Chapter 7 - Getting Real
Stardate 54748.2 (2 October 2377)
Star Station Echo – Molari Sector
Berth 17-C, SS Westwind
Tyg Germaine hummed happily to herself, her body wedged underneath the ignition chamber of the portside ion mass driver. It had been years since she last had the pleasure of being “hands-on” with a Leyland TATA transport, but she found it was pretty much like riding a bicycle – in this case, a very, very nice bicycle with all the bells and whistles.
She was very much in her element. Tyg had nearly forgotten how much she enjoyed the work of an engineer. To be sure, she didn’t miss the tedious staff meetings, frequent drills, and the sometimes over-the-top regimen that came with a chain of command and serving in Starfleet. She especially did not miss being shot at. Nope. Not one bit.
But overall, she enjoyed her career in Starfleet. Serving as an engineer on a ship of the line was both challenging and rewarding. She supposed that, at some point down the road, she might once more throw her lot in with the Fleet and “Boldly Go,” etc. etc. That time, however, was not at hand and she was quite content to put her training and innate skills to work on this beautiful little star ship. While she still had reservations about serving with Elvis Upp (the nicest looking weirdo she had met thus far), the ship itself more than assuaged her reticence.
She reached for a #4 hyper-spanner from her tool bag and swore silently to herself. Said hyper-spanner was sitting on a console some six meters from her position. It would take some work to extricate herself from her current position, all the more vexing as it had taken her several minutes to find a comfortable position with which to work.
With a sigh, she began to wriggle out when she noticed a shadow beyond her feet that had not been there a moment before.
“Hello?” she called. If she were lucky, either Elvis or R’u’lek had entered the engineering room and could hand her the hyper-spanner.
But there was no response at first. Muttering to herself, Tyg once more began to wriggle from beneath the equipment, when she heard a sound that made her pause.
“Mrowr.”
She stopped moving. It was that damn cat, Cleo. Maybe she wasn’t a shape-shifter from the Dominion, but the part-time feline, part-time woman gave her the creeps.
“Uh, hi there,” Tyg said, unsure of how one greeted a cat. She thought calling her “kitty” might be a bit too condescending.
“Meeoowr.”
The reply did not sound threatening exactly, but Tyg had little experience speaking with cats. She never had a cat growing up and was more of a dog person herself. Maybe Sam would come along and chase Cleo off.
“I don’t suppose you could hand me that hyper-spanner on the environmental console, could you?” She felt rather foolish making such a request and began once more to attempt to extricate herself. Maybe Cleo wouldn’t bite or attempt to claw out her eyes, but then again, maybe she would. She absently wondered if Cleo's shots were up to date? Can Aegis get rabies? Once more, she chided herself for not having a phaser. Hell, a water pistol would probably help.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a slender, well-manicured hand suddenly appeared holding a hyper-spanner. Startled, Tyg yelped in surprise and attempted to sit up, bashing her forehead painfully against the unyielding duranium casing of the ignition chamber in the process.
“Dammitdammitdammitdammit,” she seethed as fireworks erupted in front of her eyes and her head recoiled, bouncing painfully off the deck plates.
“Are you alright?” The voice was female, slightly accented, and definitely amused.
“Fine. Peachy. Just a mild concussion, thanks for asking.”
“Hang on, I’ll help you out from there.”
Before Tyg could protest, hands gripped her ankles and she found herself sliding out from under the ignition chamber onto the engineering deck.
She squinted, partly due to the glare of the overhead work lights, partly due to the throbbing pain in her head. A hand reached down, grabbing Tyg’s hand, and with surprising strength pulled her to a standing position.
The Asian woman that she had last seen sitting atop a crate of supplies stood before her, a bemused expression on her face. They were roughly the same height, though Tyg would have to admit that the woman was considerably more . . . endowed. She was striking to say the least, the sapphire blue eyes sparkling with intelligence and something almost feral. Cleo examined the bruise on Tyg’s head.
“Here, sit down and I’ll grab the med-kit.”
Tyg found herself deposited on a stool while Cleo pulled a med-kit from the bulkhead. She blinked, trying to stop the room from spinning around.
“Really, that’s not necess . . .”
“Hush. You look like you’re growing a third eye,” replied Cleo, indicating the rather impressive lump that had formed. She took a small canister and sprayed something cool and soothing on Tyg’s forehead. Almost instantly, the pain abated. Tyg reached up and was startled to find that the lump had almost totally receded.
