Stardate 2320.02.14
0655 hours
“Good morning, Mr. Asher,” Mbanu greeted Advantage’s security officer.
James Asher stood from the command chair, which he had likely occupied for much of the night, having accepted the captain’s request to command the overnight shift for two days of the week.
“Good morning, Captain,” Asher replied with a nod.
“How fared the watch?” Mbanu asked as Ashrytia sh’Arellaar and Greg Kelley stepped from the lift.
He could tell that Asher made an effort not to frown at the Andorian’s appearance. Though the captain had chastised the other man for his near-insubordinate behavior at the first staff meeting, Asher had refused to reveal precisely what it was that made him dislike sh’Arellaar so. Ship’s scuttlebutt, however, as had inevitably reached him—overheard innocently in the officers’ mess when the speakers had lifted their voices a little too high—said that Asher was incensed he had not been granted command of Advantage.
But if that were so, why was he not equally short with both of them? Not once had Asher given any indication he felt such disregard of the incumbent commander of their vessel.
Asher held out the data slate he had been going over. “We took in a subspace transponder for repair last night; it will be ready for re-launch very shortly, sir. Tag’s been working on it all night.”
That Lt. Loram had been at the repairs did not surprise him, nor did it that he had taken on the task himself. But given that the El Aurian had worked Alpha shift yesterday, that he was still awake and alert enough to work overnight was worrisome. His tendency to overwork himself was a habit of the engineer’s that Mbanu felt it time he or sh’Arellaar addressed. No one wanted an exhausted man in the engine room if a crisis should arise.
Drawing a breath, the captain said, “Thank you, Commander Asher. I have the watch.”
Asher nodded. “You have the watch, sir. And I’m off to bed.”
“Sleep well, Mr. Asher,” Mbanu said as he moved to take the command chair.
When he had sat, he read through the report on the data slate, which Asher had apparently finished just as he had stepped onto the bridge. Mbanu learned that late the previous evening, after most of the senior staff—including himself—had gone to bed, Advantage had received a request to investigate a communications buoy that appeared to have gone offline. When they reached it, sensors had detected corrosion of several of the electrical connections, which required it being brought into the shuttlebay for repairs. The connections themselves were easily manufactured with the engineering fabricator and replaced, but the repairs had taken most of the last six hours because Lt. Loram—wishing to be nothing less than thorough—had decided to give the entire relay a tune-up. Any component older than five years or that even remotely looked as though it ought to be replaced … had been replaced.
Mbanu chuckled. Only two weeks he had been in charge, and already he had learned that when it came to fixing things, Tagus Loram left no bolt unturned.
“Something amuses you, Captain?” sh’Arellaar asked from the communications station.
“Only that I suspect the subspace transponder we’re about to release back out into the ‘verse will probably operate better than it has in years,” he replied.
The Andorian chuckled as well. “Loram did the repairs himself, I take it?”
Mbanu nodded, sure she was looking at him.
“But he worked Alpha yesterday. Why didn’t he go to bed at a decent hour like the rest of us?”
The next chuckle emanated from Ziimois at the helm. “You guys don’t know Tag,” she said. “He doesn’t sleep very much, if at all.”
The expression Mbanu turned to find on sh’Arellaar’s face was the same concerned expression he felt was now on his own. “That doesn’t sound very healthy,” said sh’Arellaar. “Captain, perhaps we should suggest that he be seen by a counselor.”
Ziimois turned in her chair. “Don’t get me wrong, Commander—he sleeps when he needs to. But El Aurians—or at least Tag—are like Vulcans in that they can go for days without sleep. Or maybe he’s just trained himself over the years to go a few days here and there without. In any case, when he’s focused on something or his interest gets piqued, he doesn’t stop until whatever the task is, is done.”
“I have noticed that Lt. Loram does often have a very narrow-minded focus,” added T’Prenn, her eyes never lifting from her console.
Mbanu shifted in his seat to lean on one elbow. “That reminds me, Ziimois, ” he began, “why do you, Asher, and Lt. Kelley call him Tag? Is not his name pronounced ‘Tay-gus’?”
The turbolift door hissed open as he spoke. “It is,” Lt. Loram said in answer to the captain’s question. “But I let my friends call me Tag because…”
His countenance took on a faraway look for the briefest of moments. Loram blinked, then flashed a lopsided grin. “I allow it because it reminds me fondly of my parents. They used to call me Tag.”
