandfather. “What can we do for you Oracle?”
“Is Joseph Akinola on board?”
Thomas raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Akinola, who shrugged, but had an expression of concentration on his face.
“Uh, yes. Yes he is Oracle. What’s this about?” replied Thomas.
Another voice, female this time, came on. “Captain Akinola? It’s Inga Strauss. We need to talk.”
Thomas was puzzled and was about to reply, when Akinola interrupted. “Well, now. It’s been a while, Inga. And what, may I ask, does the CNO of Starfleet want with a retired cutter skipper?”
“I’d like a few minutes with my old mentor and friend. May I beam over?”
For a moment, Thomas thought Akinola was going to say no. But the old man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose – a sure sign of frustration, and said, “Come on over, Admiral. But I must warn you, we don’t have any raktajino on board. Can you still stomach my coffee?”
“You know damn well you never made coffee on the Bluefin,” said Strauss chuckling. “Cookie always made it.”
“Well, I make it now. It’s about the only thing my know-it-all grandson let’s me do on this ship these days. Now go ahead and beam over and say what’s on your mind.”
* * *
Strauss materialized into a small transporter alcove. Standing before her was Joseph Akinola, wearing a denim shirt, corduroy trousers, and a bemused expression on his face. Next to him was a handsome, middle-aged man with dark skin wearing a dark green jump suit.
“Never expected the Chief of Naval Operations to visit my little ship,” Akinola said, wrapping Strauss in a warm embrace.
Strauss returned the hug, squeezing him tightly, then stepping back to get a better look at him. “You look good, Captain! Mein Gott, it’s been a long time!”
“You’re looking pretty good yourself, especially with all the gold braid on your sleeve,” he said, gesturing to her rank insignia on her uniform.
She blushed, “Yes, it is a bit much, isn’t it? I wish we’d go back to the collar pips. They were a lot less gaudy.”
Akinola gestured toward his grandson. “Inga, do you remember Thomas? He’s under the delusion that he’s the Captain of this ship.”
Inga looked up at the tall, smiling man and extended her hand. “Thomas, it’s good to see you again. It appears life as a Boomer suits you!”
His smile broadened as his large hand engulfed hers. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s in my blood. He looked back at his grandfather. “You two get caught up, I’m going to grab a shower before I get something to eat.”
Akinola guided Strauss out of the transporter alcove. “Well, come on to the galley and let’s sit down with some coffee. I’ve got a feeling this isn’t just a social call,” said the old space farer.
Inga marveled at the old ship as they moved through the tight corridor. The exposed duct-work, metal grating on the deck, and knee-knocker hatches were anachronistic in the 25th century. But then again, so was Captain Akinola, she mused.
They descended a steep ladder and came to a tidy and compact galley. Two crewmen were playing chess. They stood when they saw Akinola and Strauss. Their eyes bugged when they saw her uniform and rank.
“Bobby, Lyraal, this is an old friend of mine, Admiral Strauss. Could you give us a few minutes . . . ?” asked Akinola.
The two crewmen took their leave, nodding at Strauss. Akinola went to a tall coffee urn and filled two heavy porcelain mugs with steaming brew before returning to sit at a table with Strauss. She took a sip and winced.
“Wow, that’s pretty strong!” she exclaimed.
Akinola smiled. “Dark roast coffee from a Louisiana company. I got some from an Andorian trader last month. It grows on you,” he said taking a sip.
Strauss gazed at her former C.O. He really did look much the same, though his hair was pure white now and there were many more lines on his face.
“I guess it’s been, what, twenty years since we last saw one another,” she said.
Akinola nodded. “When you took command of the Lexington.” He paused, “I was very proud of you, you know.”
Inga smiled. “I thought you were ticked because I went back to the regular fleet.”
He chuckled. “Well, maybe a little. Seriously, though, that was a good move for you, and a good ship. And, from what I heard, you did a hell of a job as her C.O.”
She smiled. “I had a hell of a teacher.”
He nodded, “That you did.” He took another sip, hesitated as if considering something, then regarded her with a concerned look. “I was sorry to hear about your loss. A damned shame. He was a good man.”