“Thanks,” said Tyg, eyeing the woman with a mixture of reluctant gratitude and suspicion.
“You’re welcome. Sorry I startled you.”
“My fault. I’m still a little jumpy, I guess. I’ve never met a . . . uh, someone like you. The last shape-shifters I encountered were doing the best to kill me and take over the Alpha Quadrant." She paused. "Not necessarily in that order."
“You realize, of course, I am not one of the Founders.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Now, she added silently to herself and feeling a bit sheepish.
“Well,” continued the exotic woman. “I shall let you return to your work.”
“Wait just a moment . . . please.” Cleo turned, a questioning expression on her face.
“Is your name ‘Cleo,” or should I call you something else?”
The woman studied Tyg for a long moment. The gaze and hint of wild lightshine from her almond-shaped eyes was a bit unnerving. “Now I know what a mouse feels like when a cat is eyeing a potential snack,” she thought.
“Cleo will do,” she replied at last. “My professional designation is Agent 722, but since you are not part of the Agency, that would not be appropriate for you to use. My actual name is A’teythnaai.”
The last rolled off her tongue like quicksilver, not like a purr but much like a musical chord. It had a strange but lovely sound that Tyg knew she could never replicate.
“Cleo it is,” said Tyg. “You aren’t from Earth, are you?”
Cleo smiled. “Not even close. If you will excuse me, I need to report to the flight deck. We depart in one hour. Will you be ready?”
Tyg nodded, sensing a bit of challenge in the question. “Don't worry, I’ll have everything buttoned up and ready to go.”
“Good.” In the blink of an eye, the beautiful woman was gone. Tyg watched as the Siamese cat sauntered toward the forward hatch and nimbly lept over the coaming.
“Just weird,” muttered Tyg as she turned back to her work.
Stardate 54748.3 (2 October 2377)
Star Station Echo – Molari Sector
Berth 17-C, SS Westwind
“Elvis to Tyg.”
Tyg tapped the small com-pin attached to her coveralls. It was a simple silver oval engraved with SS Westwind and the ship's civilian registry number.
“Go ahead.”
“Why don’t you come up to the flight deck for departure? We have a fully functional engineering board.”
Tyg considered this momentarily. As Engineer, her years in Starfleet told her that her duty station for departure was here in Engineering. Still, this wasn’t a Starfleet vessel and it wasn’t like there were a dozen decks separating the engine room from the flight deck. Besides, Elvis was the Captain . . .
“I’m on my way.” She was also curious to visit the flight deck. Since she had come aboard, her time had been spent mostly in Engineering with occasional moments in her cabin or the commons for a meal.
She made her way forward, passing through the commons area and headed for the ladder leading to the control deck. Sam the Dachshund lifted his head momentarily from his bed, tail thumping, before circling once and flouncing down with a sigh. The little dog resumed snoring before Tyg finished ascending the ladder.
The flight deck was the one area of the ship most different from her father’s HD-68, setting aside the more expensive and luxurious appointments of the lower decks. Tyg was somewhat surprised (and a little disappointed) to see the state-of-the-art control systems that would have been at home in a Starfleet runabout. Gone were the vintage dials, manual controls and ancient control panels which, admittedly, were obsolete decades earlier. Still, she had hoped that maybe some of the old instrumentation would have survived.
R’u’leck and Cleo (once more in Human form) sat at the helm and nav/tactical stations respectively at the front of the small, semi-circular bridge. Elvis manned what appeared to be a communications and sensor station. He smiled and gestured across to the engineering station.
“I hope you find the displays and controls adequate.”
Tyg shook her head, marveling. “Adequate? This is an upgrade over what we had on the Ticonderoga, and I thought it had updated interfaces. How did you manage to get this equipment?”
Elvis shrugged and smiled expansively. “Friends in low places,” he quipped. “Actually, the control upgrades are courtesy of a grateful client for whom I had the privilege of providing a small service.”
She marveled over the holographic representation of the impulse manifold. She moved her fingers through a floating control icon and the image shifted to the warp core. With simple gestures, she was able to determine core pressure, Deuterium flow, anti-matter mix, and the amount of torque used to bolt down the explosive charges used to eject the core in an emergency.
A monotone voice came over the comm. “Westwind, Echo Control. You are now cleared for departure. Maintain sublight until clearing the outer markers then maintain departure lane delta until clearing the system. Safe journeys.”
Elvis replied, “Thank you Echo Control. We show that we are clear of station connectors and under internal power. We appreciate your hospitality.”
