The stories above have been posted out of order from how they appear in the master document. I really should start a new thread and post them (and the 'missing' ones) in the proper sequence.
So, I'm 54,000 words in and finally give the reader a glimpse of the Hero ship. I've gone back and forth in my mind whether to use the SFB-style cutter or to use a standard saucer design.
Note: The constellation Cervus (the deer) is not visible from Earth; it's not a misspelling of Corvus (the crow).
~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~
THE BONEYARD
The police frigate Edmund Randolph arrived in the Iota Cervus system just as the morning watch took over shift. Captain Cho contacted Space Station Foxtrot-One to request permission before approaching Sonora, the second planet from the star, where Star Fleet’s Logistics Reclamation and Regeneration Facility was located. Most people simply called it ‘The Boneyard’. This was where starships went to die.
Iota Cervus was a yellow dwarf star, like Earth’s sun, but smaller and cooler. It was about eighty percent the size of Sol yet emitted only about twenty percent of the sun’s ultraviolet light. It was located on the edge of the Local Spur of the Orion-Cygnus Spiral Arm in a region of space that was sparsely populated with stars. The nearest star, a very cool red dwarf, was just under two light-years away and barely visible to the naked eye. Of the forty stars within twenty-five light-years, only two were not red or brown dwarfs. The Milky Way was vibrant in the otherwise dark skies.
Iota Cervus had four planets, or five depending on how you counted the double planet in the third orbit. The first planet, The Forge, was mostly metallic, believed to be the core of a once larger world stripped of its mantle. Its orbit was close to the star with daytime temperatures nearing one thousand degrees centigrade, well above the melting point of lead and tin. Nighttime temperatures dropped to sixty below zero, below the freezing point of mercury. Star Fleet was interested in finding some way of mining the valuable resources.
In the third orbital position was a pair of airless worlds, dubbed the Dancing Sisters, each about two-thirds the size of Earth. There was evidence they were once a single planet that split in two due to some cataclysmic event over a billion years ago. They revolved around each other in an eccentric orbit ranging from three hundred-thousand to seven hundred-thousand kilometers. Tectonically unstable, the twin planets made for interesting scientific study but were otherwise useless. The fourth planet, twice the distance from the star than the Sisters, was little more than a giant ice ball made up of frozen water, methane, alcohol, and other simple compounds; it was called Olaf for some obscure reason. The Iota Cervus system had no significant asteroids fields, and even its Ort Cloud was rather sparse.
The Earth-sized planet Sonora orbited in the second position at about six light-minutes from the star, right in the ‘Goldilocks Zone’. It was a Class-L world with two small oceans covering less than a third of the surface. Most of the plant life was confined to small coastal regions. The rest of the planet was arid. Sea level in the thin atmosphere was equivalent to two thousand meters / sixty-five hundred feet elevation Earth Standard.
Sonora was an ideal location for long-term storage of retired spacecraft. Metallic hulls and hardware did not rust or corrode in the mild temperatures and low humidity, and the low ultraviolet radiation slowed degradation of plastics and acrylic components. The boneyard covered an area of over a hundred square kilometers. Thousands of retired shuttles, skiffs, and other small craft were arranged in blocks like a patchwork quilt. There was an area dedicated to obsolete military tanks and other heavy ground vehicles. Detached warp drive nacelles were laid out in rows according to size and type. Scores of freighters, independent trading vessels, and priority transports, all well past their useful lifespan, awaited their final fate. A dozen or more starship saucers and other hull segments were in various stages of dismantlement.
There were hundreds of starships in stabilized orbit above the planet, many dating back to the Earth-Romulan War, under the watchful eyes of the Space Station Foxtrot-One. Most of these would eventually be lowered to the planet's surface to be stripped of any useful parts. The left over hulk would be broken down and recycled. Occasionally, a ship might be pulled out of the boneyard and returned to service, even if only in the Inactive Reserve Fleet held in mothball status in orbit over Mars. Some were sacrificed as targets for war games and weapons testing. A few lucky ones were saved to become museum pieces.
The Randolph made orbit just in time to witness workers remove the bridge bubble off a war-damaged Saladin-class Destroyer. More workers were cutting out huge section of the upper decks. A Ptolemy-class Fleet Tug stood by with its cargo pod doors wide open to accept the components.
“I wonder what that’s for,” Commander Genovese commented as he stroked his goatee. He had been letting it grow for the past few weeks, not sure yet whether he was going to keep it or shave it off.
“For the Hiawatha, I would suspect,” Captain Cho answered his Exec Officer, “although with the amount of damage she took, I would have thought there is too much structural damage to rebuild her. I’m surprised they don’t just drag her here.”