Inga nodded. It didn’t hurt to talk about it anymore. Well, not as much. “We had a lot of great years, Captain. And we have two wonderful children. Brent is a lot like his dad. He’s serving on the Yorktown as first officer. Sandy is working on her doctorate in history at Oxford. . .” Her voice trailed off.
“But you didn’t come out here to catch up on old times, did you? And by the way, it’s ‘Joseph,’ not Captain. I’ve been retired a long time.”
She smiled and nodded. “Okay, Joseph. You’re right. I came out here to convince you to come to the christening of your namesake ship. It just won’t be right if you’re not there!”
Akinola leaned back in his chair and regarded Inga while taking a sip of coffee. “You’ve seen the ship, I take it,” he said.
“I have. It’s a beautiful ship, Joseph, with capabilities we never dreamed of 40 years ago.”
“And crewed by a bunch of coalesced photons," he said, sharply. He set his mug on the table. "Oh, sure, there will be a few token life-forms - a C.O. and a handful of officers. Not that they’re really needed though. The damned ship is sentient itself!” He leaned forward and peered at her with intense, dark eyes. “I don’t like having my name associated with it. It’s a slap in the face of countless beings who have served, and bled and died for the Federation!”
Inga held Akinola’s gaze without wavering. “Joseph, it’s merely the next step in technology, that’s all. It’s progress. Do you want us to fall behind other races out there? Someone more advanced than the Borg, or the Dominion, or the Cha’lav, or even the Dark Hl’ Ranthians? This new technology came from hard lessons learned. And, if it can save some lives and maybe even prevent another war from happening, then old-school ways be damned, Captain!”
Akinola kept his hard stare focused for a moment longer before he began to chuckle softly. “That’s what I always liked about you, Inga. You never let me intimidate you.” He stood and refilled his mug, gesturing to her for a refill. She shook her head.
“Inga, I’ve heard the same pretty speech from T’Ser, Delta Simms and several others. Always about how the new technology will keep us safe.” He sat down again, clasping the mug between two gnarled hands. “But if we lose our collective soul along the way, what are we saving? Will our ships decide they know better than their flesh and blood crew and take over? Will we serve the machine instead of the other way around?”
“You’re being paranoid,” said Strauss, flatly.
“Am I? Remember Daystrom’s M-5 fiasco back in the 23rd century? And surely you remember the Borg!” He shook his head. “No, Inga. I believe there’s a line we must not cross. These new sentient ships are dangerously close to that line in this old man’s opinion.”
Inga let out a sigh. “So, I guess this means you’re not coming to the ceremony tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Inga. But I don’t want anything to do with that ship.”
She stood, a sad smile on her face. “Fair enough. But, forgetting the ship for a moment, what about the good people serving in the Border Service? Like it or not, Joseph, you’re a living legend – a symbol of courage, grit, pride and perseverance. All the traits you tried to instill in me and others. That ship is going to launch, whether you’re there or not. So why not show up for the good of the service, not for the ship. It would mean a great deal to a lot of people. . . me especially.”
Akinola stood as well, a smile on his face. “You ought to consider a run for office when you retire, Inga. You can shovel the B.S. as well as any politician I’ve ever heard.”
Inga laughed. “Hell no, Captain! When I hang up this uniform, I’m going back to the ranch and ride my horses. I can shovel stuff all I want in the stables without any guilt.”
The two walked back to the transporter alcove. Akinola placed a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to know something,” She was surprised to see tears welling in the old man’s eyes. “I nearly blew it with my real daughter. Somehow, I got a second chance there, for which I’m grateful. But in many ways, you were the only daughter I had.” He nodded, as if in agreement with himself. “Just wanted you to know.”
She raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I know,” she said simply. She stepped up on the transporter dais, and accessed her PSA. “I’m ready to transport back, Oracle.”
As the transporter effect engulfed her, she said, “Take care, Joseph!” Then she was gone.
He stood there for several moments in the darkened alcove. “You do the same,” he said, softly.