Tyg focused on her systems as R’u’leck applied power to the thrusters. She smiled as she watched the holographic representation of the ship rise, power distributed equally to six sets of thrusters.
The Westwind rose gracefully, hovering less than a meter above the deck plates of the landing bay. The Ariolo expertly brought the ship about and applied aft thrusters, moving the ship toward the maw of the landing bay forcefield.
“All systems, nominal,” announced Tyg. “Thruster temps well within norm. Impulse engines on stand-by.”
“Acknowledged,” replied R’u’leck.
The Westwind moved past the assembled lot of smallcraft and transports. A few beings paused to watch the vintage Leyland starcraft as it moved toward the airlock.
The ship passed through the atmospheric barrier and Cleo announced, “Feet cold,” as the ship moved away from the star station.
Tyg continued to monitor the systems. Everything was working flawlessly. She felt a sudden tinge of disappointment. If everything continued to function this well, she would have little to do on this trip.
They followed the departure protocols, passing other ships both inbound and outbound from the station. A gleaming white vessel adorned with the blue and red pennants of the Border Service passed them on their starboard side and moved away quickly. Tyg absently wondered if it were Inga Strauss’ cutter but they were too distant to read the vessel’s name and she did not wish to bother Elvis to ask for its transponder reading.
“Cleo, once we clear the system, set a course for Kirvo’s Planet. R’u’leck make our speed warp six.”
Tyg turned in her seat. “Kirvo’s Planet? That’s in the Outland Expanse.”
Elvis nodded. “Indeed it is.”
She pursed her lips. “Not exactly a vacation spot.” Tyg was now very glad that the ship was well-armed. Kirvo’s Planet was fairly close to Tzenkethi space and frequented by their equally unpleasant felinoid cousins, the Kzinti pirates.
Upp turned to face Tyg. “No, it’s not a nice place at all. But we have business there nonetheless.” His expression was neutral but she noted a somewhat mad gleam in his eyes. It gave her a slight shiver.
“Would this business have anything to do with Walter Krupp’s killer?”
He nodded. “Indeed it does. And I dare say it will be most unpleasant business for certain cold-blooded bastards.”
Tyg turned back to the engineering console, a tight knot forming in her chest.
“This just got real,” she thought.
To be continued . . .
Stardate 54748.2 (2 October 2377)
Star Station Echo – Molari Sector
Berth 17-C, SS Westwind
Tyg Germaine hummed happily to herself, her body wedged underneath the ignition chamber of the portside ion mass driver. It had been years since she last had the pleasure of being “hands-on” with a Leyland TATA transport, but she found it was pretty much like riding a bicycle – in this case, a very, very nice bicycle with all the bells and whistles.
She was very much in her element. Tyg had nearly forgotten how much she enjoyed the work of an engineer. To be sure, she didn’t miss the tedious staff meetings, frequent drills, and the sometimes over-the-top regimen that came with a chain of command and serving in Starfleet. She especially did not miss being shot at. Nope. Not one bit.
But overall, she enjoyed her career in Starfleet. Serving as an engineer on a ship of the line was both challenging and rewarding. She supposed that, at some point down the road, she might once more throw her lot in with the Fleet and “Boldly Go,” etc. etc. That time, however, was not at hand and she was quite content to put her training and innate skills to work on this beautiful little star ship. While she still had reservations about serving with Elvis Upp (the nicest looking weirdo she had met thus far), the ship itself more than assuaged her reticence.
She reached for a #4 hyper-spanner from her tool bag and swore silently to herself. Said hyper-spanner was sitting on a console some six meters from her position. It would take some work to extricate herself from her current position, all the more vexing as it had taken her several minutes to find a comfortable position with which to work.
With a sigh, she began to wriggle out when she noticed a shadow beyond her feet that had not been there a moment before.
“Hello?” she called. If she were lucky, either Elvis or R’u’lek had entered the engineering room and could hand her the hyper-spanner.
But there was no response at first. Muttering to herself, Tyg once more began to wriggle from beneath the equipment, when she heard a sound that made her pause.
“Mrowr.”
She stopped moving. It was that damn cat, Cleo. Maybe she wasn’t a shape-shifter from the Dominion, but the part-time feline, part-time woman gave her the creeps.
“Uh, hi there,” Tyg said, unsure of how one greeted a cat. She thought calling her “kitty” might be a bit too condescending.
“Meeoowr.”
