The Star Eagle Adventures III: Cry Havoc

[DavidFalkayn]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

Just printed the latest parts for reading tonight. After grading papers and all that, I'm looking forward to something fun to read.

 

[Gibraltar]

I'm 2/3's of the way through Tempus Fugit, but when I caught the Dominion War angle presented in this story I couldn't help myself from jumping ahead.

You've got a terrific, gripping opener, and its nice to see how Eagle's crew survives in the face of full-scale war.

Consider me hooked! :thumbsup:

P.S.- Don't worry, I'll finish your other two tales in between postings of Cry Havoc.

 

[CeJay]

Thanks for the compliment, Gibraltar.

Let's hope I can mirror some of that excellent tension that defines your stories.

And do let me know what you think of Tempus Fuguit when you're done. I still plan to revise it once Cry Havoc is completed.

David, I'm looking forward to hear about your views on the latest chapter.

 

[Admiral2]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

I just finished chapter 2, Ceej. Very enjoyable. I'm just gonna nitpick this one little thing:

“My great grandfather made that wrench with his own two hands,” the chief engineer replied slowly as if she had said the exact same sentence hundreds of times before.

How in the hell does somebody just haul off and make a wrench with only his two hands??? It's a wrench! You've got to mold metal to make the parts! It's a big process, and I would think a chief engineer would know that and not believe the obvious lies her family's been telling her!

Okay, just had to get that off my chest. Otherwise, very cool.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

Some good character development here. I'm curious as to Leva's issues with D'Karr--they seem to transcend the normal Klingon-Romulan issues. Also, I liked how you're developing Hopkins. Also, for morale to have fallen so far so fast indicates to me that Owens is dealing with a mostly green crew--not really a surprise coming out of the gates into a war with a multi-role service such as Starfleet. Should be interesting watching this crew transition into this new role.

 

[CeJay]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

Admiral, is it not feasable then that that's what she meant when she said 'his own two hands'. He probably made more tools than just one wrench, I would assume, and seeing how much work was invovled it makes perfect sense why she cherished it so much.

David, Eagle has been in service for nearly three years but I guess the crew would be rather green in the sense that they have not been through major war. Do you remember the frustration in DS9 when Sisko and his fleets were so easily defeated? That is the mood I was trying to capture here.

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

You did a good job catching that mood, CeJay. Yeah, the crew of the Eagle--and most of Starfleet as a whole--would be green in the sense of not having fought a major war. In many ways, they would be like the Union and Confederate armies at the beginning of the Civil War or the various European armies at the beginning of WW1. Once the adrenaline wears off and the horrors of war come home, this feeling of frustration would be natural. To a large extent, the Federation as a society is having to learn how to be a society at war.

 

[Admiral2]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

CeJay said:
Admiral, is it not feasable then that that's what she meant when she said 'his own two hands'. He probably made more tools than just one wrench, I would assume, and seeing how much work was invovled it makes perfect sense why she cherished it so much.

It would make sense if her grandfather owned a tool manufacturing company, like Black & Decker. It does not make sense for him to personally have and use all the necessary equipment to make from scratch something he could have easily bought in a hardware store.

 

[Whoa Nellie]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

A lot of dedicated artisans will craft their own tools. One of my grandfathers was a very talented wood carver. He hand made most of his own chisels because the heads on the tools he made would give him far better control while doing intricate carving. He left them to my husband and they are a very cherished possession.

Warmest Wishes,
Whoa Nellie

 

[Admiral2]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

A wrench requires a lot more metal than a chisel head. Nobody is going to go out of his way to make one from scratch if he didn't have to.

 

[Whoa Nellie]

Re: Chapter II - Orders

Admiral2 said:
A wrench requires a lot more metal than a chisel head. Nobody is going to go out of his way to make one from scratch if he didn't have to.

That is your opinion and I happen to disagree. The amount of metal is irrelevant. Go to any Renaissance Festival, you'll find people who enjoy blacksmithing and make their own swords. It really only depends on what the individual finds important enough to spend time and energy doing.

Warmest Wishes,
Whoa Nellie

 

[CeJay]

Chapter III - Recuperation

III – Recuperation


The Jem’Hadar were superior to the Vorta in almost every way. They were obviously stronger, they were faster with better reflexes and even their tactical reasoning was sharper. True there were Vorta who possessed special telekinetic abilities but those were few and far in between. Telaka’clan perfectly understood the reason for the existence of the Vorta. After all they – like the Jem’Hadar – had been created by the gods, the Founders. And gods did not err. And the Vorta did have their uses. They were skilled administrators, diplomats and scientists. They were also in charge of the Jem’Hadar and usually First Telaka’clan would not have entertained a single objectionable thought about it. The Vorta gave orders and the Jem’Hadar obeyed. It was the order of things.

But Wegnour, the Vorta who had been put in charge of his unit, did not seem to appreciate the delicacies of covert warfare. At least that was what he assumed they were doing as Wegnour had not been very forthcoming since they had set out from their base in Cardassian territory. They had been given a decently-sized unit, coordinates far removed from any strategically important targets and no conclusive words that could hint at their ultimate mission objectives. The secrecy was near unbearable and as far as Telaka’clan was concerned, completely unnecessary. They were Jem’Hadar after all, soldiers loyal to the end. If the Vorta ordered him to die for the Founders then that was exactly what he would do. And gladly. Instead the secrecy would only endanger the successful outcome of this mission. The less he knew about what he and his men were to do, the less they could prepare. All this led Telaka’clan to assume that Wegnour was incompetent. He didn’t know much about him, Jem’Hadar were not required to know about their leaders, but it was obvious that he was a new and inexperienced model, perhaps cloned only very recently.