* * *
4 March 2416 / Stardate 91335.4
Star Fortress Echo
Bay 73
The commissioning of a border cutter was not as newsworthy as the launch of a capitol ship such as the Enterprise, but there were a few representatives from the news media, seeking filler material for the myriad newsnet outlets in the quadrant. Commodore T’Ser and Fleet Admiral Strauss had become well versed in the P.R. aspect of their respective positions and they smiled and waxed eloquent about the ship, the Border Service, and the man for who the ship was named.
“Why isn’t Captain Akinola attending the launch today?” asked a Ferengi reporter.
“Captain Akinola has been retired for many years. I understand he has prior commitments that precluded his attending,” said T’Ser diplomatically.
“Isn’t it true that Captain Akinola has been highly critical of current Border Service policies, particularly the inclusion of holo-graphic crews on the cutters?” asked another.
T’Ser favored the reporters with her best, fake smile. “I’m afraid we’re out of time, the ceremony is about to begin. Thank you for coming!” She turned away, leaving several reporters shouting questions after her.
“You handled that well,” said Strauss with a slight smile.
“Damned vultures!” groused T’Ser. “Leave it to them to find the dark cloud in any silver lining.”
“Okay, let’s do this,” said Strauss. She was disappointed that she’d been unable to persuade Akinola to come, but she knew it had been a long shot. At least she’d been able to see the old space dog one more time.
Commodore T’Ser and Admiral Strauss moved toward an anti-grav platform from which they would launch a bottle of Dom Perignon Champagne. As they were about to board the platform, they heard a murmuring in the crowd followed by scattered applause that built in intensity. Puzzled, the two women turned to scan the crowd to see the source of the excitement.
Resplendent in a gray business suit and black shirt, Joseph Akinola strode down the steps toward T’Ser and Strauss. He seemed a bit embarrassed by the applause, but gamely approached the anti-grav platform. He stepped up to join T’Ser and Strauss on the platform, who were standing with Captain Yiang, the USS Akinola’s C.O. and a few other officers and dignitaries.
As the applause died down and the platform moved closer to the looming cutter, Strauss leaned closer to Akinola. “What made you change your mind?” she asked, sotto voce.
“I didn’t really change my mind, Inga,” he replied, quietly. “I still don’t like the idea of sentient ships and holographic crews.” He inclined his head towards the Chinese captain standing a few feet away. “But, as long as there are still a few flesh and blood Border Dogs out there, I can at least help give them a send off.”
“Semper paratus?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.
“Damned straight,” the old man said with a smile.
Finis
* * *
Note: This story tales place approximately 40 years following the current tales in the Bluefin saga.
3 March 2416 / Stardate 91334.2
USS Enterprise NCC-1701-G
En route to Star Fortress Echo via transwarp conduit
Fleet Admiral Inga Strauss stood on the spacious bridge of the Epic-class USS Enterprise feeling useless and a bit bored. She was merely a passenger on the Federation’s flag ship, despite her lofty rank and position as Chief of Naval Operations for Starfleet.
Captain Th’Luthruu had graciously offered the command chair to Strauss, but the admiral had declined. It was difficult to read the facial expressions of a multi-dimensional life-form, but Strauss thought she saw relief in the Hl’ Ranthian’s shimmering eyes. Inga understood. There was once a time when she sat in the center seat and would have felt uneasy having an admiral hovering over her. But that time was past. For the past fifteen years, she’d been a flag officer and was now in the twilight of her career. And, for the first time, retirement was looming as a viable and attractive option. Her career had been long, convoluted, and mostly illustrious. She smiled at the last thought and felt a stirring, nostalgic sense of excitement over her destination.
It had been decades since her stint with the Border Service and the border cutter, USS Bluefin. She remembered with a sense of chagrin how she had, at first, been both disappointed and angered to be assigned as first officer of an old Albacore-class cutter out on the Borderlands. But those years serving under Captain Joseph Akinola had been the learning experience of a life-time. She began her service with him as an over-eager, naïve, headstrong, and yes, very immature young officer. When she finally returned to the “regular fleet,” she was wiser, more seasoned, and had a much higher regard for the thankless jobs performed by the Border Dogs.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the holographic helmsman, which had Asian features and a pleasant, baritone voice. “Captain? We’re approaching the egress point of the transwarp conduit.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sulu. Prepare for transition to standard warp. Make our speed factor 4 for our final approach to the Star Fortress,” replied Th’Luthruu in her musical voice.