Lieutenant Commander Tony Foxx disagreed, “From what I've heard through the grapevine, her bones are still good. Even so, she’ll be laid up in space dock for weeks.”
Lieutenant Brenda Sinclair nodded. “I still can't believe they were able to limp her back to star base. Her chief engineer deserves a medal.”
Foxx shook his head, “George McLaughlin was one of the injured; he spent the trip in a medically-induced coma. Nancy, his wife, posted a message saying he’s awake and being evaluated for TBI.” He looked at the others with a funny grin. “George and I go way back, to high school. I’m the one who introduced him to Nancy.”
“Sounds like there’s more to that story,” Sinclair quipped.
Foxx simply nodded and replied, “Yep.”
The Randolph docked to the station. Cho, Foxx, and Sinclair disembarked and were escorted to a conference room. A long table with fifteen chairs dominated the room; more chairs lined the side walls. A large view screen was mounted at the opposite end of the room. About twenty-five people were already in the room, a mix of civilians and Star Fleet officers. Brenda Sinclair couldn’t help but notice she was the only woman in the room. There was one other police officer present; he introduced himself to the newcomers as Lieutenant-junior grade Kyle Miller.
The room was called to attention when the station’s commander, Captain Ethridge, entered. “As you were,” he said immediately. “Please, take your seats,” he said as he took the chair at the end of the table. Captain Cho took the seat to his right. Foxx and Sinclair joined him at the table, although Sinclair had to evict one of the civilian contractors from the chair. He gave her a dirty look as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table.
A very pale, very blond man stepped up onto the platform and activated the view screen. His nearly-white hair and skin made for a weird contrast to his red Star Fleet uniform. “Good morning. I am Lieutenant at’Rohas. I will brief you on the assessment of police cutters currently located at the LRRF. We have been tasked with evaluated them to see how many might be candidates for restoration and return to service.” He clicked the hand remote. The view screen displayed a list of forty-six cutters, two dozen of which only had hull numbers but no name. “We had to eliminate these for consideration,” he highlighted the nameless ships.
“Why is that?” Captain Cho asked.
“There is a legal dispute between the government and construction facility,” at’Rohas explained. “Until that has been resolved, they are impounded.” He clicked the remote, and list changed to the remaining ships. “A cursory inspection indicates these are not viable candidates,” thirteen names were highlighted and then deleted. “We believe that these nine can be returned to service. Furthermore, we believe that these three will require the least amount of work.” The names James Everette, Yvonne Fletcher, and Patrick McGeehan remained on the screen.
“Which one would you recommend, Lieutenant?” Cho asked.
“It’s not my call, sir, but I would pick the McGeehan,” at’Rohas replied. “Its systems are most up-to-date. However, a case could be made for the Everette because it still has all its furnishings in place. The McGeehan would need to be fitted out.”
Lieutenant Sinclair pulled up the information for all three ships on her PADD. Yes, the McGeehan did undergo a system refresh just five months ago, so why was it consigned to the boneyard? Ah, there it is: the ship’s warp drive failed and was deemed non-repairable by the contractor. Why didn’t they just replace the nacelles, she wondered. The Everette was the latest cutter to arrive at the boneyard and thus had not been picked over for spare parts yet. It was taken out of service a few weeks prior due to severe electrical damage in an ion storm.
On paper, the Fletcher was the worst of the batch, having suffered battle damage during the war. She scanned the report: the hull was scorched and pockmarked with weapon hits; the photon torpedo launcher was smoked, obviously due to flashback from firing on a target at point-blank range; the 7.5-meter deflector disk looked like Swiss cheese; the navigation sensor dome was shattered, causing a breach directly into the main bridge; and one of the warp nacelles was missing, apparently jettisoned during combat. It’s a miracle the ship made it home at all. The structural analysis was promising; as Tony Foxx would say, ‘her bones are good’.
Sinclair looked up from her reading just in time to hear Captain Ethridge say, “So, we're all in agreement then, the McGeehan in the one.”
Sinclair shook her head and opened he mouth, but Captain Cho spoke first, “Not so fast. Let’s discuss this more.” He turned to the other police officer. “Lieutenant Miller, you’re our liaison here, yes? Do you have any thoughts to share?”
“No, sir, I’m not the liaison,” the young man replied. “My team and I arrived yesterday on the tug Copernicus. We were sent to help power the ship up, whichever one is selected.”
“Lieutenant Ducati was the police liaison,” Ethridge supplied, “but he transferred out a couple weeks ago.” There was an edge to his tone. “Ducati was the reason we haven’t been able to scrap any of these flargon yet. Now that he’s gone, I want to start clearing our backlog.”
“Not without the Commissioner’s approval,” Captain Cho responded sharply. “These ‘flargon’ are still police force assets. We’ll decide when they can be scrapped.”