‘Clan stepped onto the command bridge of their vessel and immediately found the pale-skinned Vorta waiting for him. “You asked to see me.”

Wegnour nodded absently. “Are your men ready?”

“They are.”

“Good,” he said and turned away from the first.

For a moment Telaka’clan simply stood there, staring at the Vorta’s back.

Wegnour noticed. “Is there something else you wish to report?” he asked without facing the solider.

“I have prepared the men as you have instructed. However you have not revealed our target or given me any instructions as how to proceed.”

The Vorta nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

There was silence again. The three other Jem’Hadar who were working on the bridge, turned their heads towards their commanders. The tension between the two of them was impossible to miss.

“At which time do you think will you disclose that information?” There was the slightest hint of defiance in the Jem’Hadar’s tone. So slight in fact that a non Jem’Hadar would have missed it.

Wegnour sighed dramatically before he turned towards the first. “My orders come directly from the Founders themselves. This assignment is of the absolute highest importance to them. Seeing how sensitive this mission is, you will only be told what is absolutely necessary and only when I feel the time is appropriate.”

The Jem’Hadar threw a quick look at his men on the bridge who took the hint and promptly turned back to their respective stations. “Have the Founders ordered you to keep the details of this mission hidden from me?” he asked when he faced the Vorta again. This time, the defiance much more obvious.

Wegnour’s facial expression distorted in anger and he took quick step towards the Jem’Hadar. ‘Clan held his ground. “We already had this discussion and your continued questions are beginning to try my patience. I am the Vorta, I make the decisions. All you have to do is follow my orders and have your men ready to strike at my command. If you are unable to do that I will find somebody else who can,” Wegnour nearly shouted.

Telaka’clan didn’t move, not even a facial muscle. Instead he remained perfectly still not unlike a stone statue.

When it became clear that the Jem’Hadar was not going to speak, Wegnour took a small breath and turned away again. “I hope for your sake that you are better at fighting than you are at taking my orders.”

“I will follow every order you give me,” he replied in a tone of voice more befitting a machine than a sentient being.

The Vorta nodded slowly. “Yes, you better,” he said and then whipped around again. “Because you know what will happen if you do not,” he added with a sinister grin. He took another step towards the First and reached for the small, clear tube that was affixed to the Jem’Hadar’s jugular and fed him with the indispensable ketracel-white drug he required to live.

Telaka’clan continued to remain perfectly still even when the Vorta began to squeeze the tube slightly. It made him uncomfortable, he couldn’t deny that. The drug was the only weakness he admitted to and he didn’t like to be reminded of his dependence. Like all Jem’Hadar he had come to accept it as part of who they were. But Wegnour was the first Vorta he had ever met who seemed to enjoy his power over him and his fellow soldiers. He could see it in his clear blue eyes. This man could not be trusted.

“I can sense that you understand,” the Vorta said and quickly withdrew his hand as if he had been caught playing with a forbidden toy. “Just remember that all I do – we all do – is for the good of the Dominion and the greater glory of the Founders. Now,” he said as he turned away again. “Have your first unit ready for a landing assignment, you will get further instructions later.”

Telaka’clan did not move. For the first time in his short life he had concerns. If Wegnour was truly incompetent than it would put at risk the entire mission. But Wegnour had the trust of the Founders and the Founders did not make mistakes. Therefore Wegnour could not be incompetent.

The Vorta had a look of irritation on his face when he realized that Telaka’clan was still present. “Go.”

The First decided that for now his only option was to assume that Wegnour knew exactly what he was doing. That he was perfectly able to deal with whatever this mission demanded of them. Because to assume otherwise would mean to bring into question not only Wegnour but the Founders as well. It was a thought he could not allow himself to have.

He gave the Vorta a quick nod and left the command bridge.


*********

 

[CeJay]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

“Don’t tell him I said this but Captain Renik’s dinner parties are not nearly as much as fun as yours.”

Michael Owens laughed at Amaya Donners’ joke about the Vulcan commanding officer of the Syracuse which had arrived only a few minutes earlier. He leaned back in his chair on the bridge, enjoying the wide smile on Donners’ larger than life face.

“They’ll have to do for now, I’m afraid. Trust me this wasn’t my idea.”

The walnut-colored captain took on a more serious expression. “Just be careful out there, you never know what you’re going to run into.”

“This isn’t much more than a glorified cargo mission. To be honest I’m more worried about you,” he answered and quickly cited himself for the comment. He didn’t want to appear too protective of her. He was still not entirely sure about his feelings towards Amaya. Or the fact that whatever feelings she had towards him might change in an instance once he could get himself to tell her the truth about what had happened to them in an alternate time line. But he couldn’t help but to be worried. After all Captain Renik’s cold logic would not ensure her and Agamemnon’s safety the way he had been able to do. In times of war it might have been a mistake to become emotionally attached to those who could lose their lives within a moment’s notice but he was only human after all and to be emotional came with the species.

“Don’t be,” she said, sounding like her joyful self again. “My ship is faster, more powerful and much prettier than yours.”

“I might give you prettier,” he replied.

Culsten turned from his chair to give the captain a concerned look. Clearly he did not agree.

Donners chuckled. “Well, I don’t want to keep you,” she said. “And I’m sorry that I will miss Eugene’s grand performance.”

Owens nodded slowly. “I’ll let him now you said that,” Eagle’s captain replied and gave her a wide smile for the road. “See you soon.”

“Count on it. Agamemnon out.”