“Aye, sir.”
The ship’s voice suddenly announced, “Incoming message from Star Fortress Echo from Commodore T’Ser. Do you wish to respond, Captain?”
“Yes, thank you Enterprise,” said the Captain. The Epic-class was self-aware and it was standard practice to address the ship by its name.
A figure shimmered into existence in front of the giant holographic view screen. Admiral Strauss smiled broadly. A holographic representation of Commodore T’Ser, Commander of Border Service Squadron 14, regarded Inga with a smile of her own. Inga marveled, with a twinge of envy, how her friend had not aged in 40 years. Strauss herself had maintained her trim, petite figure, but her hair was now silver and small lines were beginning to show around her eyes.
“Admiral Strauss, Captain Th’Luthruu,” said T’Ser, “Welcome to the Borderlands. We look forward to seeing you shortly. Enterprise is cleared for arrival in bay 132.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” replied Th’Luthruu. “We should arrive within the hour.”
“Very good. Admiral? If you wish we can beam you over with our long-range transporter,” offered T’Ser.
“Thank you, Commodore, but I’m still not comfortable having my molecules transmitted over several light years,” said Strauss with a grimace.
T’Ser nodded knowingly. “Understood. I have to admit I prefer to travel by ship, myself. I’ll meet you at bay 132. T’Ser out.” The figure of the Vulcan commodore disappeared.
* * *
In forty minutes, the massive star fortress was displayed on the Enterprise’s holo-screen in three-dimensional glory. Nearly 100 times larger than the old star station it replaced following the war with the Dark Hl’ Ranthians, the Echo now resembled a fair sized moon or planetoid. It employed the infinitely-variable geometry system (IVG) common to newer starships and stations. Basically, the station could be reconfigured in any shape or size in mere moments due to the nano-technology, smart alloys and holography used throughout. Strauss was amazed at the sheer size of the station, by far the largest she had yet encountered.
Enterprise slipped easily into the opening of bay 132, which seemed to iris open from solid material. In short order, the starship was secure in her berth and multiple gangways were joined to various airlocks.
“Captain Th’Luthruu, thank you for the lift! I hope your journey to the Andromeda galaxy is both safe and enlightening,” said Strauss.
The Hl’Ranthian inclined her shimmering head. “Thank you, Admiral. It will be good to explore the home stars of my ancestors. Enjoy the ceremonies!”
Strauss focused on her implanted Personal Sentient Assistant (PSA) and opened a communications channel. “Strauss to T’Ser,”
“T’Ser, go ahead, Admiral,” Strauss heard in her mind.
“I believe I feel comfortable beaming over at this range. I’m ready when you are.”
* * *
Strauss materialized in a spacious office with a high ceiling and a breath-taking, panoramic view of the stars. The sight entranced the Admiral momentarily so that she was startled when T’Ser spoke.
“Welcome aboard, Admiral! It’s been a long time.”
The two women embraced warmly. “Thank you T’Ser! It’s good to be here at last.” Strauss looked around, impressed. “I do believe that your office is quite a bit larger than mine!” she added, impishly.
“Is it?” asked T’Ser. “Reconfigure – office setting one.”
The room faded, shimmered, then coalesced into a smaller, but still very nice office.
“I use the other setting to impress the big-shots, like yourself,” T’Ser said with a grin. “This is what it looks like most days.” She indicated two wing-back chairs by the viewport and the two flag officers sat down.
“I’ve seen IVG on the newer ships, but never on this scale!” remarked Strauss.
T’Ser poured tea from a silver service into bone china cups, handing one to Inga. “It is remarkable, isn’t it? Yet, it’s merely an extrapolation of holographic technology that’s been in use for almost a century.” T’Ser’s expression changed and she paused a moment. “Inga, I’m so sorry that I missed the funeral.”
Strauss had expected this. “Look, T’Ser. I know it wasn’t possible for you to get to Earth during the border incursions. I appreciated your message and the beautiful flowers you sent. So, please, do not feel badly.” Inga reached over and squeezed the Vulcan’s hand.