On that he did not elaborate, instead choosing to stride over to the Engineering console, glancing once at the data slate he had in hand before he took his chair. Ziimois also answered the captain’s question, saying that Tag was simply a nickname created from the first three letters of his name, same as her friends and family sometimes called her Kas or Kelley’s wife and friends sometimes called him Greg.
“Lt. Loram, are you certain you’re in a condition to work today?” sh’Arellaar asked after the pilot had spoken.
He waved a hand absently in her direction; the slate had been set aside and he was now working the controls on his console. “I’m fine, Commander. Not scheduled to work, just want to see the re-launch of the relay to its logical conclusion, as T’Prenn would say.”
T’Prenn did not make a reply to his remark, though her partner grinned.
“Then let us begin so you can get some much needed and well-earned rest, Lieutenant,” Mbanu said then.
“T’Prenn, lock onto the buoy and transport it to its previous position ten thousand kilometers to Addy’s aft,” Loram called out.
“Acknowledged,” T’Prenn replied. Her thin fingers danced quickly across her console. “The buoy is now out of the shuttlebay and back in space.”
“Interfacing now and running a diagnostic on its operating system,” announced Loram.
“Onscreen,” said Mbanu. “I should like to see the result of your labors while I slumbered.”
The large viewing screen on the forward bulkhead blinked on to show the buoy in an upright position, identifier lights blinking steadily.
“Buoy is online and functioning at peak proficiency, Captain,” reported Loram. “Better than it did before it went down, actually.”
“Confirmed—the buoy is already accepting and transmitting comm signals,” said sh’Arellaar. “Now, Mr. Loram, go get some rest. That’s an order.”
The boy—Mbanu couldn’t help thinking of him that way, he really did look at least fifteen years his junior—turned his head, his expression almost startled at her words. “Oh, um, okay, Commander. I guess if you insist.”
“She does, and so do I, Mr. Loram,” said Mbanu. “Commander sh’Arellaar and I both appreciate your dedication, but we cannot have you dropping from exhaustion when we need you the most.”
Loram sighed. “Very well, sir. Everything looks good here, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
He stood and grabbed his data slate, waved at Ziimois—who offered a wave and smile of her own—and offering a nod to both Mbanu and sh’Arellaar, headed for the turbolift.
After having T’Prenn confirm with another scan that the communications buoy was functioning normally, the captain gave the order to return to their patrol. So far, the last week spent cruising along the Federation-Gorn border had turned out to be the opposite of what Mbanu expected. Given the recorded aggressiveness of the reptiloid species for defending what they perceived as theirs—whether it was or not—he had fully expected at least one encounter with them. So far, however… there had been none. Not one peep had come from the other side of the border.
Instead, the Advantage had spent the majority of her time just cruising along with long-range sensors running. Besides the work on the communications buoy, they had also repaired a traffic monitoring buoy, redirected two asteroids from spacelanes, and conducted inspections on two freighters. The long hours and bouts of tedium for the routine of the Border Patrol gave many onboard a greater respect for the service, while others were counting the days until the job was no longer theirs and they got back to their “normal” duties.
Just before noon, another job to do arose. T’Prenn announced that long-range sensors had picked up a freighter passing very close to the border.
“They are, in fact, in great danger of passing directly into Gorn space, given the curvature of the border,” the Vulcan added.
Mbanu turned toward the communications station, where sh’Arellaar was seated. “Commander, did not the brief we received prior to our arrival on the Snowfin’s patrol route state that skirting the border in that manner was an evasive tactic employed by smugglers?”
“Indeed, Captain,” she replied, her antennae twitching. “If memory serves, they mean to make it look as though they are drifting across the border on accident, believing that Starfleet won’t follow.”
“I say we prove them wrong,” said Mbanu as he turned eyes front again. “T’Prenn, distance to the freighter?”
“Point-three-one lightyears, sir.”
“Ziimois, set a rendezvous course and engage at warp nine,” the captain ordered. “T’Prenn, keep them on long-range, they’ve got a head start on us of two hours.”
Both women acknowledged the orders, the latter replying, “Given the freighter’s present course and speed, we should catch up to them in one hour, fifty-two point two-four minutes, Captain.”
“Just as long as they don’t go any faster,” muttered Ziimois.
Fortune appeared inclined to grant the pilot’s wish, as just over an hour into the chase, Advantage’s sensors detected engine trouble on the freighter. It dropped out of warp suddenly, enabling the Miranda-class ship to catch up a full thirty minutes sooner than expected.