And with that Amaya Donners’ face disappeared from the view screen to be replaced by the image of her ship, positioned closely to the newly arrived USS Syracuse.

Repairs on Agamemnon were due to be completed within two hours. After that both ships would continue were Eagle and Donners’ vessel had left off, engaging enemy ships or a more likely scenario, being attacked by them. The idea had been to discourage the Dominion to use the Romulan border as a staging platform against Federation targets. The tactic was flawed however. Two ships were not nearly enough to scare the Jem’Hadar but it was all that Starfleet could currently afford. So far encounters with the enemy had been tipped slightly in their favor and Owens could only hope that the trend would continue once Eagle had left.

“Mister Culsten, set heading one-seven-one mark two-eight-four,” Owens finally ordered, trying hard to focus on the mission at hand instead.

“New course set.”

“Best speed, Lieutenant.”

“Aye sir, engaging at warp four point seven,” the helmsman confirmed and activated the necessary controls on his console.

Seconds later the ship jumped to faster-than-light speeds.

The captain nodded and stood from his chair. “Well, I guess we have a concert to attend.”

Culsten left his station also and was quickly replaced by Ensign Srena ch’ Trenmvec, Eagle’s new Andorian beta shift flight operator. The young woman took the station without speaking a word.

“This is going to be interesting,” the Krellonian helmsman said as he joined the captain on his way to the turbo-lift.

“We’ll be seeing a whole new side of our first officer. Who would’ve thought?” he said with smirk. “Mister Trinik, you have the bridge.”

The lanky Vulcan junior lieutenant at tactical nodded. “I have the bridge, aye sir,” he announced duly and began to head towards the command area.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?” Culsten said as he and the captain stepped into the turbo-lift.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Do you really think the Agamemnon is a better looking ship?”

The captain laughed and gave the young helmsman a jovial clap on his back.

The lift doors closed behind them and the car sped away.

*********

 

[CeJay]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

The illumination levels in the Nest had been dimmed significantly, the main source of light now being provided by the stars streaking past the large panorama windows at the very front. A number of unidentifiable shapes stood or sat quietely near the panes, waiting patiently for their cue. Many of the chairs and tables had been removed in order to create the make shift stage on which they were positioned.

At the opposite end of the room, near the bar counter, a large audience sat in darkness, quitely talking amongst themselves. All senior officers had joined the event and a large number of the crew as well. However the demand to see the concert had been much greater than the available space in the Nest would have allowed. In order to give everybody a chance to witness the event, the internal sensors had been reconfigured to transmit both video and audio to a number of computer screens throughout the ship.

A single figure stepped into the middle of the room and the voices quickly died down when the light levels increased just enough for them to make out Bensu.

The alien bartender dramatically cleared his throat and smiled widly. “And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” he paused. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Eugene Edison and the Star Eagles!”

A loud cheer errupted from the audience as the stage was finally revealed. Edison sat on the very right in front of large, black piano. He shared the stage with the Efrosian nurse Leela Adams and assistant counselor Alex Clancy who both had violins braced against their necks. Next to the violinsits stood security officer T’Nerr. The tall, fur-covered Catian held an instrument similar in style to a saxophone except that his featured three bells instead of just one. The last member of the band was Seargent Shin-Ja Moon and the Marine’s instrument of choice was a drum kit. All the musicans wore white and black dress uniforms except for Moon whose outfit slightly differed from that of his Starfleet colleagues.

The room became dead silent as a spotlight focused on Edison at the piano. He seemed calm and collected as he strechted his fingers and then without any hesitation jumped right into playing the last movement of the Piano Sonata Number Eleven by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, better known as the Turkish March.

He didn’t get far. He hit a wrong note just a few seconds into the movement and stopped. A look of embaressement on his face.

The audience began to mumble at the unexpected false start and the other musicans looked towards their leader.

“That’s not right,” Edison said suddenly and then started again.

He missed the right note again, getting stuck at exactly the same place as before.

The crowd became slightly more anxious this time.

The pianist shook his head and turned to the audience. A smile replacing his nervous frown. “Don’t worry we’re going to get through this,” he said and adjusted the sheet music in front of him. “If it takes us all night.”

Some of the audience members laughed but quickly went silent again when Edison began anew. The thrid time proved to be the charm. A collective sigh of relief escaped from the audience when he found the right note and this time continued without interruption. In fact his rendition of the fast and upbeat classical tune turned out to be flawless and near the end of the compositon he unexpectedly changed directions when the rest of the band joined in and the piece transformed into a jazzy, up-tempo performance.

Nobody noticed that the five musicans had had only very little time to rehearse as they continued to play a variety of musical pieces, one of the highlights being a solo by the feline T’Nerr and his unusally shaped instrument. He created tones unreproducible by human-made instruments. Some shrill, some extraordinarily low but all uniquely harmonic.

Nora Laas paid close attention to all of the concert. She had been surprised to find D’Karr sitting next to her. She had not thought the Klingon would have had any interest in this kind of music. But a short conversation before the recital had begun had revealed that he was an avid enthusiasts of Klingon opera and therefore very curious about music popular in the Federation. The few times she had spied his way she had been unable to tell if he was enjoying himself or not. But she knew that she did. And she delighted in watching Eugene play. She had never seen him like this. It seemed as if he was putting all his soul into his music, playing the piano almost as if he was possesed. It was obvious that he felt very passionatly about music. Or at least had once.