“So, how are you doing?” asked T’Ser with obvious concern.
“I’m doing better,” said Strauss with a wry smile. “I just . . . didn’t expect to lose my husband in such a . . . mundane way.” She gave a small laugh. “To think, we survived three wars and the Dark incursion, and he goes and drops dead of a brain aneurysm . . .” She shook her head. “I just didn’t figure he’d go out that way. If he hadn’t been alone when it happened . . .”
T’Ser squeezed Inga’s hand in return. “What happened, happened, Inga. It’s not anyone’s fault.”
Inga nodded. She had come to terms with that truth, although it had not been easy. Time to change the subject.
“So, Commodore, tell me about the USS Akinola.”
* * *
The two women beamed directly to bay 73, where the new Bateson-class cutter, the USS Akinola was berthed, waiting for her commissioning ceremony the following day. Inga smiled broadly at the sight of the new cutter.
“She’s quite a beauty!” exclaimed Strauss as she viewed the sleek Border cutter. “A far cry from the old Bluefin.”
“Don’t ever let Joseph hear you say that,” T’Ser teased.
“Speaking of the devil,” continued Strauss, “Is he coming to the ceremony tomorrow.”
A shadow fell over T’Ser’s face. “Not likely.”
Strauss raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why not?”
T’Ser sighed. “He’s become even more stubborn and opinionated in his old age, if you can believe that! Even though he’s been retired for more than twenty years, he still speaks his mind about ship design, tactics, the whole gamut of Border Service operations. And he most decidedly does not like this ship! He actually threatened legal action when I told him we were naming this cutter for him.” She hesitated, obviously miffed and hurt. “I thought he would be pleased.”
Strauss looked back at the ship, surprised by T’Ser’s revelation. “But why? It’s state of the art – quantum slipstream drive, multi-phasic torpedoes and shielding, long range transporters, holographic crew . . .” Inga stopped, realizing she had answered her own question.
T’Ser was nodding. “You’ve figured it out. In Joseph’s words, it’s a “technological travesty, a soulless ship with a ghost crew.”
Strauss winced, as if hearing Akinola speaking the words in person. “I know he was always something of a dinosaur, but he eventually accepted the EMH and replicators on the Bluefin! Hell, we even had a holo-suite before I left.”
“But he never used them, Inga. Remember, he kept Cookie on the crew even with the replicators. He hated the EMH and never set foot in the holo-suite. All of this . . .” T’Ser gestured at the gleaming cutter, “is anathema to him.”
Strauss’ mood had shifted from surprise to annoyance. “Damn that old Border Dog, anyway! I don’t care if he likes the ship or not – it’s tradition that he be here for the christening. Do you know where he is?”
“Still putting around in that old, second-hand freighter he bought. I think his grandson actually runs it. Joseph just goes along for the ride these days.”
“What’s the name of the ship?” Strauss asked, an edge of irritation in her voice.
“The S.S. Kalinda Mayweather,” replied T’Ser.
* * *
3 March 2416 / Stardate 91334.6
S.S. Kalinda Mayweather
In standard orbit, Molari III
Thomas Okimbe, Captain of the Kalinda Mayweather, went over the checklist again and frowned. “No Grandad, reset bus B, and pull bus A.
The muffled voice of Joseph Akinola came over the comm link. “I know what I’m doing, dammit! Just give me a minute.” Thomas could hear muttering over the open channel, then a loud snap! followed by some colorful cursing. The dead sensor panel suddenly sprang to life. Thomas pumped his arm in a gesture of victory and spoke over the channel. “That got it, Grandad. Are you okay?”
There was some muffled coughing over the channel. “Fine! Fine! Say – is there a fire extinguisher down here?”
Thomas shook his head in consternation. “Port bulkhead, next to the EVA suit locker.”
There was a moment’s hesitation, sounds of rummaging, then “Got it!”
“You need any help down there?” asked Thomas.
“No, no, I’m fine. Be up in a minute.”
In about five minutes, Thomas heard the sounds of boots on the metal ladder. Soon, Joseph Akinola came on the tiny bridge of the vintage Starmaster freighter. A few months shy of his 100th birthday, Akinola still appeared fit and stood erect. His hair was now snowy white and his skin leathery, but his eyes were clear and sharp.
