Commanding Officer’s log, stardate: 2373.9.
Repairs to the Astral Pioneer are progressing faster than I expected. Their SIF generator is fully operational once again and the patch job to their damaged hull should be completed by tomorrow morning—it might not be pretty, but it’ll get them to Star Station Bravo where they can get more long-term repair work.
Despite all our scans there still hasn’t been any sign of junior mechanic Amanda Li. Captain Zott is still recovering, but Petty Officer Vaal has cleared him to return to light duties, and the other injured should be almost fully healed by the time they reach Bravo, though the stations infirmary will be expecting them for further assessment.
The weapons cache we discovered has been secured in our hold. It’s an impressive haul—a full list of materials and parts will be attached to this entry—that originates from seven different species, luckily, there is no Federation tech among it. Long-range scans haven’t shown any signs of vessels nearby waiting to collect the goods, the presence of a Starfleet ship might make them a little wary. Lieutenant Saygen’s analysis of the ‘ghost container’ itself shows that it is made from a number of different materials, each of them helping it to block a variety of different scans, as such she has yet to find a way to actually detect them. We have no way of knowing how many there are out there, but if they are similarly stocked then it would appear someone in the Outland Expanse is preparing themselves for something big.
I am currently awaiting to hear back from the Squadron Commander, to see how he would like us to proceed with regards to the smuggled shipment of weaponry.
End log.
* * * * *
Tapping the enunciator, Taras waited patiently. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t a quick response. He was about to touch the control again when then doors parted. Lieutenant De Souza stood in the doorway, dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt, looking up at him with a deep scowl carved into his face.
“What?”
He could feel the muscles in his jaw clench and flex with irritation. “I was hoping we might be able to talk.”
“I’m all ears,” he postured, crossing his arms but not budging from where he stood.
De Souza was in good shape (for a human), but he hadn’t grown up on a high gravity world and evolved to have the same dense musculature as Taras so, if he wanted too, he could easily move the smaller man with little effort. That, however, would defeat his purpose for being there.
“Privately might be better, Lieutenant.”
“I’m quite happy here.”
His jaw clenched again. “Very well, Mr De Souza. I’ve come to see about trying to resolve this issue you have with the Captain, in order to get you back on duty.”
The human burst out laughing, though the angry frown never left his face. “You’ve got to be joking! You’re as big a joke as she is—you’re not a ‘Border Dog’, you’re her lapdog!”
Taras’ jaw muscles were beginning to ache now. His expression darkened and he leaned just a little too close into De Souza’s personal space, which knocked a little of the wind from his sails though he remarkably held his ground.
“You. Are. Through,” he growled through clenched teeth. “When we get back to Star Station Bravo, if you don’t leave I will throw you off this ship. I’ll also do everything in my power to make sure the best posting you could look forward to would be on an NV-Class buoy tender.”
“Are we done?” the former second officer asked, his voice had lost a note of the bravado he’d shown before.
“Indeed we are.”
De Souza stepped back and hit the door controls, slamming them shut in Taras’ face. The first officer turned on his heel and marched down the corridor. Lieutenant Bouwman, who’d witnessed the exchange, wisely ducked into his quarters. In the eight years he’d proudly served the Border Service he’d met his share of questionable officers, from those a little slow on the uptake to those who were a little too reckless, but in all that time he’d never encountered someone like this. The man had issues, ones he seemed to blame everyone else for.
He needed a quiet place to gather his thoughts. The wardroom was closer than his quarters, as it was between meals and there were no meetings scheduled it should be empty, though even if it wasn’t he doubted anyone would attempt small talk with him, given his demeanour. He stepped through the double doors and stopped.
Lieutenant Commander Palmer, who’d been staring intently into the mug set before her, looked up at him. She looked tired, her hair was loose and fell over her slumped shoulders.
“Captain,” he began, not really knowing what he was going to say. “I, ah, I’ll just go.”
“No, it’s alright, Lieutenant,” she told him with a slight smile. Gesturing to the empty chairs, she added, “There’s more than enough room.”
Not after a drink or snack, he simply pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. Despite having served together for a few weeks, he was still trying to figure her out, as such he was still uncomfortable when it was just the two of them—despite her giving him permission to speak freely whenever they were alone.