The concert was nearing its end and Edison had elected to finish off with Ludwig van Beethoven’s Für Elise. Nora had never heard that particular piece of music before but she immediatley fell in love with it. She also noticed that the first officer was looking right towards the audience while he was playing the piano. No, not the audience. He was looking at her. Feeling a sudden rush of embarrassment she turned away, hoping that he would focus on somebody else instead. But when she turned back – and she couldn’t help herself but to do so –he was still looking into her direction. She quickly checked those around her but nobody seemed to notice that he had decided to isolate the Bajoran.

Edison finished the piece, took a breath and stood up and away from the piano.

The crowd errupted with applause. Captain Owens was the first to stand and soon everybody followed.

Edison and the other musicans bowed numerous times but the applause did not die down. In fact a number of audience members were now demanding an encore. The first officer seemed quite flattered by the gesture but he was clearly exhausted. He quickly consulted with the others before he turned to address the crowd. It took a few moments before they let him speak.

“We are deeply thankful for your enthusiam,” he said, wiping his brow and taking a breath before continuing. “While we are delighted that you enjoyed our performance and elated by your wish for more some of us really do need a break.”

The audience showed their disappointment vocably.

“But our gifted violinists have agreed to contiune to entertain us through the evening.”

With that Adams and Clancy began to play anew choosing a soft but moodful piece.

The audience was mostly appeased by the gesture.

The lights came back on slowly and most of the audience members began to leave their chairs to mix with the rest of the crowd or moved towards the bar in search for refreshments.

Michael Owens had relocated to a table near the stage, watching the musicians play and sipping at his drink in the company of Deen, Xylion and Hopkins.

“This event was certainly a stroke of genius,” the captain announced and noticed all his officers agreeing with him. He stood when he saw his first officer approching the table. “And here comes our very own superstar.”

Eugene shook his head slightly. “You are prone to exaggertion, sir.”

“Gene, I’m the captain. On this ship what I say is the law. And if I say you were brilliant than you are in no position to argue with me,” he said and shook Edison’s hand.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a smile.

The others quickly joinied in to congratulate the first officer. “How come you’ve never told us you were this good?” Deen wanted to know.

“Because I was afraid something like this would happen,” Edison said in a dead pan.

Deen laughed.

“I agree that the asthetic qualites of your musical performance were pleasing. Your rendition of the Vulcan Moon Serenade was noteworthy. It is a challenging composition to master for a non-Vulcan performer,” Xylion observed.

“Why thank you, Xylion,” he said with a smile. “I think.”

“Join us for a drink?” Hopkins asked. “You certainly deserve one.”

Owens nodded and pointed at an empy chair.

But Edison shook his head. “If you don’t mind I’d rather return to my quarters. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for this long.”

“Of course,” said Owens. “But I don’t think you’re going to be able to just slip out of here unnoticed,” he added, indicating towards the throng of people waiting to congratualte the first officer.

Edison uttered a small sigh. “I guess that comes with the fame,” he said, gave a quick nod to the captain and the others before throwing himself into the crowd.

“It must be hard to be a celebrity,” Hopkins said and sat down again, rubbing her temples.

Deen nodded absently. She was no stranger to garnering a great deal of attention herself.

“Lieutenant, are you not feeling well?” asked Xylion once he had also sat down. “I have noticed that you have given much attention to your head this evening.”

Hopkins looked at him with large eyes, unable to wipe the girlish smile off her face. Had he been watching her? She had been trying to get the icy Vulcan’s attention ever since she had discovered that she possesed feelings for him which went beyond their professional relationship. However it was naturally quite difficult to nurture any kind of relationship with a man who made an effort never to display any emotions at all.

The Vulcan gave her a asking expression as Hopkins smiled at him but failed to bring fourth any words. She suddenly became painfully aware of the awkward silence around the table.

“It’s … it’s nothing,” she stammered slightly, her face beginning to turn red. She realized that the others were noticing her discomfort and decided on a strategic withdrawl. She stood. “I think I better catch an early night though. Please excuse me,” she said a little too hurriedly. She was out of the door before anyone could offer her a good night.

“Maybe the concert didn’t agree with her,” the captain ventured.

But Deen shook her head, throwing a suspicous glance at the Vulcan. “I don’t think it was the music.”

Xylion’s expression remained neutral, not showing the slightest hint if he was aware of Deen’s insinuation or not.

Moments after Hopkins’ sudden departure Bensu approched the table. “I hope everybody here enjoyed the show.”

“Very much, thank you,” Owens replied.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The captain considered the bartender for a moment. He was certain he had as many questions about Bensu as most others on board. And it was not because he was suspicous of the man. After all he was well aware that Starfleet had cleared him and he knew that Command was very reluctant to allow any civilans on starships during times of war. In fact this strange exception only added to the mystery surrounding the barkeeper. Could he be an intelligence asset sent to spy on Eagle? He didn’t seem the type but of course that fact would have made him ideal for the job.

“Mister Bensu, why don’t you join us,” Owens offered.

“It would be my pleasure.” He sat down in the chair Hopkins had vacated.

“So I understand you have known Mister Xylion for quite some time,” the captain began, hoping to find out more about the mystifying bartender.

Bensu nodded. “I have been a close friend of his family for...” he interrupted himself as he considered his next words. He looked at the Vulcan.

“Many decades,” Xylion completed.

Owens was surprised at the Vulcan’s imprecise response. “That would make you quite seasoned, Mister Bensu.”

“Please, plain Bensu will do,” he replied. “And yes, I have been around for a while, you could say that,” he added with a wide smile.

“I believe it would be rude of me to try and pry a number out of you.”

“I know humans do not like to be reminded of their age. I do share that sentiment,” Bensu said with no sign of irritation in his voice. In fact his good mood was not perturbed in the slightest.