“Let’s break orbit,” said Akinola.
“Hey, I thought it was my week to be Captain,” objected Thomas.
Akinola collapsed into the right-hand seat. “Okay, let’s break orbit, sir!”
Thomas grinned. “That’s better!” Okimbe was a handsome, dark-skinned man 48 years of age. He bore a passing resemblance to his grandfather, although he was somewhat broader across the shoulders, generally more muscular and he had the green eyes of his mother and late grandmother. Thomas had inherited the wanderlust of the Akinola family and had eagerly thrown in with Joseph in this space venture some twenty years earlier. Together, they and their crew of ten, hauled freight and passengers across the backwaters of space known as the Borderlands.
Thomas applied power to the twin ion mass engines, giving the freighter the necessary thrust to break free of the planet’s gravity well. Akinola sat quietly in the old, leather chair, savoring the vibration, the muted whine of the impulse engines, and the look of concentration on his grandson’s face.
“Clear of orbit,” reported Thomas, “Taking us to one quarter impulse.”
Akinola checked the sensors. “We’re clear for passage through the system at 118 mark 34. That’ll put us at the beta pass through the asteroid belt.”
Thomas made the necessary adjustments to their course, then set the auto-pilot. “Three-plus hours to the belt. Might as well get something to eat.”
A beeping from an overhead panel interrupted. Thomas frowned. “An in-coming subspace message.” He tapped the receiver and a voice came over the speaker. “ . . . runabout Oracle calling the Kalinda Mayweather, come in, please.”
Thomas touched the transmission key. “This is the Kalinda Mayweather, Thomas Okimbe in command.” He ignored the sour look from his grandfather. “What can we do for you Oracle?”
“Is Joseph Akinola on board?”
Thomas raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Akinola, who shrugged, but had an expression of concentration on his face.
“Uh, yes. Yes he is Oracle. What’s this about?” replied Thomas.
Another voice, female this time, came on. “Captain Akinola? It’s Inga Strauss. We need to talk.”
Thomas was puzzled and was about to reply, when Akinola interrupted. “Well, now. It’s been a while, Inga. And what, may I ask, does the CNO of Starfleet want with a retired cutter skipper?”
“I’d like a few minutes with my old mentor and friend. May I beam over?”
For a moment, Thomas thought Akinola was going to say no. But the old man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose – a sure sign of frustration, and said, “Come on over, Admiral. But I must warn you, we don’t have any raktajino on board. Can you still stomach my coffee?”
“You know damn well you never made coffee on the Bluefin,” said Strauss chuckling. “Cookie always made it.”
“Well, I make it now. It’s about the only thing my know-it-all grandson let’s me do on this ship these days. Now go ahead and beam over and say what’s on your mind.”
* * *
Strauss materialized into a small transporter alcove. Standing before her was Joseph Akinola, wearing a denim shirt, corduroy trousers, and a bemused expression on his face. Next to him was a handsome, middle-aged man with dark skin wearing a dark green jump suit.
“Never expected the Chief of Naval Operations to visit my little ship,” Akinola said, wrapping Strauss in a warm embrace.
Strauss returned the hug, squeezing him tightly, then stepping back to get a better look at him. “You look good, Captain! Mein Gott, it’s been a long time!”
“You’re looking pretty good yourself, especially with all the gold braid on your sleeve,” he said, gesturing to her rank insignia on her uniform.
She blushed, “Yes, it is a bit much, isn’t it? I wish we’d go back to the collar pips. They were a lot less gaudy.”
Akinola gestured toward his grandson. “Inga, do you remember Thomas? He’s under the delusion that he’s the Captain of this ship.”
Inga looked up at the tall, smiling man and extended her hand. “Thomas, it’s good to see you again. It appears life as a Boomer suits you!”
His smile broadened as his large hand engulfed hers. “Yeah, I guess you could say it’s in my blood. He looked back at his grandfather. “You two get caught up, I’m going to grab a shower before I get something to eat.”