The two senior officers stared at each other for several awkward seconds. Commander Foxx broke the silence, “Lieutenant at’Rohas, can you please display images of each of the ships in question?”
“Of course, sir,” at’Rohas replied. “Computer, display photographic records of the police cutter Patrick McGeehan.”
The ship appeared on the view screen. Its design was based loosely on the old Wellington-class destroyer, developed by the Terrain Space Defense Force, dating back to just after the Earth-Romulan War. In fact, some new police cutters were still being manufactured in the original Wellington slipway. Unlike most Star Fleet ships, the police cutter did not have a saucer design, or even the spherical design of the old Daedalus-class starships of the United Earth Space Probe Agency, but rather was overall cigar-shaped. At 111 meters long by 27.5 meters wide (not counting the warp engines), it was roughly the same size at the Constitution-class heavy cruiser's secondary hull.
The cutter’s hull was divided into two dissimilar segments; the forward hull segment, four decks thick, was a long, flat plank with sharply beveled edges tapering to an angular spearhead point. The navigational sensor dome sat neatly on the top; the main bridge itself was embedded inside the hull and thus not exposed. Two phaser emitters were affixed to the slanting front plates (like a pair of eyeballs, some say), and the single photon torpedo launcher was slung under the chin. The main deflector disk was mounted to a sturdy pillar on the bottom of the hull.
The forward hull attached directly to the aft hull with only the slightest narrowing of a neckline. The after hull segment was a perfect cylinder, eight decks thickness in diameter, with a tail section akin to a flat-bottom ice cream cone. The shuttle hangar door was on the cylinder's front face plate above the forward hull, an unusual feature carried over from the Wellington, and the main cargo bay hatch on likewise on the front face below the forward hull. A single phaser emitter was affixed to the bottom giving it a full 360-degree field of fire.
A pair of warp drive nacelles were attached to either side of the aft hull on short, straight pylons, giving the ship a very utilitarian feel. The warp engines were less than half the length of the Constitution’s engines and produced only a third the energy, still plenty of power for the cutter's needs.
“That’s a Masterson-class,” Lieutenant Sinclair said incredulously. “This says it should be a Callahan-class,” she held up her PADD. The Masterson-class was the original cutter design developed and deployed nearly thirty years prior. Some construction facilities hadn’t been retooled and thus still produced them. The Callahan-class had been in service for only eight years, but many Masterson-class cutters had already been converted to the newer design.
“Yes, well, you see,” Lieutenant at’Rohas explained, “it was scheduled for the upgrade, but your headquarters wanted it back in service, so the project was canceled. Apparently, the paperwork wasn’t corrected.”
“Apparently not,” Sinclair retorted. “This makes no sense. She’s here because of a problem with the warp drive, so why didn’t they just send her back for the upgrade?” The white-haired Star Fleet engineer could only shrug. “You know what, never mind.” She rubbed her temples. “My head’s going to explode if I keep thinking about it. The mission statement calls for a Callahan, so we can cross this one off the list.”
“But the Masterson and Callahan are functionally identical, aren’t they?” at’Rohas asked.
“More or less,” Foxx answered. “In combat, yes, they have essentially the same capabilities. However, the Masterson’s top speed at high-warp is limited and its deuterium fuel tanks are smaller; the Callahan is better suited for long-range patrols. What else do you have?”
Lieutenant at’Rohas called up the image for the James Everette. The most obvious difference between it and the previous ship was the sweptback design of the warp nacelles, giving this ship a graceful appearance befitting its speed and agility. The Callahan-class cutter just looked like it was going Warp Nine while floating in orbit. There were other subtle differences, of course, but both ships shared the same weapons suite and other capabilities.
“The Everette has only been here a short while,” at'Rohas explained, “so we haven’t completed a full assessment of her systems. In fact, I think Lieutenant Ducati was the last person onboard.” He displayed photographic records of the ship's interior. “Her food stores and water tanks have been purged, of course, but otherwise she’s exactly the same as the day they towed her in.” He flicked through several images. “As you can see, she’s ready to fly.”
“No, she’s not,” Lieutenant Sinclair disagreed. “When was her last systems refresh?” She scanned the documents on her PADD to find the answer. “Seven year ago with her Callahan upgrade. She’s overdue.”
“Even so, I don’t think it’ll be that hard to return her to service,” at’Rohas replied. “However, I really do think you should take another look at the McGeehan.” This started a debate lasting a good twenty minutes. Several people around the room offered their opinions one way or the other. Sinclair was unable to get a word in edgewise, so she simply sat back and watched the show.
The issue with the McGeehan kept coming back to the McGeehan’s non-functioning warp drive. “I’ll take a look at her engines,” Lieutenant Miller volunteered.