Owens decided to give up on his line of questioning. He had only recently started to become concerned with his own age. He had felt older than he had in a long time and that realization had come very sudden to him. Something in Bensu’s eyes told him that the bartender knew exactly how he was feeling.

“Somebody once said that we are only as old as we feel. I like to think that is true,” continued Bensu and looked at Xylion. “Of course my Vulcan friend here would disagree. He counts his years as precisely as a warp field theorist counts cochrane levels.”

“Age is a reality of life. It is not logical to delude oneself about reality.”

Bensu laughed and Owens couldn’t help but join in. Deen barely smiled.

“See what I mean? Oh…,” he suddenly noticed a large line forming by the bar. “I better return to my duties before you have a mutiny at your hands,” he said and stood.

Owens nodded. “It was nice talking to you, Bensu.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Captain,” he said and turned towards Deen. He looked at her for a second. “Talking is my preferable cure to most perturbations.”

The Tenarian glanced at him with a surprised look on her face.

But Bensu didn’t keep his eyes on her and turned towards Xylion instead. “Come on, I’ll let you jump the line, old boy,” he said pointing at the Vulcan’s empty class.

Xylion nodded and followed him back towards the bar.

“What did he say to you?” Owens asked his friend.

Deen slowly shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“You know for some reason I don’t think I believe you. In fact you’ve been acting rather strange over the last few days. I feel as if half my crew is going crazy.”

“Just half?” she replied with a small smile on her lips. But her attempted humor failed to convince on this occasion.

Owens took another sip from his drink, sensing that Deen’s recent worries were of a more personal nature. And it was also quite clear that she did not wish to talk to him about them. It was an unusual choice for her, he realized, but he respected it nevertheless. They both remained in silence as they continued to enjoy the rendition of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, gently played by the pair of violinists on stage.

*********

 

[DavidFalkayn]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

A quiet episode, but you need those to set the stage for what's to come. Interesting choice in music on the part of Edison as well as some nice character development for Xyllion and Hopkins--Hopkins is rapidly becoming a favorite character of mine.

Good work!

 

[Admiral2]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

Good installments, but I was hoping Edison would surprise me by breaking into a rendition of Ray Charles' "Mess Around". Oh well, can't have everything.

Keep 'em coming!

 

[CeJay]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

David, I find it incredibly interesting that you have picked Hopkins as one of your favorites. She is a somewhat neglected character in my series. She will be featured more prominently in Cry Havoc though and in future stories as well.

And Admiral2, as for Edison, I'm afraid he simply ain't that cool.

Thanks for your comments. Chapter III will be completed this weekend.

 

[CeJay]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

“Captain, we’re approaching the Tarsas system,” reported the helmsman. “Starbase 74 is located in orbit around the third planet.”

“Take us out of warp, Lieutenant. Set an approach vector for the starbase.”

“Aye, sir”

Eagle slowed down until she dropped to sub-light speed. She slightly turned until her bow was pointed towards the blue planet. In its orbit lay a huge facility, shaped very much like a massive mushroom with a wide umbrella like upper part and a long shaft protruding downwards. Thousands of brightly illuminated windows lit up the structure like a Christmas tree. The Federation star ship headed for the upper part of the base.

Owens got up from his chair and turned to the young Vulcan officer who was currently manning the tactical station behind him. “Lieutenant Trinik, hail the starbase and request permission to dock.”

He nodded curtly and pressed a couple of control panels on his console. After a few seconds a sound chimed from his station. The lieutenant looked up. “Permission granted, sir.”

Owens turned again to face the helm. “Take us in, Mister Culsten. Cut impulse engines, maneuvering thrusters half power, you know the drill.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the helmsman.

The space doors were fully opened when Eagle passed through them. The starship entered a spacious docking area that would have easily allowed harboring dozens of starships. Currently there were only four other ships docked there, a telltale sign of the ship shortage that was plaguing the fleet since the war had begun. And the ships anchored here didn’t look anywhere near battle ready. The two older Excelsior-class ships seemed to be undergoing a major refit and one of Eagle’s sister ships, a Nebula-class cruiser, was quite noticeably missing both its warp nacelles.

The only exception and a real looker however was the fourth vessel perched tightly in its berth. Cleary much newer and more advanced than any of the other ships, it was also slightly smaller than Eagle, making it look bulky in comparison. It looked as if it had been designed for speed with a narrow and elongated saucer section and an aerodynamically shaped hull. The design was all style and the ship possessed a presence that demanded to be looked at.

Culsten uttered a low whistle. “Now that’s a beauty,” he said, his eyes glued on the screen.

“The U.S.S. Sovereign,” Trinik commented, “The first ship of her class. Six hundred eighty five meters long, two hundred forty meters wide, twenty-four decks, maximum cruising speed: warp nine point nine seven five.”

Owens carefully inspected the Sovereign as Eagle slid past her. She was a beauty alright. But he had long given up comparing starships. Eagle was his ship and as far as he was concerned it would be the best ship in the fleet until the day it went out of commission.

“Impressive,” the young helmsman said. “But if she is so great how come she’s hiding in here instead of fighting in the big battles?”

Owens smiled. He didn’t have an answer but he appreciated the lieutenant’s loyalty to his own vessel.

Eagle entered its own docking port and came to a complete standstill. The umbilical and a gangway were attached to the outer hull of the ship to connect it to the vast supplies of the starbase.

“Docking procedure successfully completed,” Lieutenant Deen reported from ops. “Warp core has been powered down and we are now running on external power.”

“Repair crews stand ready to board,” added the Vulcan tactical officer.