Akinola guided Strauss out of the transporter alcove. “Well, come on to the galley and let’s sit down with some coffee. I’ve got a feeling this isn’t just a social call,” said the old space farer.
Inga marveled at the old ship as they moved through the tight corridor. The exposed duct-work, metal grating on the deck, and knee-knocker hatches were anachronistic in the 25th century. But then again, so was Captain Akinola, she mused.
They descended a steep ladder and came to a tidy and compact galley. Two crewmen were playing chess. They stood when they saw Akinola and Strauss. Their eyes bugged when they saw her uniform and rank.
“Bobby, Lyraal, this is an old friend of mine, Admiral Strauss. Could you give us a few minutes . . . ?” asked Akinola.
The two crewmen took their leave, nodding at Strauss. Akinola went to a tall coffee urn and filled two heavy porcelain mugs with steaming brew before returning to sit at a table with Strauss. She took a sip and winced.
“Wow, that’s pretty strong!” she exclaimed.
Akinola smiled. “Dark roast coffee from a Louisiana company. I got some from an Andorian trader last month. It grows on you,” he said taking a sip.
Strauss gazed at her former C.O. He really did look much the same, though his hair was pure white now and there were many more lines on his face.
“I guess it’s been, what, twenty years since we last saw one another,” she said.
Akinola nodded. “When you took command of the Lexington.” He paused, “I was very proud of you, you know.”
Inga smiled. “I thought you were ticked because I went back to the regular fleet.”
He chuckled. “Well, maybe a little. Seriously, though, that was a good move for you, and a good ship. And, from what I heard, you did a hell of a job as her C.O.”
She smiled. “I had a hell of a teacher.”
He nodded, “That you did.” He took another sip, hesitated as if considering something, then regarded her with a concerned look. “I was sorry to hear about your loss. A damned shame. He was a good man.”
Inga nodded. It didn’t hurt to talk about it anymore. Well, not as much. “We had a lot of great years, Captain. And we have two wonderful children. Brent is a lot like his dad. He’s serving on the Yorktown as first officer. Sandy is working on her doctorate in history at Oxford. . .” Her voice trailed off.
“But you didn’t come out here to catch up on old times, did you? And by the way, it’s ‘Joseph,’ not Captain. I’ve been retired a long time.”
She smiled and nodded. “Okay, Joseph. You’re right. I came out here to convince you to come to the christening of your namesake ship. It just won’t be right if you’re not there!”
Akinola leaned back in his chair and regarded Inga while taking a sip of coffee. “You’ve seen the ship, I take it,” he said.
“I have. It’s a beautiful ship, Joseph, with capabilities we never dreamed of 40 years ago.”
“And crewed by a bunch of coalesced photons," he said, sharply. He set his mug on the table. "Oh, sure, there will be a few token life-forms - a C.O. and a handful of officers. Not that they’re really needed though. The damned ship is sentient itself!” He leaned forward and peered at her with intense, dark eyes. “I don’t like having my name associated with it. It’s a slap in the face of countless beings who have served, and bled and died for the Federation!”
Inga held Akinola’s gaze without wavering. “Joseph, it’s merely the next step in technology, that’s all. It’s progress. Do you want us to fall behind other races out there? Someone more advanced than the Borg, or the Dominion, or the Cha’lav, or even the Dark Hl’ Ranthians? This new technology came from hard lessons learned. And, if it can save some lives and maybe even prevent another war from happening, then old-school ways be damned, Captain!”
Akinola kept his hard stare focused for a moment longer before he began to chuckle softly. “That’s what I always liked about you, Inga. You never let me intimidate you.” He stood and refilled his mug, gesturing to her for a refill. She shook her head.
“Inga, I’ve heard the same pretty speech from T’Ser, Delta Simms and several others. Always about how the new technology will keep us safe.” He sat down again, clasping the mug between two gnarled hands. “But if we lose our collective soul along the way, what are we saving? Will our ships decide they know better than their flesh and blood crew and take over? Will we serve the machine instead of the other way around?”
“You’re being paranoid,” said Strauss, flatly.
“Am I? Remember Daystrom’s M-5 fiasco back in the 23rd century? And surely you remember the Borg!” He shook his head. “No, Inga. I believe there’s a line we must not cross. These new sentient ships are dangerously close to that line in this old man’s opinion.”