“They’re shot; it’s a waste of time,” the grouchy contractor across from Sinclair told him.
Miller shrugged it off. “Well, Mister Borges, it’s my time to waste.” I really like this kid, Sinclair thought to herself.
“I’ll be happy to say ‘I told you so’,” the civilian retorted. “My money’s on the Everette. At least we know her warp drive's good.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Miller shook his head. “An ion storm can really mess up the injection modules. Even if you're lucky, all the frequency modulators will need re-calibration. I’ll bet that most of the sequence initiators are burnt out.”
Lieutenant Commander Foxx nodded. “I concur with that assessment. It would be easier and safer to replace the nacelles and send the damaged ones back the factory to be re-manufactured. Ditto for the McGeehan.”
“I’ll take a look at both ships’ engines, sir,” Miller repeated. “If it’s what I suspect it is, I should be able to get the McGeehan’s engines working in a day or so. Worst case, we can get a set of new injection modules in a week or so.”
Mr. Borges laughed at that. “How? There’s a six-month backlog. Hell, you can’t even get them on the black market.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Miller replied defensively. “My ... I have contacts at the factory. I’ll find out what’s going on,” he said as he pulled out his PADD and began typing.
“Please do let me know, Lieutenant, how soon you think the McGeehan can return to service,” Captain Cho ordered.
“So now we’re back to the McGeehan, yes?” Captain Ethridge asked.
Cho shook his head, “No. I just know that the training ship at Academy is due for a refresh, so this might be a good replacement. I’d like to have my people take a closer look at both ships before we make a final decision.”
“All three ships, sir,” Sinclair corrected him. “May I see images of the Fletcher, please?”
Lieutenant at’Rohas gave her a surprised look. “Whatever for? Seriously, I have no idea why Ducati bothered to put the Fletcher on the short list. That ship should have been scrapped last year, if he would have let us.”
“Just put the images on the screen, Mister at’Rohas,” Cho ordered. Foxx and Sinclair glanced at each other; the captain only called officers ‘mister’ when he was very annoyed with them.
The imagery cycled through on the display. Sinclair studied them carefully, noting that there was no evidence of fire or other serious damage, save for the main bridge and photon torpedo compartment. There were many images of empty rooms; nothing worth reusing remained, even the floor coverings had been removed. “You can see for yourself, she’s been stripped bare,” at’Rohas quipped. As bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, Sinclair thought. She had him pause on the images of the spars and ribs and other frame members. The accompanying sensor data indicated most were undamaged and well within specifications; two or three should probably be replaced. About a dozen or so hull panels also needed repair or replacement. All in all, the damage appeared to be quite minimum.
Before the slide show was completed, Ethridge announced, “I think we've seen enough. I say you take the McGeehan.”
Cho looked at him deliberately. “That’s not your call to make,” he informed his counterpart, “and we don’t need to make a decision right now.”
“Again, my money’s on the Everette,” Mr. Borges restated. “It’s the most complete of the bunch.”
Sinclair shook her head, “No. I want to check it out myself, but I think the Fletcher is the right one.”
“Why, in God’s name?” Borges demanded. “She’s an empty shell. There’s nothing left to salvage. The Everette still has all her systems.”
“Yes, exactly,” she snapped back. “The Everette’s overdue for a systems refresh, and who knows how much damage that ion storm did. Is there a single computer or console that hasn’t been fried? I’ll bet my money that half the wiring is burned out, too. We’ll have to rip everything out regardless, if only for the refresh. As you said, the Fletcher’s been gutted, so half the job’s already done for us. It may be an empty shell, but her bones are good."
“What about the engines? Or that sensor dome?” Borges asked nastily.
“It sounds like it doesn’t matter which ship we pick, it’ll need new engines,” she pointed out. “As to the dome, it’s the same as on the Burke-class frigate. I’m sure there’s a few lying around here someplace. Let me take a close look at the Fletcher first. If I’m wrong about her, feel free to say ‘I told you so’. The Everette is my second choice, at least for now. I want to review the reports on those other six ships, too. Maybe one of them is in better shape.”
Captain Ethridge drummed the table with his fingers. “Who says the McGeehan?” Several hands went up. “Everette?” More hands went up. None of the police officers raised their hands. “Looks like you've been out-voted, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t do it,” Foxx whispered under his breath. She did it anyway.
“Well, sir, since I will be the Chief Engineer of that ship, I think my vote is the only one that counts.” She stood up. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to go inspect the Fletcher. Lieutenant Miller, would you care to join me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he hurried to follow her out the door.
~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~
Spoiler: Yes, they end up using the Yvonne J. Fletcher as the hero ship. The others will be mentioned later as also returned to service.
+ 
=> 
=> 
=> 