The captain nodded. “Good job, everybody. Have the starbase teams coordinated with Lieutenant Hopkins,” he said and then tapped his badge to open a comlink. The ship’s computer was perfectly capable to open a link by identifying his voice commands but some habits were hard to break. “Owens to Commander Xylion.”

It took the Vulcan less than a second to reply over the intercom. “This is Lieutenant Commander Xylion speaking.”

“Commander, we just docked at the starbase, could you please tend to the cargo we are supposed to bring on board?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me know when everything is on board. Owens out.”

The Captain headed for his ready room. “Dee, you’ve got the bridge,” he said just before he reached the doors and disappeared.

Deen got up from her station and sat down on the command chair. She watched as her substitute took over the operations console.

Culsten turned towards her. “How does it feel to be in charge in a space dock,” he said mockingly.

“It’s better than sitting at helm and wisecracking all day,” she said with the tinniest smile on her face.

The helmsman wasn’t sure if she was joking or not but her demeanor seemed unusually cold and he decided against a rebuttal and returned to his station instead.

*********

 

[CeJay]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

Louise Hopkins found sickbay busier than she had anticipated. Their most recent battle was three days old and yet most of the beds were still filled with recovering patients. She felt uneasy. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Do you need assistance, sir?”

The question was posed by Nurse Leela Adams who had approached the chief engineer without her even noticing.

“You were in the concert yesterday, weren’t you?”

Adams smiled. “Proud member of the Star Eagles.”

“You were very good, really.”

“Thank you. Do you require medical assistance?”

Hopkins seemed surprised by the question and looked at the nurse if it was an entirely absurd inquiry. “Me? No, not really.”

Adams nodded and moved on. She was clearly too busy with the other patients to have time for idle chitchat.

Hopkins observed the young half-Efrosian nurse for a moment before she turned back towards the exit. She hadn’t made one step when the doors slid open and Wenera walked in, nearly running right into the chief engineer.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor apologized quickly.

“My mistake, I didn’t pay attention.”

Wenera smiled. “Listen, while you are here, perhaps you could help me with something technical.”

“Sure,” Hopkins replied and followed Wenera into her office, adjacent to the main ward.

“I’m afraid I’m just completely useless when it comes to machines,” she said as she stepped to a large medical device situated near her desk. “This darn thing simply stopped accepting any tissue samples.”

“I’ll have a look for you,” Hopkins said and began operating the control console on the device.

Wenera watched her with curiosity.

“By the way,” the chief engineer said. “Congratulations on the concert yesterday. I think it was a resounding success.”

The doctor nodded. “I think you’re right. Who would have known we had such talented musicians on board?”

“It didn’t take you long to find them all. Ah,” she said and opened a side panel. “Here’s the problem.”

Wenera moved closer to look over her shoulder.

“The primary EPS conduit seems eroded.”

Wenera returned the chief engineers look with an empty gaze.

“It’s like a blocked artery.”

The doctor smiled. “So my tissue sampler has high blood pressure?”

“Something like that. I’ll have somebody down here with the right tools to fix this.”

“Thanks, Louise. I guess we work in similar fields, don’t we?”

The chief engineer turned away from the sampler. “You mean we both fix things?”

The doctor laughed. “Yeah.” She stopped when she noticed Hopkins rubbing her temple. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh just a little headache. Nothing serious.”

“Sit down and let me have a look,” she said, pointed at her chair and picked up a medical tricorder.

Hopkins complied only hesitantly. “I really don’t think this is worth your time.”

“Oh really?” she said as she began to pass the tricorder by her forehead. “I bet this has been bothering you for a while. And no wonder,” she said and gave her a stern look. “You have a mild concussion.”

“Oh.”

“How did this happen?”

“I hit my head.”

Wenera nodded. “You must have been in quite some pain,” she said and began loading a hypo. “Why didn’t you come by sooner?”

“You’ve all been quite busy with a lot of patients lately. And I’m sure they were in a much worse condition than me. I didn’t want to –“

“You know what happens if you don’t take your own health seriously?” The doctor interrupted and then continued without waiting for a reply. “You become sloppy and make mistakes. You might pass out while working on a delicate ship system and suddenly you not only endanger yourself but the people you work with as well. Maybe the entire crew.”

Hopkins nodded slowly, like a school kid getting lectured. “I know that but –“

“No buts,” Wenera said and administered the hypo. “The next time you feel sick you come here right away. We might be too busy to take care of you but we will take note and perhaps give you something for temporary relief. It makes no sense for you to try and be a hero by thinking you can deal with your pain by yourself.”

“That does feel a lot better,” the chief engineer said with a smile and slightly stretched her neck.

“Of course it does,” Wenera placed the tricorder back onto the table and sat down behind her desk. “But you better take it easy for the next few days and if you feel any more pain –“

“I’ll come see you. Yes I know.”

Wenera nodded. “Listen, I’m sorry if I came across a bit preachy –“

“A bit,” Hopkins said with a sly smirk.

“A lot of people on this ship think that they are somehow immune to being sick. I think it is a prevailing attitude among starship crews. Sometimes I wonder why I’m even here,” she said as her thoughts seemed to drift off.

“I know how you feel.”

“You?” Wenera asked with surprise. “You are the chief engineer. You keep the ship running smoothly. Without you it would surely fall apart.”

Hopkins sighed. “Don’t get me wrong I love my job. It’s just that I never signed up for all this. The war, the deaths, the destruction …”

The doctor nodded slowly. “Nobody signed up for that, Louise.”