The reply did not sound threatening exactly, but Tyg had little experience speaking with cats. She never had a cat growing up and was more of a dog person herself. Maybe Sam would come along and chase Cleo off.
“I don’t suppose you could hand me that hyper-spanner on the environmental console, could you?” She felt rather foolish making such a request and began once more to attempt to extricate herself. Maybe Cleo wouldn’t bite or attempt to claw out her eyes, but then again, maybe she would. She absently wondered if Cleo's shots were up to date? Can Aegis get rabies? Once more, she chided herself for not having a phaser. Hell, a water pistol would probably help.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a slender, well-manicured hand suddenly appeared holding a hyper-spanner. Startled, Tyg yelped in surprise and attempted to sit up, bashing her forehead painfully against the unyielding duranium casing of the ignition chamber in the process.
“Dammitdammitdammitdammit,” she seethed as fireworks erupted in front of her eyes and her head recoiled, bouncing painfully off the deck plates.
“Are you alright?” The voice was female, slightly accented, and definitely amused.
“Fine. Peachy. Just a mild concussion, thanks for asking.”
“Hang on, I’ll help you out from there.”
Before Tyg could protest, hands gripped her ankles and she found herself sliding out from under the ignition chamber onto the engineering deck.
She squinted, partly due to the glare of the overhead work lights, partly due to the throbbing pain in her head. A hand reached down, grabbing Tyg’s hand, and with surprising strength pulled her to a standing position.
The Asian woman that she had last seen sitting atop a crate of supplies stood before her, a bemused expression on her face. They were roughly the same height, though Tyg would have to admit that the woman was considerably more . . . endowed. She was striking to say the least, the sapphire blue eyes sparkling with intelligence and something almost feral. Cleo examined the bruise on Tyg’s head.
“Here, sit down and I’ll grab the med-kit.”
Tyg found herself deposited on a stool while Cleo pulled a med-kit from the bulkhead. She blinked, trying to stop the room from spinning around.
“Really, that’s not necess . . .”
“Hush. You look like you’re growing a third eye,” replied Cleo, indicating the rather impressive lump that had formed. She took a small canister and sprayed something cool and soothing on Tyg’s forehead. Almost instantly, the pain abated. Tyg reached up and was startled to find that the lump had almost totally receded.
“Thanks,” said Tyg, eyeing the woman with a mixture of reluctant gratitude and suspicion.
“You’re welcome. Sorry I startled you.”
“My fault. I’m still a little jumpy, I guess. I’ve never met a . . . uh, someone like you. The last shape-shifters I encountered were doing the best to kill me and take over the Alpha Quadrant." She paused. "Not necessarily in that order."
“You realize, of course, I am not one of the Founders.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Now, she added silently to herself and feeling a bit sheepish.
“Well,” continued the exotic woman. “I shall let you return to your work.”
“Wait just a moment . . . please.” Cleo turned, a questioning expression on her face.
“Is your name ‘Cleo,” or should I call you something else?”
The woman studied Tyg for a long moment. The gaze and hint of wild lightshine from her almond-shaped eyes was a bit unnerving. “Now I know what a mouse feels like when a cat is eyeing a potential snack,” she thought.
“Cleo will do,” she replied at last. “My professional designation is Agent 722, but since you are not part of the Agency, that would not be appropriate for you to use. My actual name is A’teythnaai.”
The last rolled off her tongue like quicksilver, not like a purr but much like a musical chord. It had a strange but lovely sound that Tyg knew she could never replicate.
“Cleo it is,” said Tyg. “You aren’t from Earth, are you?”
Cleo smiled. “Not even close. If you will excuse me, I need to report to the flight deck. We depart in one hour. Will you be ready?”
Tyg nodded, sensing a bit of challenge in the question. “Don't worry, I’ll have everything buttoned up and ready to go.”
“Good.” In the blink of an eye, the beautiful woman was gone. Tyg watched as the Siamese cat sauntered toward the forward hatch and nimbly lept over the coaming.
“Just weird,” muttered Tyg as she turned back to her work.
Stardate 54748.3 (2 October 2377)
Star Station Echo – Molari Sector
Berth 17-C, SS Westwind
“Elvis to Tyg.”
Tyg tapped the small com-pin attached to her coveralls. It was a simple silver oval engraved with SS Westwind and the ship's civilian registry number.
“Go ahead.”
“Why don’t you come up to the flight deck for departure? We have a fully functional engineering board.”