“I went to speak with Lieutenant De Souza.”
She gave a single, humourless, laugh. “No wonder you look like you’re in such a good mood.”
“I’m sorry, sir. As your XO it’s my job to keep the crew in line and head off issues before they blow up into problems like this—”
“No, Lieutenant,” she said, cutting him off. “The De Souza issue lands squarely at my feet; you don’t need to apologise for my mistakes.” She sat back and slumped down in the chair, her fingers rubbing her temples. “Here was me, just days after accepting my first command, not even set foot onboard my ship yet, thinking that I could help make a big difference in the universe by giving someone a chance similar to the one I had just been handed. That backfired horrendously.”
“It didn’t, sir.”
Palmer looked up at him, a bemused eyebrow raised. He leant forward, locking eye contact. “Forget De Souza. You took a chance with me, a helm officer who’d overseen a number of watches and led a few away missions and given me the chance to sink my teeth into command fulltime. Then there’s Lieutenant Aal, a clearly talented young officer with nothing but potential, but needs encouragement and the opportunity to come into his own—something you’re doing for him. For those of us that are grateful for the chance we’ll give it, and you, our all.”
He felt his cheeks flush at the sudden moment of intense honesty. Palmer held his gaze for a moment longer before she smiled.
“XO, that is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”
He smiled back at her. “That’s what I’m here for, Captain.”
“Blue to Palmer.”
She tapped her wristcom. “Palmer here, go ahead.”
“You have an incoming transmission from Commodore Attyx.”
“Patch it to the wardroom. Palmer out.”
They turned to face the screen as it switched from the Border Service emblem to the dark, hairy face of the Squadron Commander. The Kazarites mahogany eyes peered at them from under a heavy brow, whilst her naturally downturned mouth made her look displeased about everything.
“Captain, Lieutenant,” she greeted them. “These reports you’ve sent through are very interesting, you’ve definitely got all the folks here on Bravo talking. Any luck yet in detecting any other ghost containers?”
“Nothing as yet, Commodore,” Palmer replied. “Nor are there any signs of who might’ve been coming to collect them.”
“It would be safe to say you’re being there has frightened them off, though that might only be temporarily.”
Taras nodded. “Given what we found, someone has spent a considerable amount to procure those weapons, it’s doubtful they’d cut their losses.”
“Indeed, Lieutenant. There are a lot of unknowns right now. Whilst we don’t believe this shipment was bound for the Tzenkethi, they’re more than capable of building their own weaponry, it is possible they might be trying to expand their arsenal in new ways. I’ve been discussing the matter with Admiral Kirschner and Starfleet Intelligence and we’ve decided to try and use it to our advantage.”
Palmer and Taras shared a puzzled look, before looking back at the screen. “Sir?”
“Captain, you are to sabotage those weapons and affix remote trackers to them, then load them back up into the ghost container and return it to space.
“Our official word on what damaged the Astral Pioneer will be that she was hit by micro-singularities, we will issue an advisory to all traffic in the region and you will deploy a warning marker before escorting the freighter here.”
“Commodore, that is a very risky trap you are baiting. Even with trackers, we won’t be able to locate the container or its contents until its opened again.”
“Believe me, Captain, this was not a decision that was made lightly and I can’t say I’m one hundred percent comfortable with it, but when it’s a choice between stumbling around in the dark trying to find answers or painting illegal goods for us to trace to the recipients, it becomes a little easier to accept.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll get started immediately.”
“Good luck to you, Captain. Attyx out.”
The screen returned to the customary delta whilst the cutter skipper and exec turned back to face one another. He was amazed at the audacity of the plan, he hated the idea of letting the ghost container go, it was stocked with weapons that could bring misery to countless innocents, but at the same time they had no idea just where they would be going or who would be using them. They needed more information to go on, which they couldn’t get if they didn’t let the illegal trade continue, but once they knew who had bought them and where they were at, then they could do more good by taking out the bigger threat.
“That’s bold,” he finally said after almost a minute of contemplative silence.
“Risky, was what sprung to my mind.”
“That too.”
Palmer chuckled. “If nothing else, Oka will have a blast finding ways to sabotage them so that we’ll never have to worry about them being used.”
“As your people say, Captain, every cloud has a silver lining.”
* * * * *
END