“I know. But sometimes it seems that everybody seems to be dealing with it much better than I do. I haven’t told this to anybody but sometimes I feel scared just getting up in the morning, worrying whose funeral I’ll have to attend to in the evening.”

“We all feel like that. Every single one of us. It’s just a matter of hiding it in a way that it won’t distract us from doing our work. You do it too, Louise. How else would you find the strength to keep this ship in one piece?”

The chief engineer considered the doctor’s words for a moment. “How do you hide it? Your fears I mean.”

Wenera leaned back in her chair, a small sigh escaping her lips. “If there is one thing we haven’t had a shortage of since this war has started it is the injured. When the fighting starts and those doors begin to open,” she said, pointing at the main entrance to sickbay, “they don’t stay closed for long. I cannot afford to think about my fears, Louise. I stay focused on how to treat my patients. And I remain thankful that that’s all I have to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. We are the lucky ones. We simply do our jobs, fix things – as you put it – as and when we are told to. We are not up there making the decision that will affect hundreds of lives. Deciding who might live and who might not.”

Hopkins found herself agreeing with the doctor. “I’ve never looked at it that way.”

They both sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating their respective places in life.

Then the chief engineer suddenly stood again. “Well, I better get back to engineering before the starbase crew makes a mess of everything.”

Wenera smiled at her. “You’ll remember my sick tissue sampler if you find the time?”

“I’ll have a tech doc up here before the end of the day,” she said and replied with a smile of her own. When she reached the door to the office she turned back around. “Thanks for the talk.”

“Any time, Louise,” the raven-haired doctor said as she looked up from her desk.

Hopkins gave her a curt nod and made a quick beeline for the exit.

*********

 

[CeJay]

Re: Chapter III - Recuperation

‘He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast with his neighbors, and say 'tomorrow is Saint Crispian. Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say ‘These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember, with advantages, what feats he did that day. Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words – Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester – be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son; and Crispin Crispian shall never go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered – We few, we happy few, we band of brothers-‘

The intercom signaled an incoming call. “Lieutenant Hopkins to Captain Owens.”

Michael Owens sighed as he placed the thick leather-bound volume he held in his hands down on his chest. Only a few minutes earlier he had finally finished with the seemingly insurmountable heap of paper work and as a reward he had made himself comfortable on his couch in his ready room, laying on his back with his feet up, and returned to a classic favorite of his. A story over seven hundred years old and yet still strangely relevant. It was a story of war, of sacrifice and of bravery. It was a story that gave him a small amount of comfort in these dark times.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, I just thought I’d inform you that the repairs are nearly completed. The starbase maintenance crew just finished replacing our main deflector dish and installed a brand new warp coil in the port nacelle.”

“Very good.”

“Warp drive is now fully functional and weapons will be completed within three hours,” the chief engineer continued, unaware of the captain’s lackadaisical attitude.

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” he said and picked up his book again.

“Er, sir?”

Owens froze and looked up at the ceiling as if Hopkins could somehow spot his annoyance.

“This puts our repairs two hours ahead of schedule. With your permission I would like to run a level two diagnostic of our –“

“How long?” Owens cut her off.

“Two hour at the most,” she replied in a suddenly much less self-assured tone.

“Very well, proceed. Owens out.”

With that the communications link was terminated and the captain returned to his book. Hopkins was young but she was a very competent engineer. He knew that she didn’t need to be held by the hand to do what she thought was right for the ship. He had no concerns when he continued reading where he had left off.

‘This story shall the good man teach his son; and Crispin Crispian shall never go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered – We few, we happy few, we band of brothers – for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he never so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; and gentlemen in-’

“Edison to the Captain.”

Owens couldn’t believe it. Was his crew actively conspiring to keep him from enjoying his scarce free time? He put the book down again. “Commander.”

“Sir, Hopkins informed me that our repairs are two hours –“

“Ahead of schedule,” Owens finished his sentence. “Yes, I am aware of that, Gene. She already told me and I gave her the go ahead for her diagnostic of …,” the captain stopped, suddenly painfully aware that he had no idea what the chief engineer wanted to diagnose.

“I apologize, sir, I did not realize that she had spoken to you already. In that case I would like to meet with you to discuss the crew evaluations. We have some spare time while we are parked in the starbase which would give us an excellent opportunity to get those out of the way.”

The captain frowned. While Hopkins was competent, Edison certainly was efficient. Too efficient at the moment. The first officer was right. For the first time in a few weeks the crew had some spare time on their hands and this was exactly while he had decided to catch up on some reading. He had no desire to spoil that opportunity.

He reached for a padd that lay on the floor next to the couch and glanced at it “Commander, didn’t we decide to have the ship run on a skeleton crew for the duration of this mission to increase free time and morale? Why don’t you take a day off yourself? I’m sure you could use it after your energetic performance yesterday.”

“Sir, I think the ship would be better served if I caught up on some work.”

“The ship would be best served for you to be relaxed and at the top of your game once we return to the fight.”

“If that’s how you feel.”

“I do,” he said harshly. “Take a day off, Gene,” he added in a softer tone. “Relax, go use the holo-deck, visit Tarsas, just try not to think of work.”

Owens could practically see his first officer’s smirk as he spoke again. “I’ll do my very best. Edison out.”

The captain let out a sigh, dropped the padd and returned to the book.

‘For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he never so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; and gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not-’

This time it was the door chime that forced Owens to stop.

You got to be kidding me!

“Come,” he nearly shouted.

The doors to the ready room parted and Eagle’s Vulcan science officer entered. He seemed surprised for less than a second when he did not find Owens sitting in his chair where he had expected him.