The ensign manning the engineering console scoffed as they pulled up alongside. “You needn’t have worried about them outdistancing us, Commander Ziimois. The freighter’s an Denobulan model that's at least forty years old. The max cruising speed of the Millennium Class is warp seven.”
Ziimois grinned. “I’m very glad to hear it, Ensign.”
Mbanu then had sh’Arellaar open a channel to the freighter, on which he announced their intention to board and inspect the smaller ship. The commander of the freighter grumbled about Starfleet interference of free trade, but nonetheless complied. Sh’Arellaar led a security team over to the ship, where they scanned every inch of it with equipment designed to find the nooks and crannies many starship blueprints conveniently left off.
He was not altogether surprised when the Andorian called over to report their findings. “It’s not much, Captain,” she said over the channel, “but there are two cases of Romulan ale on board.”
Ziimois’s expression when she turned around to look at him was as confused as his own surely was. “They were trying to run off with a mere two cases of Romulan ale? That’s a relatively minor infraction, isn’t it?” she asked.
Mbanu nodded. “Indeed, Commander.”
Lt. Kelley—who’d been relatively quiet all through the morning—spoke up then, saying, “Maybe it’s not their first run-in with the law, so to speak. I’ve met a few Border Dogs in my time, Captain, and if I’m not mistaken, the first two contraband infractions garner a citation and confiscation of the illegal items, depending on what it is and how much is there. A third infraction is automatic seizure of the vessel as well as its cargo, and a mandatory court appearance.”
The captain nodded again. “I believe you are correct, Mr. Kelley. I don’t know that we can tow the ship ourselves—we’ve still got a week left of our tour out here. Mr. Rorren, are we within communications range of Star Station Destiny?”
Ensign Sr’aow Rorren, a young Caitian male, had taken over Communications with sh’Arellaar’s departure to lead the away team. The felinoid rumbled softly before replying, “Aye, sir, but given the distance, the connection will be garbled.”
“Call up the station, Ensign. I need to know if a ship can be spared to come get this freighter so we don’t have to leave our duties to tow it ourselves.”
“Aye, sir,” acknowledged Rorren, turning in his seat to carry out the task.
“Commander sh’Arellaar?”
“Yes, Captain?” she responded.
“Secure that vessel and prepare her occupants—and illegal cargo—for transport,” Mbanu ordered.
“Are we taking her in, sir?” sh’Arellaar asked.
“Hopefully we won’t have to—I don’t want to have to leave our section of the border unguarded.”
“Agreed, Captain.”
Mbanu drew a breath. “I’ll keep you informed, Commander. Hope to have an answer for you soon.”
They were both of them disappointed to learn some minutes after their exchange that no other vessel would be available—from either Starfleet or Border Patrol—for close to 48 hours. Not wanting to simply leave the freighter to drift, where it would be a potential navigation hazard, Mbanu decided they had no choice but to tow it in to base themselves.
“Border Patrol Command won’t like it,” said sh’Arellaar after her team had returned to the ship, “but what choice do we have? Protocol on the situation is clear.”
“That is the only reason I am inclined to do it,” Mbanu returned. “If it were possible to stow it somewhere I’d be glad to, as that would take only a few hours at best. But there is no asteroid, moon, or planet nearby on which it can be safely left for later pickup. Towing that old rust bucket in to Destiny will take us a couple of days, and that will leave our section untended. That doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Can another ship on patrol cover this area, sir?”
He shook his head. “No. Remember, no ship can even be spared to come for the freighter—if they can’t pull a ship for that, they can hardly redirect one to cover our patrol zone. We can’t sit here and wait for another starship to come pick up the freighter anymore than we can abandon our patrol route to take it in ourselves, but we’ve got to do one or the other. However, as regrettable as leaving will be, we have to follow the regs, which means towing the freighter in and getting these fools before a magistrate.”
Sh’Arellaar nodded as she stood; they’d repaired to the ready room to discuss their limited options. She offered a half a smile. “If you can draw any good feeling from this, Captain, at least you are following the rules.”
“At least I am doing that,” he replied. “As the freighter crew are tucked away in the brig and their illegal cargo safely stowed in the security lock-up, best we get underway as quickly as possible. Have Engineering reconfigure the tractor beam for a warp tow and set course for Destiny as fast as we can safely fly.”
Sh’Arellaar nodded. “Understood, sir,” she said, then turned and walked out of the office.
Mbanu remained, turning around to look out the small window at the stars. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
And on an aesthetic level, I do love the name of the ship! 