Inga let out a sigh. “So, I guess this means you’re not coming to the ceremony tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Inga. But I don’t want anything to do with that ship.”
She stood, a sad smile on her face. “Fair enough. But, forgetting the ship for a moment, what about the good people serving in the Border Service? Like it or not, Joseph, you’re a living legend – a symbol of courage, grit, pride and perseverance. All the traits you tried to instill in me and others. That ship is going to launch, whether you’re there or not. So why not show up for the good of the service, not for the ship. It would mean a great deal to a lot of people. . . me especially.”
Akinola stood as well, a smile on his face. “You ought to consider a run for office when you retire, Inga. You can shovel the B.S. as well as any politician I’ve ever heard.”
Inga laughed. “Hell no, Captain! When I hang up this uniform, I’m going back to the ranch and ride my horses. I can shovel stuff all I want in the stables without any guilt.”
The two walked back to the transporter alcove. Akinola placed a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to know something,” She was surprised to see tears welling in the old man’s eyes. “I nearly blew it with my real daughter. Somehow, I got a second chance there, for which I’m grateful. But in many ways, you were the only daughter I had.” He nodded, as if in agreement with himself. “Just wanted you to know.”
She raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I know,” she said simply. She stepped up on the transporter dais, and accessed her PSA. “I’m ready to transport back, Oracle.”
As the transporter effect engulfed her, she said, “Take care, Joseph!” Then she was gone.
He stood there for several moments in the darkened alcove. “You do the same,” he said, softly.
* * *
4 March 2416 / Stardate 91335.4
Star Fortress Echo
Bay 73
The commissioning of a border cutter was not as newsworthy as the launch of a capitol ship such as the Enterprise, but there were a few representatives from the news media, seeking filler material for the myriad newsnet outlets in the quadrant. Commodore T’Ser and Fleet Admiral Strauss had become well versed in the P.R. aspect of their respective positions and they smiled and waxed eloquent about the ship, the Border Service, and the man for who the ship was named.
“Why isn’t Captain Akinola attending the launch today?” asked a Ferengi reporter.
“Captain Akinola has been retired for many years. I understand he has prior commitments that precluded his attending,” said T’Ser diplomatically.
“Isn’t it true that Captain Akinola has been highly critical of current Border Service policies, particularly the inclusion of holo-graphic crews on the cutters?” asked another.
T’Ser favored the reporters with her best, fake smile. “I’m afraid we’re out of time, the ceremony is about to begin. Thank you for coming!” She turned away, leaving several reporters shouting questions after her.
“You handled that well,” said Strauss with a slight smile.
“Damned vultures!” groused T’Ser. “Leave it to them to find the dark cloud in any silver lining.”
“Okay, let’s do this,” said Strauss. She was disappointed that she’d been unable to persuade Akinola to come, but she knew it had been a long shot. At least she’d been able to see the old space dog one more time.
Commodore T’Ser and Admiral Strauss moved toward an anti-grav platform from which they would launch a bottle of Dom Perignon Champagne. As they were about to board the platform, they heard a murmuring in the crowd followed by scattered applause that built in intensity. Puzzled, the two women turned to scan the crowd to see the source of the excitement.
Resplendent in a gray business suit and black shirt, Joseph Akinola strode down the steps toward T’Ser and Strauss. He seemed a bit embarrassed by the applause, but gamely approached the anti-grav platform. He stepped up to join T’Ser and Strauss on the platform, who were standing with Captain Yiang, the USS Akinola’s C.O. and a few other officers and dignitaries.
As the applause died down and the platform moved closer to the looming cutter, Strauss leaned closer to Akinola. “What made you change your mind?” she asked, sotto voce.
“I didn’t really change my mind, Inga,” he replied, quietly. “I still don’t like the idea of sentient ships and holographic crews.” He inclined his head towards the Chinese captain standing a few feet away. “But, as long as there are still a few flesh and blood Border Dogs out there, I can at least help give them a send off.”
“Semper paratus?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye.
“Damned straight,” the old man said with a smile.
Finis
* * *