Owens realized that he was not going to get a chance to finish his book. He removed a large red bookmark, placed it into the open tome and then closed it. “Commander Xylion,” he said as he stood up and walked over to his desk, placed the book on his table and sat down in his chair. He was about to invite the science officer to take a seat but he knew that the Vulcan would prefer to stand.

Xylion noticed the leather-bound book. “William Shakespeare,” he said with curiosity and rose one of his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Owens replied, pleased at his interest in his favorite dramatist. “Henry V. Are you familiar with it?”

Xylion nodded slightly. “I have studied all of William Shakespeare’s works but I could not find an indication for the writer’s popularity on Earth.”

Owens was surprised by his answer. “You don’t like Shakespeare, Mister Xylion?”

“I do not have any feelings towards the author either way. However I have found many of his works historically incorrect, exaggerated and either glorifying militaristic aspects of your culture or heavily nationalistic in tone.”

“Well of course you have to consider the time and cultural context these works were written in. Besides Shakespeare is not about historic accuracy,” Owens defended.

“In that case what would you consider the purpose of his writings?” Xylion asked, his eyebrow elevated once more.

“It’s about …” Owens couldn’t think of a fitting reply. “Entertainment. And many of his works are about basic human nature. Well that is to say human nature some eight-hundred years ago,” he added but his tone lost conviction with each word.

Xylion didn’t reply, instead he gave his commanding officer and empty look as if he expected him to say something more meaningful.

Owens gave up with a sigh. “Commander, am right in assuming you didn’t come here to discuss Earth literature?”

“You are correct,” he replied and handed the captain a padd he had brought. “I have reviewed the cargo manifest and I believe you will find it very deficient.”

Owens took the padd and glanced over it. Xylion had not exaggerated. In fact the list didn’t seem to be forthcoming at all about the cargo Eagle was to take on board. The long list consisted mainly of numbers with no descriptions or indications as to what the cargo consisted of. Owens knew enough about cargo transportation that this manifest did not correspond with any regulations. “This is unusual. Did you contact the starbase personnel?”

“The responsible officer insisted that the starbase received the cargo in the exact same manner.”

Owens nodded and looked up from the padd. “Well I don’t see what we can do about it then. I’m sure Starfleet is not having us transport a ticking time bomb without telling us,” he said and forced a small smile on his lips.

“You might find the last entries on the list interesting,” Xylion said, either ignoring or missing the captain’s attempted humor.

Owens scrolled down to the bottom of the list. “Three type-nine shuttle crafts with special configuration, twelve type-twelve phaser batteries and three-hundred mission specialists?”

“I assume that particular part of the cargo was too obvious as not to be referred to in the manifest,” Xylion pointed out.

“No kidding. The shuttles and the batteries I can understand but three-hundred people? Throl could’ve warned me about that. Last time I checked we weren’t a troop transport.”

“Do you wish me to postpone the embarkation proceedings?”

Owens shook his head. “No. The admiral made it quite clear that we are working on a tight schedule. Just try to make enough room on the crew deck for our guests,” said the captain and handed the padd back to Xylion.

“Understood,” he said and took the padd. “I have been informed of an additional person to come aboard not mentioned in the manifest.”

Owens looked up. “Who is it?”

“A Federation special agent to supervise this mission. Her name is Jana Tren. She is scheduled to board Eagle at twenty-two hundred hours.”

Jana Tren.

Michael Owens was like petrified upon hearing the name. He knew it well and yet it had been a long time since he had heard it. His mind was beginning to be flooded by long forgotten memories.

Xylion looked at the captain with slight puzzlement. “Sir?”

“Yes,” he said and slowly looked up to meet the Vulcan’s gaze. “Are you absolutely certain her name is Jana Tren? No mistake possible?” He didn’t even consider how little sense his question made considering that Xylion was notorious for not making such obvious mistakes.

“There is no mistake,” he replied showing no signs of being insulted. “Is there a problem, sir?”

Owens shook his head slightly. “No, no problem. You can go now.”

If Xylion was still irritated by the captain’s behavior he didn’t show it. Instead he simply gave him a curt nod and left the ready room.

Owens had lied to Xylion. There was a problem. There was a big problem and it was called Jana Tren. A person he had tried hard over the years to forget. He had never been able to. Probably because he still felt a degree of regret over what had happened between them.

Tren had been his first serious relationship. He had met the strong willed Betazoid during his freshman year at the Academy and he had fallen in love with her dark, powerful eyes the first time he had seen them. It had taken him four months however to muster up the confidence to even speak to her. Back then he had been a shy and introverted young man and an average cadet at best. In fact he was certain that she was the one and only person to credit for his transformation into a self-confident individual, no longer scared of taking calculated risks. It was she who had helped to make him the man he was today. They had started out merely as friends but it had quickly become a whole of a lot more. They had loved each other passionately. He could hardly think back to his time as a cadet without her at his side. But their relationship had fallen apart by the end of their time at the Academy. It had ended like many those relationships had. He graduated before her and was assigned to a ship exploring the opposite side of the galaxy. They lost touch soon after and sometimes he deeply regretted that fact. Did he still have feelings for her? He would have lied to himself if he would have answered that question with a no.

It had been eighteen years since he had last seen her and he had no idea what she had been up to in that time. He had no idea how she felt about him now and, for that matter, what it would feel like to see her again after all this time. He didn’t even know what it should feel like. He suddenly began to fear this unexpected reunion. The galaxy sure had a funny way of playing with their fates, he wondered as he tried to prepare himself to come face-to-face with the first woman he had ever truly loved.

-------------
Stay tuned for Chapter IV: Reunion