Tyg considered this momentarily. As Engineer, her years in Starfleet told her that her duty station for departure was here in Engineering. Still, this wasn’t a Starfleet vessel and it wasn’t like there were a dozen decks separating the engine room from the flight deck. Besides, Elvis was the Captain . . .
“I’m on my way.” She was also curious to visit the flight deck. Since she had come aboard, her time had been spent mostly in Engineering with occasional moments in her cabin or the commons for a meal.
She made her way forward, passing through the commons area and headed for the ladder leading to the control deck. Sam the Dachshund lifted his head momentarily from his bed, tail thumping, before circling once and flouncing down with a sigh. The little dog resumed snoring before Tyg finished ascending the ladder.
The flight deck was the one area of the ship most different from her father’s HD-68, setting aside the more expensive and luxurious appointments of the lower decks. Tyg was somewhat surprised (and a little disappointed) to see the state-of-the-art control systems that would have been at home in a Starfleet runabout. Gone were the vintage dials, manual controls and ancient control panels which, admittedly, were obsolete decades earlier. Still, she had hoped that maybe some of the old instrumentation would have survived.
R’u’leck and Cleo (once more in Human form) sat at the helm and nav/tactical stations respectively at the front of the small, semi-circular bridge. Elvis manned what appeared to be a communications and sensor station. He smiled and gestured across to the engineering station.
“I hope you find the displays and controls adequate.”
Tyg shook her head, marveling. “Adequate? This is an upgrade over what we had on the Ticonderoga, and I thought it had updated interfaces. How did you manage to get this equipment?”
Elvis shrugged and smiled expansively. “Friends in low places,” he quipped. “Actually, the control upgrades are courtesy of a grateful client for whom I had the privilege of providing a small service.”
She marveled over the holographic representation of the impulse manifold. She moved her fingers through a floating control icon and the image shifted to the warp core. With simple gestures, she was able to determine core pressure, Deuterium flow, anti-matter mix, and the amount of torque used to bolt down the explosive charges used to eject the core in an emergency.
A monotone voice came over the comm. “Westwind, Echo Control. You are now cleared for departure. Maintain sublight until clearing the outer markers then maintain departure lane delta until clearing the system. Safe journeys.”
Elvis replied, “Thank you Echo Control. We show that we are clear of station connectors and under internal power. We appreciate your hospitality.”
Tyg focused on her systems as R’u’leck applied power to the thrusters. She smiled as she watched the holographic representation of the ship rise, power distributed equally to six sets of thrusters.
The Westwind rose gracefully, hovering less than a meter above the deck plates of the landing bay. The Ariolo expertly brought the ship about and applied aft thrusters, moving the ship toward the maw of the landing bay forcefield.
“All systems, nominal,” announced Tyg. “Thruster temps well within norm. Impulse engines on stand-by.”
“Acknowledged,” replied R’u’leck.
The Westwind moved past the assembled lot of smallcraft and transports. A few beings paused to watch the vintage Leyland starcraft as it moved toward the airlock.
The ship passed through the atmospheric barrier and Cleo announced, “Feet cold,” as the ship moved away from the star station.
Tyg continued to monitor the systems. Everything was working flawlessly. She felt a sudden tinge of disappointment. If everything continued to function this well, she would have little to do on this trip.
They followed the departure protocols, passing other ships both inbound and outbound from the station. A gleaming white vessel adorned with the blue and red pennants of the Border Service passed them on their starboard side and moved away quickly. Tyg absently wondered if it were Inga Strauss’ cutter but they were too distant to read the vessel’s name and she did not wish to bother Elvis to ask for its transponder reading.
“Cleo, once we clear the system, set a course for Kirvo’s Planet. R’u’leck make our speed warp six.”
Tyg turned in her seat. “Kirvo’s Planet? That’s in the Outland Expanse.”
Elvis nodded. “Indeed it is.”
She pursed her lips. “Not exactly a vacation spot.” Tyg was now very glad that the ship was well-armed. Kirvo’s Planet was fairly close to Tzenkethi space and frequented by their equally unpleasant felinoid cousins, the Kzinti pirates.
Upp turned to face Tyg. “No, it’s not a nice place at all. But we have business there nonetheless.” His expression was neutral but she noted a somewhat mad gleam in his eyes. It gave her a slight shiver.
“Would this business have anything to do with Walter Krupp’s killer?”
He nodded. “Indeed it does. And I dare say it will be most unpleasant business for certain cold-blooded bastards.”
Tyg turned back to the engineering console, a tight knot forming in her chest.
“This just got real,” she thought.
To be continued . . .
